#but it’s like they got to forget about it for a bit

[serenity-loves-red]

Note: Y’all is shirtless Phainon the new trend now not that i’m complaining? Hoyoverse pls stop giving me ideas😩

Phainon likes you, very much so that it became a common knowledge in Okhema. He even thought he was so lowkey and excellent in keeping it a secret until Mydei asked him if you already got together when he saw Phainon looks to happy.

That was when he finally knew that his so-called secret isn’t actually a secret. He got really embarrassed when Mydei pointed it out how he was so obvious yet somehow, you weren’t able to catch on.

Idiots, some people calls you both. Others would say cute slowburn soon-to-be lovers who just need a bit of push.

For Phainon? He just thinks how embarrassing everything is.

Some groups even started placing bets on when Phainon can finally has his courage to ask you out. Not just those mixed signal moves that you always interpreted as platonic.

You, the one who made the Deliverer of Amphoreus weak on his knees just look so clueless and slow. You keep explaining that how Phainon acted with you was just like how you both normally do.

“Phainon doesn’t like me like that.” You laughed when someone pointed it out. “We’re just friends.” You always reasoned out.

A bit of oblivious to his advances that makes people who sees you two together just wants to bash your faces together to make you kiss.

Phainon somehow felt relieved hearing that and just let you believe what you wanted to. He knows now is not the right time and when it is, he will surely show you how determined and serious he is pursuing you.

And that right time came faster than he could say Amen to Kephale.

Phainon’s decision on wooing you slowly was put on a challenge when you met Mydei.

Phainon had accompanied you to Marmoreal Market when you wanted to check for some fruits. On your way, you met Mydei who Phainon enthusiastically introduced.

You already knew the man named Mydei but never actually met him. So when you did, you can’t stop ogling him.

And Phainon? Oh Kephale, he never felt this regretful when introducing Mydei to anyone before. And you– can you stop ogling over his rival? You never even looked at him that way!

He nudged at you but you just gave him a brief side eye and gestured your eyes at Mydei.

Why did it took you so long to introduce this man to me huh? I thought we were friends. He somehow managed to understand you.

Forget all those fruits! You keep looking at Mydei’s exposed chest, complete forgetting about him.

Phainon couldn’t let you do that. So without thinking straight. He pulled your arm to stop you from walking.

“Wha-“ you managed to stutter out before being boggled by the sight before you.

Phainon just lit himself on fire until his upper body was bare.

“Can you look at me now?” He said, eyes completely focused on you. “Do I really have to took off my clothes for you to just look at me?”

He looks so serious that for a second you didn’t know what to say. It was until he felt the eyes and whistles from the crowd that was slowly forming that he let go of your arm, but kept you close.

He even has the audacity to look embarrassed when he was the one who started stripping!

“Don’t mind us!” Someone quipped from the crowd. “Go Lord Phainon! You can do it!” They cheered.

Red faced, Phainon mustered all his remaining sanity and confessed. “…I love you. I’ve always did but don’t know what to say. I wanted to wait until the time is right but…”

“You don’t have to explain anything but to tell you, I already have an inkling. I just didn’t want to assume anything and make it weird for us so I waited for you confess.” You replied feeling happy despite the bizarre situation.

“And I love you too.” You smiled, holding his hand and gave a quick peck to his cheek.

“But do you really have to take off your shirt?”

Ps. It was Aglea’s idea in making Phainon jealous by having Mydei to show up. And it worked she won the bet

[thatonegrimm]

Hello Grimm !

It’s a pleasure send you an ask for the first time, if I’m not writing this right, feel free to tell me.

I wanted to request a one shot (or whatever it’s called, I’m not used to these terms, sorry) with the Saja Boys (separately) with a reader who is always innocent and sweet and then the boys find out that they write really dark stories, like thrillers with morally gray characters and that go highly philosophical about the corruption and hypocrisy of humanity, you can write them dating the reader or not dating them but crushing on them, whichever you’re comfortable with !

I hope it was okay and that this made sense lol, have a good day/evening/night !

Hello, and welcome!! 💌 You absolutely nailed the ask — it was clear, thoughtful, and gave me everything I needed to work with! This one leans romantic-crush-adjacent, so you can read it as dating or just tension building — whatever feels right for you. It’s written as a drabble set, with each-reacting separately. Hope you enjoy!

"What Sweet People Don’t Say Out Loud"

Summary: The Saja Boys find out their sunshine might have a darker mind than expected.

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

🧿 Jinu

Jinu finds your writing by accident. You'd left your laptop open to a document titled “Cured By Fire: A Moral Treatise on Manufactured Innocence” while you stepped away to make tea.

He’d only meant to close the screen — honestly. But curiosity got the better of him. The title alone didn’t match the person who giggles at animal memes and says “oopsies” when they trip over a pillow.

A few scrolls in, he forgets about the tea.

The story unravels like a slow-burning reckoning. Government corruption, religious rot, and a protagonist who justifies arson as “a cleansing act in a city that won’t admit it’s already ash.”

When you return, he’s sitting rigidly upright, eyes wide behind his glasses. He looks… lost.

“Everything okay?” “You… wrote this?” “Uh. Yeah. Is it… bad?” “No, no, it’s—” He gestures vaguely. “It’s just… disturbingly good?” He pauses. “How long have you been thinking about the illusion of free will?” “Since middle school.” “Oh. Huh.”

He doesn’t touch his tea for an hour. You catch him rereading the ending later, brows furrowed.

“I think your villain might be right,” he mumbles, almost sheepish. Then softer, like it snuck up on him: “You’re… kind of brilliant.”

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

💪 Abby

You print your story out for him — all 17 pages — and hand it over like it’s fragile. You're smiling nervously, chewing your lip.

“Be nice?” “Always.”

He’s expecting poetry. Something light. Maybe a whimsical fairytale about cats.

What he gets is a psychological thriller about a prison warden who slowly manipulates both inmates and guards into losing track of who’s imprisoned who. The tone is cold. Surgical. Inescapably brilliant.

By the time he finishes, he’s still staring at the final paragraph like it called him out personally.

“...Did you just make me root for a guy who drowns his boss in a koi pond?” “A little bit.” “I’m scared of you. In the best way.”

He sets the story down, still processing.

Then looks at you with open awe.

“You hide this whole part of yourself behind cute sweaters and sunny playlists, huh?” “...Maybe.” “That’s wild. I love it.”

He throws an arm around your shoulder, pulls you into his side, and presses a kiss to your temple like it’s instinct.

“Just remind me not to piss you off too bad. I’d like to stay above water.”

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

📚 Mystery

You hadn’t meant for anyone to read it.

You keep your darker writing tucked away in a leather-bound notebook, usually hidden under your pillow. But Mystery finds it while you’re asleep — not on purpose, just straightening the blankets after you passed out reading.

He flips it open absently. Stops flipping five seconds later.

The story is unlike anything he’s read — a first-person monologue from a vigilante priest who sees sins as carvings, both literal and metaphorical. The prose is lyrical. Unnerving. Devastating.

He reads it in silence, unmoving. The kind of stillness he only slips into when something truly grips him.

When you wake up, you find him sitting on the edge of the bed, notebook in his lap, expression unreadable.

“Did you dream this?” “No... I wrote it a few weeks ago.” “It reads like it hurt.”

You wait for him to laugh. Or be weirded out. But he just closes the notebook gently and places it beside you.

“Everyone sees you as light.” He looks at you. “But you write like someone who understands what darkness actually costs.”

He lies beside you after, shoulder to shoulder, silent. But when he presses his forehead to yours, there’s reverence in it.

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

💋 Romance

It’s open mic night. Romance volunteers to read your piece out loud without looking it over first — he says he wants to be surprised.

He is.

The story is a sleek, cutting piece about a world where people wear masks that reflect their social status — and the one character who dares to shatter their own. It reads like a manifesto in disguise, full of quiet rage and philosophical tension.

By the end, the audience is dead silent. Romance lowers the paper slowly.

“So.” He clears his throat. “This was not about bunnies.” You nod. “And you wrote this?” “Yup.” “This explains… so much.”

Later, once the adrenaline wears off, you find him leaning against the hallway wall backstage, still holding the pages like they’re made of fire.

“You wrote this like a scalpel,” he says. “Soft hands. Sharp intent.” He laughs, shakes his head. “You had me out here baring your philosophical teeth to a full room. I’ve never been prouder.”

He leans in, nose brushing yours.

“Sweet, dangerous, and literary. What a combination.”

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

🔥 Baby

He finds your notebook in his backpack two days after you borrowed it. He flips it open thinking it’s a to-do list or grocery note.

Instead, he finds this:

“They call me innocent because I smile in public. But no one ever asks why the monsters in my stories look like men in suits.”

He stops chewing his gum.

Turns the page.

Keeps reading.

And then, at 2:12 AM, you get this:

baby🖕: wtf baby🖕: ur a menace baby🖕: u write like ur planning a quiet revolution and i’d probably help

When you see him the next morning, he tosses the notebook at you and crosses his arms.

“You have no right being that nice and also writing like this.” “You didn’t like it?” “Are you kidding? I read it three times. I might be in love with your brain.”

He grabs your face, thumb brushing your cheek, gaze intense.

“You’re soft and terrifying. That’s hot.” Then he smirks. “Just don’t ever base a villain on me, okay?”

You don’t answer. You definitely already did.

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

M-List

[m-robinavitch]

27 with Robby pretty please 🥺 I will give you my soul for this

Trope Tuesday Wednesday! Just finishing the asks that were sent yesterday because I did not expect that much love from y’all 💕😭

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Reader

Trope: Secret Baby

You never thought you’d see the handsome stranger that you hooked up with at your college roommate’s wedding ever again. You never imagined that he would ever be apart of your life after having what you consider the best sex and hook up of your life- but a hook up nonetheless.

You catch up with Samira here and there. You love hearing about her adventures as an ER doctor while you bore her with your job that doesn’t nearly have the same level of excitement- but she loves hearing from you. You were her roommate for four years in undergrad. You spent nights staying up cramming and watching those cheesy romcoms you love. Then she went to med school while you joined the working class. And when you got the invitation to her wedding you cried a bit. You were so happy for her- but weddings always make people think about their own pathetic lives. Just like Robby did. Watching Jack and Samira smile at each other while their said there vows. He couldn’t be happier for his best friend- but that ache in his heart never seemed to heal no matter what he did. And while Robby sat and nursed his second drink, he finally saw you walking up to him- tiny ache in his chest because nerves started to flutter about. He had seen you earlier- a glass of champagne and the same longing look he had towards the other couples on the dance floor, he thought you were beautiful.

“Mind if I sit? Feels a lot less lonely if you’re lonely with someone else.” Immediately he nods, pulling out the chair for you with a laugh-

“To being less lonely together?” Robby holds his tumbler out to you- letting you clink your champagne flute against it with a laugh and smile that he never wants to forget. You both ended up at your hotel room not even an hour later. Clothes being pulled and thrown around between hot desperate kisses. Robby had you under him for half the night and on top of him for the other half. Bent over the bed, bathroom counter, balcony. It’s no wonder those 5 home pregnancy tests lit up like fucking Christmas trees. At some point he must have fucked you so hard that it knocked your IUD out of place.

You didn’t tell anyone that your daughter was the product of a one night stand- that you only knew her father’s first name and that he was a doctor. It didn’t matter- not really. You loved her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you. You spent your pregnancy perfecting her nursery and working as much as you could to save money and days off for her. But as she grew- you kept staring into those big beautiful brown eyes that she only got from the man from the wedding, wondering if he’d love her as much as you did. You didn’t tell Samira that the baby she was cooing over on social media was conceived at her wedding- that she most likely knew the father. You forced yourself to not ask her about him- you figured it’s not fair to go this long and suddenly reach out or go around uprooting the man’s life over a one night stand.

But three years later you find yourself relocating to Pittsburgh with your toddler for work. You find yourself meeting Samira for coffee one afternoon with your daughter who has oddly familiar soft brown eyes and a crooked smile. She doesn’t ask about her father, she just sees how happy you both are. Your daughter is sweet and loves everyone- sitting in Samira’s lap playing with her teddy bear and messily eating a muffin while babbling to her new best friend. But a week later you find yourself at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital because your daughter was still a bit clumsy and fell at the playground.

You stood in line, your daughter crying in your arms while you tried to console her and it was like Robby had forgot how to breathe. He walked to the nurses station to see how they were doing up there and immediately he saw you- immediately felt the same tightness in his chest like when he first saw you almost three years ago. Only you had a child in your arms this time, crying and clinging to you- a missed opportunity on his part. Whoever you had waiting for you both at home was a lucky bastard. His voice was like ice down your back because you can remember and feel every word that he had whispered in your ear years ago.

Robby immediately got you both to a bed- calming your worries and saying it’s fine as he put gloves on. Your daughter hid in your neck- crying slowed to a whine but still refusing to sit on the bed no matter what. You explain to Robby that she tripped and bumped her head at the park- a little clumsy still and you offhandedly say that she gets it from you. He smiles a bit- because he remembers how you stumbled in your heels years ago when you dragged him up to your hotel room. But he smiles, rolling the chair over to you both and trying to make himself as small as possible to not scare your toddler. You don’t know if you should bring it up now- that Robby is about to work on his own child but you figure you should let him focus on her first before you ruin his life.

“Hey sweetheart, I’m Dr. Robby-“ you turn a bit to face your daughter to him, smiling when he ducks his head down and tilts it so she can see him, “mommy said you hurt yourself?” She whimpered, nodding and choking you with her tiny strong arms while her hands clutched her teddy bear. “I like your bear, can I see him?” You melted at how gentle he was- at how his voice was soothing and how his eyes softened when she turned and held her bear out to him. As if he was dealing with glass- Robby took her bear, a gift from Samira when she was born. “Can you show me where you got hurt on your teddy bear?” It was like she was drawn to him now, peeking out from your neck and pointing to the side of her bear’s head. Robby obviously figured from the tiny about of blood that matted her hair- but he just wanted to make her comfortable. To put her at ease and almost instantly she reached for him so he could sit her on the bed and he can examine her.

He asked routine questions, taking note of your lack of ring but then chastised himself for even looking. You had a daughter- you clearly had someone in your life. He must have missed a narrow window of opportunity because she was still young, about the same age as the years it’s been since you first met and-

“When was she born?” Fuck.

[motzglorp]

You think Soap has ADHD energy? Meet the missus!

Everyone knows that Soap gets distracted easily when he doesn't have anything to focus. Outside of missions he gets restless and if he is bored he shouldn't be left without supervision.

They made it to the safehouse, got a good night's sleep and had another day to spend until transport was ready and would be on mandatory leave for the next two weeks. So of course they were talking about their plans.

Price had promised Kyle to show him his cabin by the lake and nobody commented on the faint blush under his beard or how Kyle's touch lingered a bit longer than usual. To be honest Soap and Ghost were betting on who would catch the kissing first.

Ghost didn't have plans so he was actually contemplating taking Soaps offer to stay at his house for a while.

"Honestly, ye should see what ma bonnie made of that place. Real cozy now." Soap was talking away, not noticing the other three staring at him.

"Come again? Your whatnow?" Asked Kyle.

"My Bonnie? The missus? Ma wife? You forgot about my wife?" Johnny seemed to be undecided whether to be angry or confused.

"Soap... You never told any of us. You mentioned a bird now and then. You mean to tell us it was the same one the whole time? You been stable? Since when?"

Now that made Soap think. "Ah mean.. known her forever. Stable for some years now, as stable as we can be. Proposed last summer we just didn't get around actually speaking the vows." He looked a bit sheepish. "Ah never told you? Sure 'bout that?"

Price didn't know how to react, other than: "You better marry her as soon as you are in the same country. If she hasn't left you by now she will never and you need to make sure the paperwork is all set up, just in case."

"And you should probably introduce us, so she won't be scared if one of us appeared on your doorstep." Kyle added.

"Actually, we can do that right now, we have a satellite connection."

Johnny was still trying to remember if he really had forgotten to mention the most important person in his life to the other most important people in his life, so he just acted on autopilot when Kyle shoved a tablet in his hands, starting a video call.

They all gathered around the screen, watching as the lights flickered and a disheveled face came into view, round face, sleepy eyes, hair sticking in every direction.

"Tha' you babe? You alive?" Johnny immediately had a smile plastered on his face. "Alive and kicking, didn't even get shot. Listen, sorry I woke you, wasn't my idea. But remember we planned our wedding to be with all friends and family and my captain could stand in for you dad since he is not invited and all and. Maybe I forgot to tell them.. about you.. like.. ya ken?" He sounded not as nervous as someone should sound who forgot his fiancé as soon as he was away.

You just blinked. "Johnny... Are you serious?" It was hard to tell if you were angry or not. "Okay, I just want to know: Did you forget because you already did it in your head or because you forgot to remember?"

"Bit of both? Bit like you forgot to tell your sister." Johnny admitted, grinning.

You giggled "Oh that was fun. Well, when she talked to me again. Oh, I should call her." You got up, apparently already forgetting you were on a call, looking for something. They could see your bedroom, organised chaos, plants, some pictures of Johnny, all in all a cozy home.

"Have you seen my laptop?" You wondered, confused when you heard a snort from Ghost. "What.. ooh... Hi there. You must be Ghost, yeah? Good thing you wear that mask, I am terrible with faces. And you are Gaz, right? You're pretty. Johnny he is so pretty, why am I marrying you again?"

"Because you love me and nobody else can tolerate either of us so we are stuck with each other?" came the answer like a well used banter.

"True. I do love you. But I also haven't slept for two days because I was building something. A surprise. When are you home? Don't tell me, just text. Please. Bring the boys. Oh, Captain Price, could you marry us? Or is that just a Ship Captain thing? Might be, I never cared, but that would be very practical. Give me a week to get everyone together and we could have the ceremony in the backyard, I can wait with the new greenhouse, so we would have the space." You were making notes on something that looked like a pizza box, lost in thoughts already.

You seemed to have forgotten you were still on the call, writing down things. Until you heard Price laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Oh, I drifted. Sorry, didn't take my meds, I promise I'm better at this when I sleep. So.. are you coming to the wedding or not? And bring my future husband with you, in case he forgets again."

You were not angry at all. One of the reasons they worked was that you never got angry with each other about stuff like that. You knew each other for too long to try and change or 'fix' the other. If there was a problem or hurt feelings you would address it and work on a solution.

Ghost just looked at Soap. "You really found that one girl with even less ability to focus, did ya?"

Johnny just nodded happily, "She is absolutely perfect."

[jarlskona-evilyoyo]

I’m thinking about Zoey missing food she got in America and trying to make it.

Like not only does she probably miss American food, but considering she lived next to LA she definitely misses Mexican foods. And it’s SUPER hard to find certain regional foods across America let alone in South Korea.

I headcanon that Zoey is not a good cook at all, I think she’d forget about it, so Rumi and Mira try and cook for her with mix successes. I think Mira would be good because she just keeps doing it until she gets it while Rumi has to have a recipe (she’s good at directions)

Maybe during their next world tour, after Rumi is more comfortable with her demon related desires, she takes them out to some horribly themed Texas steakhouse and Rumi gets to go absolutely ham on one of those 72oz steaks you get an hour to eat while Zoey finally gets a good cheeseburger. Mira gets a milkshake and watches in amazement, disgust and a little bit of amazement.

[f1freaks]

IS THIS ILLEGAL? (IT FEELS ILLEGAL!)

PAIRING: drug dealer!lando norris x f!reader DESCRIPTION: you hit up your local plug and forget to bring a valid form of payment, so you make it up to him in other ways WARNINGS: mentions of recreational drugs (weed) but nobody actually partakes in it, smut, car sex, shy!lando, protected!p in v A/N: i didn't expect so many of u to want this but im so glad and though this is slightly morally wrong it's so hot so if you don't like it just don't read it, god forbid a girl has a weird fantasy

You were already regretting how fast you’d left your flat. You wouldn't be surprised if when you looked down at your shoes, they were two completely different ones.

Keys, check. Matching shoes, check. Phone, check. Purse…

Shit.

You patted your coat pockets again, more out of panic than logic. You knew you forgot it. There was nothing there but a packet of gum and a used tissue. No cash, not even loose change. Not even your card. Just your stupid hope that maybe, somehow, you’d managed to bring something useful with you. You'd done many silly things in your lifetime but this might be somewhere at the top of the list.

You pulled your phone out and glanced at the time. You were early — five minutes ahead of when you said you’d meet. Which gave you just enough time to spiral in place, heart hammering, because you really didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of him. You’d never have enough time to turn back and still make it on time.

He was already waiting when you turned the corner onto a quiet street two blocks over. A sleepy row of terraced houses, wheelie bins lined up like soldiers along the pavement. You’d walked past his battered, silver VW Golf a few streets back, probably wanting to look less suspicious by parking further away. He was leaning against a low brick wall just a few metres from where you were, hood half-up and arms crossed, gaze fixed on the ground like it had secrets to tell.

You stopped short when you saw him, taking a second to smooth down your hair and breathe out. You’d seen him a few times now—quick meets, short chats, easy smiles exchanged before disappearing back into your own worlds. You didn’t really know Lando Norris, but you’d been thinking about him more than you should have for someone who technically just sold you weed. Lando, with a face so pretty that you always wondered how he’d gotten himself mixed up into something like this.

He glanced up when your footsteps crunched the gravel, and the smile that flickered across his face was automatic. It was soft, a little lopsided. He straightened up, brushing his hand down the front of his hoodie like he was suddenly aware he might look scruffy.

“Hey,” he said, voice light, that accent somehow even more disarming than usual. “You’re early.”

“Didn’t wanna be late,” you replied, keeping your voice breezy. “Didn’t know if you were one of those ‘five minutes and I’m gone’ types.”

He laughed under his breath, a bit sheepish. “Nah, I’m not that dramatic. Though I might’ve started pacing if you took too long.”

He was fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie, his thumb dragging across a loose thread, eyes flicking from yours to the pavement. The same Lando as always: shy in a boyish way, but with a cheeky edge that peeked out when he was comfortable. He talked fast when he was nervous, you’d noticed. You kind of liked it.

“3.5, right?” he asked, already digging into the pocket of his hoodie.

You nodded quickly, and then hesitated.

Your stomach dropped.

“Yeah, um…” You paused, looking away for a moment. “So… I kind of forgot my purse.”

That got his attention. His hand stilled where it was halfway into his jacket, and he looked up at you with a soft frown. “You what?”

“I—I thought I had it. I ran out the door too fast, I guess. It’s not like I was trying to mug you off, I swear.”

He was still for a second, blinking like he was trying to work out if you were taking the piss out of him or if you’d genuinely forgot. You could see the baggie half-visible in his palm, the one you were meant to be buying, like a reminder.

“I can go back,” you said quickly. “It’s just like a twenty-minute walk, but I thought maybe—” You stopped. You took a deep breath before committing to your next words, not exactly sure what overcame you to give you this sort of confidence. “—maybe there’s something else you’d take instead?”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Like what?” He sounded genuinely confused.

It took a beat. Then two.

And then he blinked, eyes widening slightly. His mouth opened, closed, like he was going to say something and changed his mind halfway through.

You could practically see the moment it clicked. The bag slipped slightly in his hand, forgotten.

He laughed, but it wasn’t a confident sound, more like disbelief wrapped in nerves. “Wait. Are you being serious?”

You nodded once, keeping your gaze level. “If you want.”

He stared at you, and you could tell he didn’t quite know where to look, his gaze drifting down and then back up like he realised what he was doing. His cheeks flushed with colour, hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck — a nervous habit. You’d noticed that he usually did that when he was caught off-guard. You’d seen it every time he handed over a bag like he was worried you were going to rate his customer service out of five stars.

“Right,” he muttered, still blinking too fast. “That’s—I mean. Fuckin’ hell.”

“If it’s weird, you can just say no,” you said quickly, not wanting to put him off. “It’s not like I planned it or anything. I just didn’t wanna waste your time.”

He laughed again, the sound soft and uncertain. “No, yeah— I mean, it is a bit weird. Not bad-weird, just like—fuck, I didn’t think this was gonna be that kind of meet.”

You shrugged, teasing now. “Could be. If you’re into it.”

He looked at you properly then, mouth quirking like he was trying not to smile. “What, you're really offering me sex for some smoke?”

You raised a brow, tone steady. “If that’s what it takes."

He groaned, covering his face with his hand for a second. “Jesus Christ.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just—gimme a sec, I’m recalibrating my entire night here.”

You laughed, and that seemed to make him relax just a little. His hand dropped back down to his side, and he let out a slow breath.

“I don’t usually—I’m not one of those creepy guys that expects this sort of thing, by the way,” he said quickly. “Like, I don’t make people do stuff. I’m not that guy.”

“I know,” you said gently. “That’s why I offered.”

That shut him up for a second. He scratched his neck again, looking down at the pavement like it might have answers. His foot shifted, toe scuffing the gravel like a schoolboy caught daydreaming.

“You’re gonna make me feel like a perv if I say yes,” he mumbled.

“You won’t be,” you assured him. “It’s not like I’m doing this for charity.”

His mouth twitched again — almost a smile. “You’re brave, you know that?”

You shrugged. “Just saying what I want.”

Another long beat of silence. He glanced down the street once, making sure no one was nearby, then cleared his throat.

“Alright,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “Not here though.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nah. Not on someone’s doorstep. I’m not stooping that low.”

You grinned. “So, where then?”

“My car’s just there,” he said, nodding down the road. “Couple streets over.”

You took a step closer. “You sure?”

He nodded once, ears still pink. “Yeah. If you are.”

You followed him down two side streets, silent except for the low thud of your shoes on the pavement. Lando kept a step ahead, head ducked slightly like he was hoping not to be seen. It was late enough that the neighbourhood was mostly still, just the occasional flicker of a TV through a living room window or the muffled bark of a dog behind a fence.

He didn’t say much, and you didn’t either. But his hand came up to tug at the hood of his jacket more than once. His fingers twitched at his sides. You didn’t miss the way he glanced at you every so often, like he was checking you were still there. Like maybe you’d changed your mind.

You hadn’t.

When you reached the car, he unlocked it with a small click and a beep and slipped into the driver’s side. You followed silently, shutting the passenger door behind you, the two of you suddenly boxed into this tiny private world that smelled faintly of petrol, aftershave, and leather seats that had seen better days.

For a second, neither of you even dared to move.

The baggie — the one you technically hadn’t paid for yet — sat on the dash, catching the low yellow light in its crinkled plastic. He glanced at it like it was suddenly awkward to look directly at.

Then he turned to you.

“You’re still sure?” he asked, voice soft but serious.

You smiled at him. “Yeah.”

Lando stared at you for a moment, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. You could tell he was nervous; it was in the way his hands fidgeted against his jeans, his knees bouncing slightly like he was trying to release the tension somewhere. But there was something else too that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Just wasn’t expecting to, y’know, get paid like this.”

You leaned in a little. “You don’t want it?”

He huffed a breathy laugh. “No, I—I do. I just—” He scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, yeah? But I didn’t think it’d actually happen.”

Your fingers brushed against his knee, slow and deliberate. He froze under your touch.

“Thought about me?” you asked.

He glanced at you from under his lashes, cheeks going warm. “…Yeah.”

You smiled, letting your hand slide a little higher. “Cute.”

He huffed again, more of a soft groan this time, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he needed to reset his brain.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, shifting so your knees pressed into the seat, your body hovering over his. “Let me.”

He laughed nervously, a warm, breathless sound that disappeared the second your lips brushed his. It was barely a kiss. Just enough to tease, to let him feel the heat of it. You pulled back, just to watch the way his eyes fluttered open like he was chasing after you.

Then you kissed him for real.

It started slow, gentle. He was hesitant, like he was still waiting for you to change your mind. But when your hand found his jaw and your mouth opened against his, he let out the softest sound, a half-caught moan in the back of his throat, and kissed you back like he was starving for it.

You climbed over the console carefully, straddling his lap. The car creaked under the shift in weight, the gearstick pressed awkwardly against your thigh, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way his hands came up cautiously, like he was asking permission, and landed on your hips.

You rolled them once, slow and deliberate. His breath caught.

“Fuck,” he whispered, head falling back slightly.

You smiled against his neck. “That easy to break, Lando?”

His fingers dug into your waist in response, not hard enough to bruise, just grounding. Like he was trying to remember where he was and what he was doing. He shook his head, then immediately nodded, like he didn’t trust his voice to give you a proper answer.

You trailed your fingers along the edge of his jaw, eyes dragging over his flushed face. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, breath shallow. You could probably keep him like this forever, strung out, waiting, his brain short-circuited by your thighs and your mouth.

“Can I?” you asked, fingers already trailing down to the waistband of his jeans.

He nodded quickly, swallowing. “Yeah. Yeah, please.”

You palmed him over his jeans and he gasped, hips jolting slightly up into your hand. He was already half-hard, straining against the denim, and the sound he made when you pressed your palm down just a little firmer was borderline obscene.

“God, you’re—fuck,” he breathed, head tipping forward until it rested against your shoulder.

“You’re so nervous,” you murmured, brushing your lips against his ear, feeling his pulse underneath the hand on his chest. “How often have you pictured doing this, then?”

He didn’t answer — just groaned softly, like he was embarrassed to admit it out loud. But the way his cock twitched under your touch told you enough.

You undid his zip slowly, dragging your fingers down the line of his fly until you could slip your hand inside. He was hot and heavy in your palm, breath hitching as you wrapped your fingers around him properly.

Lando let out a broken moan, one hand flying up to grab at the edge of the seat like he was trying to keep himself grounded.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me.” He repeated his words from earlier.

You stroked him slow, teasing. He wasn’t even fully hard yet and already leaking into your palm. You pressed kisses along his jaw, his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. His hips rocked up once —instinctual, desperate— and he swore again.

You leaned back slightly, watching his face. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. No, I just—” He bit his lip, eyes flicking to your mouth. “Can I touch you too?”

The question punched something warm into your chest.

You took his hand and guided it under your shirt, letting him feel the heat of your skin. His fingers were a little unsure at first, but the way his breath caught made it clear just how much he liked it.

“You’re shaking,” you murmured, smiling against his jaw.

“Shut up,” he groaned, cheeks going redder.

His hands slid up under your shirt, thumbs brushing the edges of your bra. His fingers were warm, a little unsure, like he didn’t usually get this far, or if he did, not like this. Not with someone staring down at him like he was worth more than what he sold.

Your hands went to his hoodie, pulling it up over his head and off, revealing a thin T-shirt underneath. He looked smaller without it, lean and flushed in a way that was almost irritating. You wanted to mark him. You wanted him to feel this later.

You reached down and took his cock into your hand again, and his whole body tensed beneath you, mouth falling open in a soft, choked sound.

“Fuck—”

He was so responsive, so sensitive, it made you ache. You began to slip your bottoms off, and he bit his lip hard like he was trying not to come apart right there.

“Shit, wait—” he said suddenly, breathless. “Condom. I’ve got—hang on—”

You threw your bottoms and his hoodie into the backseat while he fumbled in the glove box with one hand, a red foil packet finally appearing between his fingers like a miracle.

“Prepared, huh?” you teased.

His smile was wobbly, cocky and shy at the same time. “I wasn’t even thinking about that when I left the house. It was just—emergency stash.”

You took the packet from his hand and tore it open, watching the way his eyes followed every movement. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, jaw tight like he was trying to hold himself together with sheer willpower.

He just stared, pupils blown wide, as you slid the condom down over his length with careful fingers.

When you shifted, lining yourself up and sinking down onto him, his whole body went rigid.

“Y/N—” His head fell back against the seat with a dull thud, a strangled sound punching from his chest. “Oh my fucking god.”

You gasped softly as you took him in, the stretch a slow, burning ache that made your thighs tremble. He filled you perfectly, his thick cock pulsing inside you. You don't think you ever felt so full.

You rocked your hips experimentally, and he actually whimpered.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, like he couldn’t even pretend to play it cool anymore. “I’m not—fuck, I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and shaky.

You leaned forward, kissing along his jaw. “Then don’t. It's your payment, baby, enjoy it.”

He groaned, eyes screwing shut again like he couldn’t stand how good it felt. You rolled your hips again, slower this time, watching the way his lips parted, the way his hands flexed against your waist like he didn’t know whether to hold you down or beg you to move faster.

“Look at you,” you whispered. “So fucked out already."

He whimpered again, hips stuttering up into yours involuntarily. “I'm not usually this pathetic, I swear.”

“I don't really care, Lando,” you said, lips brushing his ear. “Kinda turns me on more.”

You clenched your pussy around him, and that was it.

He let out a wrecked, broken moan at your words and snapped his hips up, thrusting into you with a desperation that stole your breath. All of his hesitations vanished — the nerves, the second-guessing, everything replaced by the pure instinct of needing more.

His rhythm was messy, erratic, hips bucking up like he couldn’t control it. You held onto him, bracing your hands on his shoulders, letting him fuck up into you like he was chasing something just out of reach. The steering wheel behind you grazed your back, but the both of you were too preoccupied to care.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, voice raw. You kissed him, swallowing his desperate sounds, and felt his whole body tighten beneath you.

His hands grabbed at your ass, at your waist, like he didn’t know where to hold onto, like he was drowning in you. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” you whispered, grinding down harder. “Want to feel it.”

His whole body tensed, gasping into your mouth as he came with a broken, helpless sound. His hand clutched at your waist, the other splayed across the window, cock throbbing inside you through every wave of it. He moaned your name once, soft and ruined, like a prayer.

You kept moving, riding him through it, letting him feel everything, until he slumped back against the seat, chest heaving, hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls.

You gave one last slow roll of your hips, just to hear him whimper one last time, before you finally braced a hand against the dashboard and leaned backward, plucking the little baggie from where it had been resting on the dashboard.

Lando let out a weak laugh, head tipping back against the seat, eyes half-lidded and glassy. “You do know that was only like twenty-five quid’s worth, right?”

You smiled as you slowly slid off him, wincing slightly at the overstimulation, the mess between your legs warm and sticky. You reached into the backseat for your underwear without breaking eye contact.

“Yeah,” you said, tone light, teasing. “Consider this a generous tip, then.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s crazy.”

You pulled your shirt back down and looked over at him, his flushed chest rising and falling like he was still trying to reboot. His hair was a mess. His hoodie was somewhere in the backseats still, and he was smiling at you now.

“You complaining?” you asked, raising a brow.

He shook his head, breath catching on a soft chuckle. “Not even a little bit."

You tucked the baggie into your coat pocket like a receipt for whatever this transaction was, opening the door and letting the night air roll in.

“Text me next time you’re low,” he called out after you, voice still hoarse.

You turned back with a grin. “Might forget my purse again.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, both hands thunking against the steering wheel in front of him.

“Fuckin’ hope so.”

click here to see my other works! (masterlist)

[dumpywrites]

Forget-me-not - Min Yoongi / Suga

Prompt: “Treat me like yours again for a week before you let me go.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Angst (happy ending), drama, idol Yoongi, engaged au, lots of hurtful pinning

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

Word count: 7.6k

a/n: I've been really down the past couple of days and it turns out it inspire me to finish this story (I've been keeping it on my drafts for months T_T) Also, did you catch that ot7 live??? cus I'm still crying 😭😭😭

“You’re calling it off? Just like that?!”

The taste of the apple that you just bit was suddenly bitter in your mouth. It was a quiet Monday night when you were enjoying your alone time, eating fruits and reading e-books through your tablet. You knew your fiancé was going to come home around this hour. You just did not expect the news he brought along with him. 

It had been a little under a year since both of you decided to live together. You moved soon right after he proposed to you, but his schedule being so full, he was barely even home. 

It was just a blessing and a curse at the same time, him being an idol. While the group activities had slowed down recently, with the other members focusing on solo projects outside of BTS, Yoongi had only gotten busier. Just a few months after your engagement he got to finally establish his own record label. Of course you couldn’t be more happier for him, but higher position also came with higher responsibilities. 

The investor meetings, press conferences, artist assessments, and your man being Suga from BTS himself, still had some idol duties on the sides. 

But you were used to it. You were used to him being booked and busy. You had loved him for the longest time to understand that as much as you hated being far apart from him, you equally loved seeing him in his element, making music, putting smiles on millions of people’s faces. Because Yoongi’s happiness was yours too after all. 

So it was a shocking, humiliating even, for him to just come and said the vile statement he just said to you. He just got back from two weeks of his abroad job, and he chose to bring this news to you as a present. 

“I just think with how things are, I don’t have time for you. This is clearly hurting both of us so it’s better this way.” He said, expression blank and it was hard to read. 

“Yoongi, I’ve dated you for three years before getting engaged to you. I know your schedules and I’m used to it.”

“It’ll be different when we are married.” 

“It won’t.” You argued. 

“It will.” He sighed. “It will only get worse when we get married.”

“You do realize you get breaks and day offs, right? I can wait.” 

“I own a company now.”

You looked at him to see his expression. It was still blank as he stood in front of you. Sometimes you hated how stoic he could be, especially when he wanted to. It was breaking you, but you chose to remain collected. 

“If that’s your priority, then I get it.” 

You stood up from your seat with a big sigh. You saw his pupil moved in a frantic way for a second, before going back to normal. 

“I’ll move, you can have the—“

“One week.” You said, looking at him straight in the eye. 

He looked at you, stopping his sentence. 

“Treat me like yours again for a week before you let me go.” You folded your arms. “After that you can leave and we’ll be on our separate ways.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened, before it quickly closed to a stretched straight line. He looked like he was about to say something but he chose not to. He nodded his head at you, sighing. 

“Okay.” Was all he said to you. 

You took one last look at him before walking away, heading to the bedroom. You wondered if you could catch any sleep that night. 

When moonlight came Yoongi chose to sleep next to you, after all, that was what you had asked him to do. To treat you like his again, even just for the week. You had some hours alone with your mind, you had some thoughts of how you would act when he slip into the covers with you, but when it happened you really didn’t know what to say. For some time he only laid there, unmoved, and you started to wonder if he just fell asleep like that. 

You knew you had told him to do so, but it still didn’t hide the pain you were feeling when he slowly moved closer and hugged you from behind. He knew you were not asleep, of course he did. He always did. He didn’t say anything, just resting his forehead on your head, one hand over your waist to hold you close. You could feel his heartbeat and without knowing, the tears just started flowing on its own. You bit your lips, in hope that he wouldn’t notice, but then his thumb started to draw circles on your forearm. Maybe he noticed, maybe he did not. He chose to not comment about it though, which you were glad. That was why you chose not to say anything either when you felt your shoulder damp, some water droplets fell on your hair and onto your skin. 

DAY 1

The next morning you were awaken by noises coming from the kitchen. You thought he would be up in his studio at this hour, him being a light sleeper and all, but it seemed like he was cooking something at eight in the morning, judging by the delicious smell. You quickly brushed your teeth and head out to check on him. 

“Are you cooking?” You asked, slowly approaching him in the kitchen. 

“Yeah.” He said as he stir the rice on the wok.

You looked at him, giving him a funny look. 

“What?” He raised one of his eyebrows before turning up the stove’s heat, adding some minced meat on what seemed to be fried rice. 

“Nothing, it’s just that you don’t usually cook so early in the morning.” You said, retreating back and took a seat on the dining chair. You sighed, figuring it was just his acts for the week. 

“I haven’t cooked for you in a while.” He said, still string the food. “I also thought you would be up a little later.“

“I smelt the food, plus it was odd to find you in the kitchen at this hour instead of in your studio.” 

“You could, you know… sleep some more. If you want to.” He said with his back facing you as he cooked. 

“I’d rather watch you cook.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see. 

Soon he came to the dining table with two plates in his hands, one that he placed in front of you, and one for himself. The smell of the food filled the room and you started to salivate. It was just a simple dish but knowing who cooked for you made it different. Yoongi went back to grab two glasses of water for both of you, before finally sitting down across of you. 

You were a tad bit anxious seeing the piercing look on his eyes, waiting for you to take a bite. And when you did, he immediately wanted a feedback. 

“So?”

“I like it. Has the right amount of spiciness.” You said with food still in your mouth. “You should cook this more often.” 

Your expression dropped when you realized that your request was soon about to be impossible, given the situation. Quickly, you looked down, choosing to focus on eating instead. 

“Glad you like it.”

You ate in silence after that, the kind of quiet that wasn’t as sharp as before. There was still pain between you, but it had been placed in the corner for now, like a box no one wanted to open just yet.

When he stood to rinse his plate, you said without looking up, “Do you remember the first time we made breakfast together?”

He paused at the sink. “You tried to make pancakes but used salt instead of sugar.”

“And you still ate them like an idiot.”

“I was trying to impress you.”

“By eating salted cement?” You asked with an amused smile. 

He grinned too. For a moment, the version of Yoongi you missed most stood there in front of you. Not the artist with the world on his shoulders. Just a man who once came to your apartment with multiple packets of different sizes of pads because he got too shy to ask which would be the appropriate one.

You watched him dry his hands, eyes focused on the towel. Something in his jaw tightened.

“Right.” You bit your inner cheek, trying to compose yourself. “How’s Namjoon by the way? I miss his little kid.” You started another topic, to drift away. 

“His son is doing fine and so is he.” He said and started eating as well. “I think his wife is expecting another…” 

“Really?! Wow, look at him… And to think he told us he didn’t want any children before…” You chuckled. “That guy is whipped. I’m happy for him.”

Yoongi looked at you and smiled. “Yeah.”

You and Yoongi had never mentioned anything about wanting kids in your life. The topic just somehow never came up. You used to want children in your family, but lately with how things with your work and Yoongi’s schedules, you figured it would be too much. Plus, you always had fear of change, and the idea of pregnancy scared you just a bit. But you had never heard anything from Yoongi if he wanted any or not. It would be too late to ask anyway. 

“Have you ever thought of having kids?”

You almost choked on clear water. “I’m sorry?”

“We never really talked about it before…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Do you?” You shot the question back at him.

“I never really thought about it but, I’ve always thought that I want whatever you want.”

Clearly not. You thought to yourself. “I… I used to want it. But seeing how busy both of us can be sometimes, I don’t think it’s possible. There’s enough people in this world anyway, we don’t need any mini me around.” You giggled. 

“A mini you sounds adorable.” His smile quickly faded when he seemed to realize his words. 

“I don’t think so. Kinda not possible with how we are now after all…” You gave a sad smile. 

“I—”

“No, let’s not talk about it.” You heaved a sigh and gave him another smile, even though you started to feel your eyes getting teary. 

The rest of the day was spent with the two of you just watching your old favorite movies together. You didn’t cuddle, but both of you rested your heads on each other and it was enough comfort for you. 

DAY 2

This time when you woke up, Yoongi was still asleep. Movie marathoning was fun until it was four in the morning and both of you overslept on the couch. You found Yoongi sleeping, head resting on your lap, and the urge to run your finger through his hair was high, but you didn’t want to risk waking him up in the process. He looked so calm, and you missed just seeing him like this. He always looked like a cat, especially when he was asleep. He would even sometimes let out noises that sounded like a purr. 

You let yourself sleep more, maybe another ten minutes. 

The sound of the phone ringing could be heard from the table, Yoongi’s ringing and vibrating on it. He took the call and sounded like he was never asleep. Sometimes you wonder how he could behave so inhumane like that. 

He looked up when he noticed you staring. “What is it?”

You hesitated. “Let’s go out after your call.”

“Out? Don’t you have meeting today?”

“I’ve taken the week off.” You simply said.

Yoongi hesitated for a moment, before speaking. “Where to?”

“The bookstore cafe. The one near the station. Remember? That place… we haven’t been there in a while.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “We used to go all the time.”

He didn’t answer right away, and you wondered if he’d say no. Maybe the week you asked for was already too heavy for him. But he just nodded. 

“Yeah. Okay. After the call.”

The cafe was exactly the same. It smelled like spiced tea and old pages, the lighting was still dim in that warm, cozy way, and the bookstore shelves remained haphazard and charmingly messy. There was a new girl behind the counter, but the man who used to run the place, Mr. Han, was still stood in his usual spot by the register, glasses perched halfway down his nose.

“Well, well! Look who crawled back from the dead…” Mr. Han said with a teasing smile.

You laughed. “Don’t say that, you’ll scare the tourists.”

Yoongi offered a polite smile, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. “Sorry we disappeared.”

“You two were the royalty of table six.” Mr. Han said, nodding toward the back. “You left a hole when you stopped coming.”

That made Yoongi pause. You tugged him by the sleeve toward your old booth before he could slip into guilt.

The booth was still tucked into the corner, the cushions worn and soft from years of use. It had seen a lot. Your first real conversation after weeks of quiet flirting, being in all masks and hoodies, your first fight over miscommunication and missed texts, Yoongi’s confession on an evening when he looked terrified and brave all at once, to when you could finally date in normal attire after deciding to publicize your relationship. 

You slid into the seat and glanced across at him. “Do you remember that night you asked me if I’d be your emergency contact?”

He snorted. “I remember the shock in your face.”

“You asked me if I want to be the first one to get called if you die… with the straightest face.” You argued. 

“You still said yes.”

You shrugged, smiling as you looked to the ceiling. “I was so in love with you.”

He flinched. It wasn’t visible, not really. But you knew Yoongi too well. You knew how his eyes darted slightly when something hit too close, how his fingers tightened a fraction against the cup of coffee he had in his grasp. You didn’t push. 

You looked out the window and said, “We had some good memories here.”

“Yeah.” Was all he replied back. 

You spent two hours there, talking mostly about books you never had time to read and music he’d been working on. You showed him a ridiculous meme on your phone, and he actually laughed. He laughed like he used to. The wall between you cracked just slightly.

When it was time to go, you thanked Mr. Han and waved goodbye. Outside, the wind bit at your cheeks, and you tucked your hands into your coat pockets. Yoongi hesitated beside you.

“You looked really happy in there.” He said, his voice soft.

“Because I was.”

He glanced over. “It’s been a while since I saw you like that.”

You met his eyes. “That’s what happens when you disappear into work.”

He didn’t defend himself and just nodded quietly. But he didn’t walk away either. He walked with you to the car, his shoulder brushing yours the entire way.

At night before you head to bed, he pulled you gently and placed the lightest kiss on your temple. It could be just you but you saw a glimmer of hope in him. Or it could be the agreement playing the part. 

DAY 3

You were awoken by Yoongi’s eyes staring at you. He greeted you with a warm smile, uttering a good morning to you. You smiled back, scooting closer in his embrace, salivating the moment. 

This was how a normal morning goes for you, at least when he was home. Sure you would always miss him when he went away for his concerts, tour, or any other job that required him to be not home, but every time he came back, the feelings would always just reset. It was so easy, so effortless, to forget when you see his face and feeling him close to you again. He made it easy. 

“Any plans today?” He asked, resting his chin on top of your head, embracing you still. 

“This,” You smiled with your eyes closed. “This is the plan.” 

“As much as I’d love that, we gotta eat something.” He chuckled. 

“Nope.” You giggled. 

You ended up snuggling and sleeping in for the next two hours and a half, until you heard your own stomach rumbled. 

The day was supposed to be a slow day with little to no work to do. Yoongi had some songs that needed quick revision, but nothing he couldn’t do at the comfort of his home studio. 

You decided to bring him some coffee to his studio. There he was leaning back on his chair with his headphones on, bopping his head a few times to the beat that was unheard. 

“Yoongi?” You called upon entering the room. He didn’t seem to notice you until you placed the cup of coffee on his table. 

“Oh, thanks.” He said after removing his left earpiece and took a sip of the beverage. “Just a few tuning and I’ll be done.” 

“Take your time.” You said, taking a chair next to him. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“Never.” He said without meeting your gaze as his eyes went back to the monitor screen. 

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit tensed and leaned against the seat.

“Do you wanna listen?” 

“Oh?” You were taken aback. “It’s done already?”

“It’s just the instrumental. Jungkook will sing the song.” He said after clicking some buttons. 

“What’s the title?” You rested your hand on top of the table. 

“Haven’t really decided on it but…” He stopped and removed his earphones entirely. “Here, let me show you the lyrics.” He handed you his notebook. 

You skimmed through the lyrics and wondered to yourself. Since when did Yoongi learn to write corny and cheesy love song? And the more you read through it, the description, the tiny mentioned details, it sounded like he was so smitten that he had to pour his entire feelings out on this song. Mind you this was the same guy who wrote and performed Daechwita. 

“You’re telling me you wrote this?!” You said while still re-reading the lyrics. 

“What’s with the judgmental look?” He looked at you in disbelief. 

“It’s just— Yah, have you ever even fell in love like this?! This doesn’t sound like you.” You frowned.

“I wrote this years ago.” He smiled, taking another sip of the coffee you made him. “This was way before we were even a thing.” 

Your expression turned sour. “So it’s about an ex?”

“Silly, it’s about you.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “It’s about me?!”

He puffed a breath and smiled, showing his gummy grin. “It clearly said, you looked through me beyond the glamour.” He pointed at the notebook that was still in your hands. “You were quite literally our makeup artist’s assistant for two years.”

It was true. You used to work under Big Hit for a while until you decided to resign. You and your friends took a huge risk and decided to start your own private brand, and so you needed to step back from the company. 

The job was how you met Yoongi and the rest of the boys. Somehow you would often get assigned to do his makeup. Yoongi was rather quiet the first few gigs, but judging by the cold exterior you thought he’d be rude, but he ended up being the sweetest man you had ever known. Second to Jimin of course because that man’s an angel. 

It was that one time you accidentally dropped a bottle of foundation on the floor. You just started the job, barely four weeks into it, and you already did something so fatal. You arrived early and there wasn’t anyone in the room, but the sound of the breaking glass was loud enough. The door soon opened and you were expecting it to be the head makeup artist, but much to your surprise, it was Yoongi who peeked through the door, asking about your well being. 

You were lost for words as your vision only went back and forth from your hands to the shattered glasses and the complexion colored mess on the floor. Seeing your shocked state, Yoongi calmly called the cleaners and told you to take a seat. There were multiple apologies and thank yous came out from your mouth before he just took out his phone from his pocket. He tapped on the screen and browsed through his apps before handing the phone to you, shocking you even more. 

“Here, just order the same one, the instant delivery is quite fast.” 

You were begging to pay him back, but Yoongi was a man of his words, so he kept resisting. One day you just showed up at the set and got him iced americano to show your gratitude, even though you knew the price tag wasn’t equal. And the rest was history. 

“Didn’t know you were into me like that.” Even though you were rolling your eyes, your cheeks couldn’t hide the pinkish glow. 

“I thought I told you that I basically had a huge crush on you when we first met.” He snickered. 

“You did, I just didn’t expect the romantic song…” You tried to avoid his gaze. 

“Come on, you genuinely think I would just buy you a bottle of overpriced makeup if I don’t have any ulterior motive?! Money was tight at that time, you know!” He laughed. 

You couldn’t help but to laugh as well. “To think that I fell for the sweet guy who helped me. Turns out he had malicious intent.”

“In my defense I would still help you nonetheless. I’d probably cover for you and makeup some bullshit. But the whole buying a new bottle was a smart way to get our connection going.” He proudly smirked. 

“We were so dumb back then, huh?” 

“I guess so.” He shook his head and smiled. 

“But I don’t regret a thing.” 

You said without thinking. You watched as the sparkle on Yoongi’s eyes went off and he quickly turned back to his computer screen. 

You spent that night looking at his back facing you, wondering if he ever regretted meeting you. 

DAY 4

You woke up with your bed empty. It wasn’t something that was new to you, in fact, you knew exactly where he was. 

This time when you found him in his studio, a low tune was playing. He turned his chair to your direction instantly upon hearing the door creaking open. 

You peeked with a tea in hand. “Were you up all night?”

“Only been here since five.” 

You carefully took a seat next to him, studying his facial features. He seemed distressed, you could clearly see the creases forming on his forehead. 

“What’s bothering you?” You asked. 

“You said we’d treat each other like before, right?”

Your eyes widened, but you remained calm. “Yeah?”

“Then let’s play music and just sit with me.”

At first you didn’t think too much about the song choices he made. Sure you had listened to them but so what, you were aware that both of you had similar taste in music. But by the time the third song played, your heart clenched. It was your playlist. The one he’d made for your third anniversary. 

When “free love” by HONNE started playing, you knew it was over for you. You could recall exactly when the song started playing, and Yoongi had a bouquet of peonies in his hands, walking sheepishly to you in your old apartment. He had never gotten you any flowers before. You just couldn’t see the appeal in buying impractical things when there were many more ways to show love. Everyone who had ever dated you were made aware of that. But one day you randomly mentioned that you sometimes wondered how would it feel to receive flowers romantically. Hence, why he did it. 

You remembered how it was awkward at first, both of you bursted into laughter for a good minute, before you took the flowers from his hands, and took his lips in yours. 

You turned to look at him, surprised. “Is this our…”

His eyes stayed on the screen. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you still had it.”

“I never deleted it.” He leaned back on his seat. “It’s a nice playlist to come back to when I’m stressed.”

You didn’t know what to say to that so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stood up and moved to the center of the studio room. Yoongi watched you with confusion in his eyes. 

Then you held your hand out. “Dance with me.”

“Are you serious?!” 

“Very.”

He raised an eyebrow. A small smirk appeared on his lips. “You know you suck at dancing.”

“You see women who dance well all the time, I’m seasoned differently.” You giggled. 

That made him laugh. A real one. The kind that showed his gums a little, made his eyes crease at the corners. You hadn’t seen that laugh in months. 

He did take your hand.

You danced barefoot in the studio, swaying slowly across the carpet as if time hadn’t moved at all. Your fingers curled in his shirt. His hand rested on your lower back, warm and familiar. It wasn’t romantic, not fully. But it was close. Too close.

I can't get you all that stuff

But I can give you all my love

Free love

Are the simple things enough?

I got to give you all my love

Free love

When the song ended, neither of you let go right away. And when you looked up at him, he was already looking down at you.

“Do you ever miss us?” You asked without giving further thought.

His breath caught. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. Like the words were right there, sitting behind his teeth, waiting to be let go.

“Let’s not talk about missing things today.” 

You nodded slowly, expression turning cold. “Okay.”

You stepped back, but your fingers lingered on his. He let them go last.

Soon he went back to his chair, eyes glued back to the multiple screens in front of him. You sat there in silence, not wanting to bother him but reluctant to leave. Your tea halfway empty, now cold, sitting on the desk. 

There was an opened notebook on the far left corner of his table. With some torn pages stuck in the middle, some looked crumpled and had torn edges. Some crossed-out lines, lyrics with arrows leading to new ones, some even scratched out entirely.

Your eyes fell on a section dated not many weeks ago. 

Daydreams don’t have deadlines. But love does, doesn’t it? How long can she wait before she stops?

Your whole body froze after you read the words. 

“I wasn’t going to use those lyrics.” He suddenly said, noticing where your attention was. 

“Is this about… us?” You asked with a cracked voice. 

Yoongi heaved a big sigh. “I didn’t know how to let you see me break.” 

“You thought I can’t handle it?” You asked, feeling offended. 

“I couldn’t handle you seeing it.” 

“That’s selfish.”

“I know.” 

A beat passed.

“Did you write that song for me? Or for you?”

“Both.” He simply said. 

Out of the blue, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You got a text from Namjoon’s wife, Jieun, asking if you were free for the day.

Retreating from your seat, you told Yoongi about it and left him be in his studio. After giving her a call you found out that she wanted you to join her picking some baby clothes with her. Said because this time she was having a girl, maybe she needed help from you, with your background in stylist and all. Most importantly, she just wanted to catch up with you. 

“Do you think we got too much pink items for her?” Jieun said as she picked another pink baby dress. 

“There’s no such thing as too much pink.” You said, humoring the lady.

“It’s a bit stereotype-y though…” The mother frowned. 

“We could get some purple stuff too, her daddy is a Bangtan member after all…” You giggled. 

“With that logic, if you and Yoongi ever decide to have one, you should buy purple clothes for them as well.” She laughed. 

Your expression dropped gradually as you heard her words. You laughed away in hope she wouldn’t notice, but it seemed that it was already too late. 

“I’m sorry, was that a sensitive topic?” She asked with a worried look. 

“No, don’t worry.” You smiled, assuring her. 

“Your expression dropped when I mentioned that.” She walked closer to you. “Is everything alright? You could always tell me.”

You shook your head, sighing. “Things aren’t doing well between me and Yoongi…” You said as you took a seat on a random bench at the mall. 

Jieun gasped, immediately taking the seat next to you. “What happened?” 

“He wants to call off our engagement. It was just so… sudden??? He literally just came back from being away for weeks, and he came back just to tell me that?” The tone of your voice hitched. “Even told me that he’s gonna move out from our house… I… I don’t understand…” You looked down, tears started to form in your eyes. 

Jieun rubbed your shoulder, feeling herself getting teary as well. She hugged you. “Have you guys talk through it?”

“We have, and his only reason was because he thinks he’s too busy and it’s just gonna hurt both of us in the long run.” You sighed. “I told him that I’m already used to him being busy. I think I’ve told you before that even though I miss him, it’s always worth it the second I get to see his face again.” You bit your lips, trying to muffle a cry. “All he said was that he got a company now, which I can’t argue. So, I ended up agreeing…”

“Goodness… So that’s it? He’s just gonna leave???”

“I told him I want him to treat me normally and toss our problems aside for a week before leaving me.” You shrugged, mustering a grin even though you had tears rolling down your cheeks. “It’s what I came up impulsively…”

“I can’t believe Yoongi just decided it like that. I thought he was a rational person… You guys have been together for years, for heavens sake!” She said with anger. “When is he leaving?”

“I don’t know exactly, we haven’t really talked about it but our agreement’s supposed to end in three days…” 

“You should definitely try to talk to him about this again. It doesn’t sound like him to just decide things recklessly like that.” 

“I don’t know… he seems pretty content with his choice and I don’t think I can change his mind.” 

“You have to at least try, but if he still won’t budge, screw him. He doesn’t deserve you then.” She then gave you a hug again, caressing your back.

You let a few more tears flee as you hugged her back. 

On your way home you got a call from Yoongi, telling you there was an urgent meeting he had to attend. 

You spent the night alone again. 

DAY 5

By the time you woke up Yoongi was already up eating a toast with a coffee on his hand. You didn’t know when he got back or if he even slept in the night before, but you weren’t opposed to see him nonetheless. 

He fixed you a tea, added the right amount of honey, and asked if you wanted the same toast like he had. 

He seemed… calm. 

“What do you have on your schedule today?” You asked.

He glanced at his phone, then shrugged. “Nothing urgent. I’ve moved some things.”

That surprised you. He never moved things. Not for anyone. Not unless it was extremely crucial. 

You stared. “Why?”

“You asked me for the week.” Yoongi looked up, brow furrowed. “What do you want to do today?”

You swallowed a big lump. “I want to spend today with you.” 

You ended up in the park. It was the one near your old apartment before you moved into the bigger penthouse. Before tour dates. Before investors and board meetings and five day vanishing acts. Just the park with the willow tree you liked to sit under. The one where you had your first big fight but shared a kiss right after.

You brought boba tea. He brought a notebook. You sat beneath the willow and slurped the drink in silence, watching as Yoongi occasionally scribbled something down in that same black notebook from the studio.

“I thought you said you’ve moved things, but you’re writing lyrics?” You asked as you leaned closer to sneak a peek. 

“It’s nothing, I’m just scared that I’ll forget this…” He said, turning another page. “And I don’t want to.”

The wind rustled the tree above you, and you watched the way sunlight flickered between the leaves, golden and soft. Your heartbeat raced. 

“Well, I wouldn’t.” You said with a smile. The wind blew to your hair and you closed your eyes, feeling the breeze. 

“How do you know?”

“I don’t forget things that mattered.” 

And once again, Yoongi quietly nodded without a word. But he did put down the pen and stopped writing. 

You followed your heart and rested your head against his side, hugging his arm as you did. He still turned tense every single time you did something touchy in public. You knew it came with the job. He probably had it embedded in his mind that he had to do the least physical contact with the opposite gender, knowing eyes and cameras were everywhere. Even after you went public, it took him months to get comfortable going out without the coverups. 

You figured the habit would had stopped by now, but apparently not. 

“I’m sorry.” He suddenly voiced out. 

“If you’re sorry then don’t give up on us.” 

“I don’t want to continue hurting you.” 

“Yet you’re doing it right now.” 

He didn’t answer.

But you didn’t move away when his fingers slipped in between yours.

That night, you lay in bed beside him. You didn’t talk. You just curled toward each other, the space between you finally gone. And when Yoongi reached for you in the dark, tentative, slow, afraid. You let him. You let him hold you the way he used to.

Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you felt like he truly meant it. 

DAY 6

You woke up to the sound of rain.

It wasn’t the light, soothing kind. It was heavy pounding against the windows, tapping hard against the glass like the sky had something urgent to say. You rolled over instinctively and found Yoongi still asleep beside you, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. He was still holding you. He looked peaceful. 

For a long time, you didn’t move. You just watched him breathe, watched the way his lashes flickered slightly like he was dreaming. His features, usually so sharp with exhaustion, looked softer in the morning light. Younger. Like the version of him from the early days, before the CEO titles, before the international press, before he started measuring time in missed calls and delays.

He stirred, opened his mouth without opening his eyes. “You’re awake.”

“You’re sleeping in.” You commented. 

“It’s raining.” 

You stayed in bed most of the morning. No alarms. No calls. No meetings. It was the first time in… God, months that there wasn’t something else tearing him away. And maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the way his hand found yours under the blankets, but something about it felt different. Softer. Realer.

Eventually, you wandered into the kitchen together, sleep heavy and still in your pajamas.

Yoongi made pancakes. He burned the first batch and cursed under his breath, and you laughed so hard you had to sit down. He pretended to pout, but there was color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there in weeks.

Yoongi turned off the stove and came to sit across from you at the small dining table. He carefully placed the two plates on the table, with as he bit his inner cheeks, admiring his artwork. You ate in comfortable silence. 

You were washing the dishes when he suddenly asked from where he was seating. 

“Do you still believe in us?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were done with the dishes but you still had your back facing him, as you busied yourself wiping the plates just to avoid looking at his face. 

Part of you did. Part of you still saw the man who made you laugh with flour on his nose, who kissed your forehead when you couldn’t sleep, who wrote a love song in a spiral notebook just to keep from forgetting.

But there was another part. Smaller, quieter, but louder in recent months, that had grown weak and tired. Tired of holding everything up alone. Tired of waiting for your fiancé to look up and see you again.

So you told him the truth.

“I want to.” You sighed. “But I don’t want to keep holding onto something that you can easily decide to let go.” 

“Don’t say easy.” He quickly defended. “It was never an easy decision.” 

You finally turned and met his eyes. They looked slightly red and both of his hands were balled into fists. 

“I was tired.” He said softly. “I can bear the work but I can’t stand listening to you on the phone being all happy but then catching you cry yourself to sleep.” He looked down, feeling ashamed. “And I know you keep saying that you don’t mind, but I do… I mind it. I don’t want you suffering like that.”

“Honest to God, I don’t care how many times I have to cry.” You snapped. “I cry because I’m a human being with emotions. But it pays off. It always pays off seeing you come home to me. Because I love you, damnit. I fucking love you and I hate you for giving up.” Your voice shook, a single tear fell down from your right eye. 

Yoongi’s face crumpled like he had been slapped.

“I can’t give you a normal life…” His voice sounded so helpless and it broke you. “And I can’t just leave the responsibilities of the dream I’ve built in years.”

“I understand.”

Of course you did. You could never make him choose. You wouldn’t even dare. That wasn’t even logical. 

“I have my closure.” You said as you harshly wiped your tears. Forcing a smile, you took a deep breath. “We still have today and I don’t wanna waste it.”

The rain continued into the afternoon, thick and steady. You stayed indoors, the two of you moving through the house like a memory you both wanted to relive. Watching old dramas with your legs tangled on the couch. Sharing a blanket and a single bowl of popcorn. Pausing the show to argue about plot twists like you used to. You played the old board game that had been sitting on the rack for so long that it sprayed comically thick dust when you grabbed it. 

He kept reaching for you. Little things. A hand on your knee. His pinky curled around yours. Resting his chin on your shoulder when you went to get more snacks. 

And you let him. Because unlike what you said to him, you too were afraid of forgetting this. 

You ordered pizza and had Korean bbq for dinner. It seemed improper, impersonal. But both of you loved just sitting down and indulge in random what ifs, while sticking some beef and alcohol down your throats. 

You missed seeing his gummy smile. You missed him being a smartass and hearing his random philosophical thought about the whole society. You missed… him. 

If you knew it was going to be like this, maybe you shouldn’t had asked for the week. It would had been gentler for your heart. 

And when he climbed in beside you that night, he finally reached in and kissed you. You kissed him back. His fingers moved slowly across your body, like he was afraid you’d break just by a mere touch. His lips moved from your mouth, your cheek, down to your neck. By the time he reached your chest, your tears had fallen freely. 

It didn’t take him long to substitute the small hiccups to loud moanings of his name. 

DAY 7

The sound of items being stuffed and moved woke you up. Zipper dragged loudly, your mind immediately picked up on the situation. 

He was packing. 

It was the final day. Of course you didn’t expect him to stay much longer but it still felt so surreal seeing him packing his clothes and knowing the real intention behind it. 

You got up with your body still bare nude, you pulled the bedcover slightly over your chest. Your eyes met for a second, but he still kept going. You wanted to ask. Hell, you wanted to scream, cry, beg him to stay, but nothing came out from your mouth. 

“I ordered lunch.” He said, still busy with the packing. 

You didn’t realize that it was already noon. You quietly nodded and went to quickly shower yourself. You convinced yourself that you had accepted it all during the shower thinking session. 

You were about to get up and wash the dishes when he suddenly asked you. 

“Dance with me?”

You looked at him like he had gone insane. “There’s no beat.”

“I don’t care.” 

So you stood and you danced. No rhythm. No real steps. Just swaying and vulnerable, his forehead pressed to yours. And even now, no tears. Maybe it had all been dried up at this point. Maybe you really had finally came to terms with everything. 

“Do you remember when we danced like this in my old apartment?”

“In your old kitchen. I tripped on the rug and took you down with me.”

He chuckled lightly. “You kissed me afterwards.” 

“You looked beautiful in that moment. Like someone real.” You confessed. 

“I think I forgot how to be real for a while.”

You looked up and were surprised to meet his glassy eyes. 

And here when you thought you had accepted everything, he cupped your cheeks and your walls broke down again. 

“Give me a chance.”

“Wha— Yoongi, I thought you were leaving today.”

You panicked, cupping back his face so now both of you just grabbing each other faces like a couple of idiots. 

“Give me a chance,” He repeated. “But not out of obligation. Not because of what we had. Because I know we still can be.” 

Your heart thumped painfully. 

“I’ll find someone to train and take over my day to day. It’ll be a long process but if you’re willing to wait, I will have time for you…” A single tear quickly fell down and a desperate smile appeared on his lips. “I can’t promise you anything really, I hate myself for that. And I hate myself even more because I know you deserve better. Even though I know you deserve someone who would never make you feel neglected… I still can't think I can live without you.”

His voice finally broke as he sobbed. It was the very first time in years and years of knowing him. Sure you had seen him cry once or twice, whether from a good movie, to actual sadness. But never like this. 

Funnily enough, still, both of you were holding each other faces. You started breaking into tears too, finally after being in state of shock. 

“You don’t get to say all these things now and expect me to forget what it felt like when you asked to give up on us last week as if I meant nothing to you.” 

“I don’t expect that,” He said. “I just want a chance to earn your trust again, and a chance to be strong for myself.” 

“If I say yes,” You shuddered. “I don’t want it to be a restart. I want a repair. You have to rebuild from the cracks, not erase them.”

“I know.” He nodded, sniffing. 

“I need time.”

“You have the rest of my life.”

Your breath hitched. “I need you to stop thinking I’m weak because I can take it.” Finally, a smile appeared on your lips despite the tears raining down. “Because I can’t imagine living without you too.”

Yoongi exhaled, shoulders sagging with relief. But he didn’t reach for you right away. His hands were shaking, you felt it against your skin. He finally dropped his hands from your face. He waited.

You didn’t though. Instead leaned forward and pulled him in. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. He held you back like someone who knew exactly what he had almost lost. He then kissed you like you were oxygen he desperately needed to survive. 

There was so much to learn, so much to fix. But you were sure you could face anything as long as you got him by your side.

Thank you for reading! 💍

[ramp-it-up]

I'm On Fire

Summary: He tried to keep his distance. You tried to keep your composure. Neither of you succeeded. And now the line between duty and wanting you is burning away.

Word count: 4.7 K

Pairing: Firefighter! Bucky Barnes x Principal! Reader; The crew x Reader (mostly platonic, except Ari)

A/N: So this new AU. It's the death of me. And @nissaimmortal asked when part one was published just a few days ago so, because I'm obsessed and I have so much to say about them, here is part two. I'm all in with stubborn, angsty, grumpy, burning-for-you firefighter Bucky Barnes. 🫠 This was inspired by an abandoned AU from last year and then this ask from a few weeks ago. I can't get him out of my mind. Bucky is a firefighter and a burn survivor. Tell me how you feel by reblogging, commenting, sending asks, dm'ing and the like. Interaction is life.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. This fic/au deals with fires, burns, burn survivors and recovery. There are graphic descriptions of burns and pain. Bucky and Reader are burn survivors. Grumpy Bucky, burn injury and rehab recovery, reader has to rely on other people, a lil bit of language, mutual pining, idiots in love, Steve, Ari, and Syverson are also firefighters (warning, esp. Ari!) erotic dream, protective Bucky, jealous Bucky, hurt/comfort, dom Bucky if you squint, erotic dreams and fantasies (I feel like suspenders are gonna be a thing), implied masturbation. ALL THE ANGST!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

You were propped on the couch, leg elevated, trying to read through an email you’d already started four times. 

Your concentration was shot.

The burn on your leg throbbed, the skin pulling tight whenever you shifted. You were looking forward to PT, and thinking, more than you wanted to admit, about the handsome firefighter who’d carried you out of the flames.

It would be hard to forget Fire Lieutenant James Barnes.

And you'd tried over the past three days.

He was kind to visit you in the hospital and help you get settled at Amyra’s. The memory of his rough, but gentle hands changing your bandages, and the way he looked at you like you were worth saving, was etched into your mind.

Thankfully, now you had time to forget him.

Amyra stood in the kitchen with her phone pressed to her ear, voice low.

“No, I’m serious,” she was saying. “She knows she can’t drive. She’s being stubborn.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your lips together, wondering who she was talking to.

Don’t eavesdrop, you told yourself. You’d already asked enough of everyone.

But you didn’t have to try hard to hear when she switched it to speaker.

“…I can take her,” Bucky’s voice came out, rough and unmistakable.

“Every day?” Amyra asked. “You’ve got to work, too.”

“I’m off rotation for the next week. After that, the guys will take shifts.”

“Which guys?”

You turned your head just in time to hear another voice in the background, warm and amused.

“Yeah, Amyra, we’ll take turns,” Steve said. “I can take the week after Buck, Levinson can do some days along with Sy. We got you.”

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, mortified.

Amyra ignored you.

“She’s going to hate this.”

“She doesn’t get a say,” Bucky replied, no hesitation at all.

You scoffed and Amyra smiled faintly. 

“You’re on speaker. She can hear you.”

There was silence. Then Bucky’s voice again.

“You’re not driving,” he said. “End of discussion.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, hating how petty you sounded.

“No, you’re not,” he said calmly. “Call it community service.”

Your stomach dipped. Amyra raised her brows at you, like she could read your every thought.

Another voice chimed in, Levinson this time, all lazy drawl, “I’ll bring coffee, Sweetheart.”

Syverson laughed in the background, “And I’ll bring flowers. Make it a real date.”

“Oh my god!,” you hissed, scrubbing a hand over your face.

Amyra bit back a smile as Bucky growled out, “Ignore them.”

“Barnes,” you ground out, “you don’t have to…”

“I know,” Bucky interrupted, voice softer now. “I’m doing it anyway.”

You swallowed hard.

“Tomorrow,” he said, all finality. “Nine sharp.”

The call ended, leaving the room too quiet. Amyra slipped her phone into her pocket.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You didn’t say anything. Just pressed your lips together and looked at the wall. Amyra caught the look on your face and sighed. 

“You don’t have to like it,” she said gently. “You just have to let people help you.”

You couldn’t answer, so you just nodded, a lump in your throat.

—---

You were waiting on the porch when his truck pulled up, because you couldn’t stand the thought of him ringing the bell and Amyra answering with that knowing smile.

He stepped out, and for a second, neither of you spoke. He looked unfairly good in a black t-shirt and jeans, hair still damp from a shower.

His gaze swept over you, from your braced leg to the bag slung over your shoulder, like he was trying to gauge exactly how much you were holding back.

“You need help?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you said, a little too fast.

His eyes flicked down your body, over your leg, back up to your face. It affected you.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I can see that.”

You made it down the steps without stumbling. But when you stopped at his passenger side, you hesitated. The truck sat too high, the step too awkward to get to with your leg. You braced your hand on the door frame, willing yourself to ignore the tightness in your leg.

Then you felt it, his palm, warm and wide, settling on your waist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle. “Let me.”

“I can…”

“You can let me,” he cut in, and there was something in the way he said it that made your heart stutter.

Before you could protest, he bent and lifted you, one arm under your knees, the other bracing your back. 

You couldn’t help it, your hands flew to his shoulders, clutching the thick stretch of muscle there. He smelled like clean soap and faint smoke, and it made something behind your ribs ache.

He set you carefully on the seat, one big hand lingering on your knee longer than it needed to. When he stepped back, he didn’t look away.

“You good?” he asked, voice lower.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He nodded once and closed the door.

—----

The cab was too quiet.

You stared out the window, pretending to be fascinated by the city streets you’d driven a hundred times.

Halfway there, you finally spoke.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice small.

He didn’t look over.

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

He blew out a slow breath.

“Because you almost died,” he said, his voice rough.

“And you think you have to do everything by yourself.”

You looked back at the window because you couldn’t look at him and still pretend you were okay.

“That doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

“It’s not about owing.”

“Then what is it about?”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his grip.

“Call it paying it forward,” he said after a moment.

Your chest went tight.

Community service.

Paying it forward.

You were a charity case to him. A lump formed in your throat and you turned back to the window so he couldn’t see your face.

You rode the rest of the way in silence.

———

He helped you down again, and when you tried to protest, “I can walk, Lieutenant,” he ignored it, bracing his hand on your elbow and keeping it there until you were steady.

Your therapist was kind but unrelenting. By the end, your muscles were shaking, and you were blinking back frustrated tears.

When you were wheeled back out, Bucky was leaning against the reception counter, arms folded, watching the door. His gaze softened when he saw you.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re always fine,” he murmured, but he didn’t push it.

This time you ignored his remark, but when he helped you up, you didn’t pretend you didn’t need it.

—-

The silence was different now, heavier. Not angry. Just full of everything neither of you would say.

When he pulled into Amyra’s driveway, Bucky cut the engine but didn’t move to open the door. He sat there for a second, hands on the wheel.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said finally, voice quiet and rough.

“Even if you want to be.”

You closed your eyes.

“I know.”

When you opened them again, he was already out of the truck, reaching for your door. He opened it, and you started to move, attempting to swing your leg down.

He caught your wrist.

“Don’t,” he murmured.

You looked up at him, ready to argue. But something in his face, something resolute and almost raw, stopped you.

And this time, you didn’t fight it.

When he lifted you, your hands came up instinctively, gripping the collar of his t-shirt and your head went against his chest, familiar now. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek. 

And you could also feel the way his breath went unsteady.

Neither of you said a word as he carried you up the walk easily, like it was second nature holding you this way.

When he set you down just inside the door, you didn’t step back right away; your hands were still curled in his shirt and his palms were still braced around your waist.

For a second, you just stood there, breathing the same air. Then you looked away and took a shaky step back.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He swallowed, his voice thick.

“Anytime.”

—-------

You were resettled on the couch, leg propped up, your laptop balanced across your thighs. You’d been typing for an hour, trying to pretend your whole body didn’t feel like a live wire.

You were trying to focus on anything to keep from thinking about the way he’d carried you.

And the way it had felt to let him.

You didn’t hear the door open, and you didn’t realize he was there until his shadow fell across the screen.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Bucky said, scowling as he set the takeout and prescriptions on the coffee table.

Your head snapped up, startled.

“I am.” You gestured at the couch. “Look. Reclining. Very restful.”

His eyes dropped from your face to the laptop.

“Close it.”

“No.”

He stepped closer, and you felt it, how much heat he radiated, how your breath caught even before he spoke again.

“You need to heal,” he said, softer now, like he was trying to be careful.

“I need to work,” you snapped, your voice cracking with exhaustion you couldn’t hide. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His jaw flexed.

“I’m not telling you because I want to control you,” he said, voice dropping lower, rougher. “I’m telling you because I…”

He stopped, like he’d surprised himself.

“…because working is not resting.”

You stared at him, holding your breath.

He took another step, close enough that you felt dizzy with it.

“And I’m not going to stand here and watch you compromise your recovery."

Then he reached out and closed the laptop. His hand was so big it covered most of it. You watched his thick fingers press it closed, and watched every option you had for pretending you weren’t thinking about him disappear.

You should have been angry.

But you were just…wrecked.

Your pulse thumped everywhere at once. You sucked in a shaky breath because he was still right there, close enough that if you leaned forward, your mouth would brush his shirt.

“I’m not your responsibility,” you whispered.

His hand stayed braced on the back of the couch, close enough that you felt surrounded.

“Too late,” he said, his voice low and rough, and you felt it right between your legs.

You didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

For one dizzy second, you thought he might kiss you.

And God, you wanted him to.

—----

You were going to break him.

He knew it in the way you looked up at him, eyes dark and wide and a little dazed. The way your lips parted when he leaned in. The way you didn’t pull back.

He was still trying to convince himself this was just about keeping you safe. Just about duty. But that lie was wearing thin. So thin he could feel it tearing.

God, he was trying. 

Trying not to imagine how soft your mouth would feel under his. Or how you’d sound if he pushed you back into the cushions and touched you the way he was already dreaming about.

Trying not to remember the heat that sparked up his spine when your eyes flicked to his mouth.

And stayed.

You shifted in your seat like you were restless, like you were thinking about the same thing he was. That look on your face, combined with the way your thighs pressed together, was going to ruin him.

He left before he did something he’d never be able to take back.

Before he asked you if you were wet for him already.

Because he already knew.

—----

It had been a long day.

Therapy. The impossible ache in your body. Bucky’s presence.

It was all too much.

You fell asleep exhausted, but it didn’t take long for your dreams to slide somewhere you didn’t let yourself think about when you were awake.

In the dream, you were standing in your burned-out bedroom. The walls were blackened, the smell of smoke thick in your throat. But you weren’t afraid, because he was there.

Bucky.

He didn’t have a mask. Didn’t have gear. Didn't have a shirt. Just Bucky, in his uniform pants and suspenders, so hot and so close you could feel the heat coming off his skin.

He reached for you, and when his hand closed around your wrist, and you felt it everywhere.

He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a low, rough sound. Your hands slid up his arms, over the thick straps of his suspenders, feeling the flex and hard pull of muscle beneath.

When he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged.

“Say you want this,” he whispered, voice frayed.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

His hand slid up your ribcage, callused palm grazing the curve of your breast, thumb over your nipple, and your whole body shuddered.

“Say it,” he rasped, and then he kissed you again, so hard it stole every thought you had.

You woke with your hand between your thighs, gasping, your skin flushed and your heart slamming so loud it felt like it might jump out of your chest.

It was just a dream, you told yourself. Just your mind filling in the blanks.

But when you finally drifted back to sleep, you hoped, god, you hoped, you’d dream of him again.

—----

Amyra was stirring creamer into her coffee when you walked in the kitchen, face still flushed.

She didn’t look up at first.

“You okay?” she asked lightly, though there was something too knowing in her voice.

You cleared your throat. “Fine.”

“Mhm.” She set the spoon down, turning just enough to smirk.

“Because it sounded like you were having a pretty good time last night.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh my god.”

“Calling Bucky’s name.”

She tapped her finger on her mug.

“Interesting.”

“It’s not…” Your voice cracked.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Sure.” She folded her arms, clearly savoring every second.

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s common,” you blurted.“To, um. Have dreams about people who are…supportive. It’s just a psychological thing. He’s just …”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” you said too fast. “Just a friend.”

Amyra lifted her brows.

“Uh-huh.”

And when she turned back to the sink, you closed your eyes, because you both knew that wasn’t true.

“It was just a dream,” you mumbled, though the way your heart was still racing said it wasn’t that simple.

-----

Every night that week, Bucky lay in his too-big bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling, cursing himself for wanting you this much.

He tried to tell himself it was just about protecting you.

About doing the right thing.

But in the dark, when he closed his eyes, he would remember exactly how you’d looked that day, your eyes soft, your hands curled in his shirt like you were scared to let go when he carried you.

And then he’d imagine what it would feel like if you didn’t let him go.

If you pulled him closer.

If you said his name in that voice that made him feel like he’d won the goddamn world.

More than once, he’d slid his hand into his boxers, pressing his palm over the thick, aching weight of himself while he thought about your mouth, your body, the way you’d sound when you came for him.

Sometimes, when he was too far gone to stop, he’d let himself imagine more.

Your legs wrapped around his hips. Your nails biting into his back. Your lips parting to tell him he was the only one you wanted.

It was torture.

But it was the only place he could have you. Because he had a duty to help you, not take advantage of you.

And every morning, he’d wake up with your name on his tongue, the sheets a mess around him, and the hollow ache in his chest worse than before.

Because he knew, no matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be able to want you any less.

—-----

The rest of the week continued in much the same fashion, both of you torturing yourselves internally while being painfully polite on the surface.

Except when he kept carrying you into the truck and into Amyra’s house.

And except when you caught each other staring and pretended not to.

On Friday, you’d tried to reclaim a shred of your pride, insisting you could manage the stairs alone.

Bucky just looked at you, unimpressed, before lifting you into his arms anyway.

And god help you, you didn’t protest.

The weekend was supposed to be a break. You’d told Bucky, more firmly this time, that he deserved to relax, that you’d leave him alone.

He went quiet, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

“I didn’t ask for that,” he said finally, voice low.

But he backed off, and both of you spent two days trying not to replay every look, every touch, every dream.

You didn’t quite succeed.

—--

Monday morning, you tried to look forward to Steve taking you to therapy. It was his week and he was always so kind.

But when the doorbell finally rang, it wasn’t him.

It was Ari Levinson, leaning against the porch rail with two coffees in hand and an easy smile.

“Morning, Principal,” he called, voice warm and amused.

You blinked. “Where’s Steve?”

Ari shrugged, like it didn’t matter as he handed you a cup. 

“Had an important meeting. I volunteered to cover.”

You swallowed, feeling something you didn’t want to name.

Ari walked you to the passenger side. He wasn’t as big as Bucky, but he was still tall with lean muscle, long legs and casual confidence that made your pulse skip.

“Need a hand?” he asked, one brow lifted.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning wider. “I can see that.”

When you hesitated, his hand came out, warm and steady on your elbow.

“Easy,” he murmured, guiding you up.

Once you were settled, he leaned in the open door, bracing a forearm on the roof so you had no choice but to look at him.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping, “some people would’ve stayed home and let everyone wait on them.”

You lifted your chin. “I’m not most people.”

His gaze flicked to your mouth.

No,” he agreed. “And I’m very aware of that.”

Your heart thumped as he shut the door and walked around slipping into the driver’s seat.

—--

The silence wasn’t as charged as it was with Bucky, it was just there, with no subtext.

For you, at least.

“Your boyfriend’s very protective,” Ari said eventually, voice casual.

Your stomach tightened because you knew exactly who he was talking about.

Bucky.

“He’s not…”

Ari’s mouth curved slyly. “No?”

“Not my boyfriend,” you finished, too fast.

He hummed, tapping the wheel with two fingers.  “Huh.”

“What?” you demanded.

His grin flashed, bright and just a little dangerous.

“Then you should let me take you out sometime.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because your brain had apparently short-circuited.

Ari glanced over, amused.

“Just think about it. Couldn’t hurt. I admire you. And I think you’re very attractive.” he drawled, eyes sliding over you, like it was no big deal at all.

Your heart thumped so hard it hurt.

And maybe it was easier to let someone like Ari see you this way. 

Someone you didn’t already dream about.

Someone who hadn’t carried you out of the dark, over and over, until you didn’t know where gratitude ended and something else began.

Because wanting Bucky Barnes felt dangerous. Like if you gave in to it, there wouldn’t be anything left of you he didn’t already have.

But your pulse wouldn’t stop hammering.

—----

That night, Bucky had been finishing paperwork in the station when Ari strolled in, grin lazy, eyes too bright.

“Barnes,” Ari drawled, propping a shoulder against the doorframe. 

“Your principal friend, she’s doing a lot better.”

Bucky’s stomach went tight as he tried to stay calm. “Yeah?”

“She looked good,” Ari went on, like he hadn’t noticed the warning in Bucky’s tone. 

“Said she was feeling strong enough to drive next week.”

Bucky nodded stiffly.

Ari tilted his head, smile widening.

“She also said you weren’t her man.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut but there was no reason why they should.

He wasn’t your boyfriend.

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t let it show.

Ari’s grin sharpened.

“Figured I’d ask. And she didn’t say no when I offered to take her out sometime.”

Bucky’s hands flexed at his sides and his jaw locked so tight it hurt.

“You know,” Ari mused, tapping the doorframe, “it’s not a bad thing, letting someone else step in. Can’t be everywhere all the time, Barnes.”

“Get out,” Bucky said, voice low.

Ari’s grin didn’t fade.

“Sure,” he said lightly. “Just letting you know, you should never leave food on the table.”

When he left, Bucky stood there for a long time, breathing hard.

He knew he had no claim. But the thought of Ari, or anyone else, thinking they could be what you needed made him shake with rage.

—---

When Bucky pulled up to your house, he knew he should’ve called first. Or let Steve take the day like he’d offered.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stand the thought of you getting close to someone other than him. Smiling at them the way you smiled at him when you were too tired to pretend you didn’t trust him.

He got out and tried to look neutral, tried to look like the professional he was supposed to be. But when you stepped onto the porch, beautiful as ever, proud, that wary look in your eyes, something in his chest twisted up tight.

God help him, he wanted you.

Wanted you in ways that had nothing to do with duty or guilt.

More than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending he didn’t.

—-----

You were half-dressed and running late when you heard a familiar engine rumble to a stop out front, and your heart did a stupid little jump.

Steve, you reminded yourself firmly. It’s Steve today.

You grabbed your bag and pulled the door open, only to stop short.

Bucky was leaning against the hood of his truck, arms folded over his chest, black t-shirt clinging to the cut of his broad shoulders.

Your stomach flipped.

“I thought…” you blurted, clutching the strap of your bag.

“I thought Steve was coming.”

“I switched with him,” he said evenly.

You swallowed. “Why?”

His jaw flexed.

“Wanted to see for myself how you were doing.”

Your heart did that annoying skip thing again, and you told yourself it was irritation, not something softer. For a second, neither of you moved. Then he nodded at the steps.

“You need help?”

“I’m fine.”

One brow lifted, skeptical.

You sighed, your voice small. “A little.”

He climbed the porch and set his hand around your waist and you tried not to lean into it.

—---

The ride to therapy was torture.

He kept telling himself he had no right to feel like this. No claim on you.

But he couldn’t stop replaying Ari’s voice in his head: She didn’t say no.

When you finally spoke, your voice was so careful he almost wished you’d just yell at him.

“Ari talked to you?”

His eyes didn’t leave the road.

“Yeah.”

“Bucky…”

He exhaled hard, voice rough.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

And there it was. The thing he shouldn’t have admitted. The thing he couldn’t pretend wasn’t eating him alive.

Your pulse skittered.

“That’s not your problem,” you managed.

His hand flexed on the wheel.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “That’s the thing. It is.”

You didn’t dare ask what he meant, and he didn’t offer to explain.

But the air in the cab felt too close, too warm. Like you were both one breath away from admitting something you couldn’t take back.

—--

The drive home felt longer. You watched the trees blur past, all the things you hadn’t said pressing against your throat. When he finally pulled into Amyra’s driveway, you didn’t reach for the door right away.

“Bucky,” you murmured.

He turned to look at you, blue eyes tired, full of things you didn’t have names for.

“I don’t want to make this harder,” you whispered.

His throat worked.

“You’re not,” he said, voice low. “You couldn’t.”

And you knew he believed it. Knew he meant every word.

That was the problem.

He got out without another word and came around to open your door. When he helped you down, his palm fit too perfectly against your waist, the heat of it sinking through your clothes like a brand.

When he handed you your bag, his fingers brushed yours, and you felt it, that sharp, impossible want you’d been pretending wasn’t there.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

His gaze flicked to your mouth, then away.

“No problem,” he said roughly.

He stepped back and waited until you’d made it up the porch before he climbed into the truck and pulled away. You watched the taillights until they disappeared. 

And you felt emptier than you wanted to admit.

—---

Amyra was standing in the kitchen when you came in, your face hot. She took one look at you and folded her arms across her chest.

“You look like you just got back from a funeral,” she said mildly.

You swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“That’s your favorite lie,” she shot back. “How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Fine, or fine?”

You shot her a look.

“Don’t do that,” she said, voice gentler. “Don’t act like I can’t tell when something’s wrong.”

“I’m good,” you lied, voice shaky.

Amyra tilted her head, studying you.

“You know,” she said quietly, “if you don’t want him to care, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.”

“Like what?” you demanded.

“Like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.”

You sighed. “We’re just…”

“If you say friends,” she cut in, “I’m throwing this mug at you.”

You looked down at the floor, because you couldn’t look at her and pretend you believed it.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, because you didn’t have anything else, and she let you walk past her to your room without another word.

—---

You were sitting in bed with the lamp off when your phone buzzed.

Bucky: Steve will take you tomorrow.

Your chest went tight as you stared at the message. He wasn’t coming. He was pulling away.

You: Why?

A long pause. Three dots blinked, disappeared.

Bucky: I’ve got a thing.

Nothing else.

You turned your phone over on the nightstand, your pulse too loud in your ears.

And you wondered if this was the part where you were supposed to let him go.

—--

When Bucky climbed back into his truck, he felt like his chest was too small for how hard his heart was beating.

You’d looked at him like you were waiting for something, like you needed him to finish a sentence he didn’t have the courage to say.

It is my problem.

Because I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.

Because he can't have you.

Because I’m in love with you.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to get his breathing under control.

He knew he was making this worse. Every time he touched you, every time he picked you up, every time he let himself feel it, he was building something that would hurt you when it fell apart.

Because it had to.

Because you deserved better than a half-broken firefighter who didn’t know how to keep things simple.

By the time he made it back to the station, he’d decided the only thing he could do, the only thing that might save you from the mess he’d already made, was to step back.

Just enough to give you space to breathe.

Just enough to give himself a chance to get his shit together.

When he finally texted you, he tried to pretend it didn’t feel like cutting something vital out of his own chest.

When you wrote back “Why?” he almost called you.

Almost drove back across town to take it back.

But instead he forced himself to type.

I’ve got a thing.

And then he set his phone down, bowed his head and told himself this was the right thing.

He had to believe it.

Because if he didn’t, he was going to show up at your door and tell you the truth: That you were the only thing he’d thought about since the night he carried you out of that fire.

And he didn’t think he could ever stop.

[steddieas-shegoes]

last summer

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'i know what you did last summer'

rated e | 773 words | no cw | tags: brief mentions of eddie with other people, fuckbuddies, friends with benefits, idiots in love, getting together

also on ao3

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

Eddie’s kind of a slut.

Sue him.

He likes sleeping around with any willing participant, mostly because there aren’t all that many willing participants to begin with. He’s in a small town and he’s weird enough that most of his conquests are doing it for free drugs or because they wanna know if the rumors are true.

He keeps it as lowkey as he can, still. Except for the summer before he follows Steve Harrington.

****

Steve is nice, way nicer than he thought he would be. He’s a flirt, but he’s shy, and it’s not even an act. He’s a dream.

Eddie fucks him until he cries.

But before he does that he fucks a lot of people until they cry. Double digits.

He goes all out because he’s fighting off the growing feelings for this man he knows he has no real shot in hell with. He fucks to forget the way Steve pulled him in, the way he moaned around his fingers when he insisted he wasn’t full enough, the way he licked into Eddie’s mouth when moaning wasn’t enough to say how much he was enjoying the way Eddie fucked into him.

Sarah was nice, but too loud even for Eddie.

Ryan was the typical Guy Trying Guys For The First Time, so he was nervous and trying to be macho even with a dick in his ass and it just wasn’t working for him. He came, he saw, he left quickly and didn’t give him his number.

Amy and Amanda were best friends since middle school and did everything together, including fuck guys who were no good for them. Eddie gave them both exactly what they wanted and went home.

Jackie was much too kind of a girl to be anywhere near him, but he adjusted and went slower, spoke nicer, gave her a kiss before he left.

Frankie, not to be confused with his friend and bandmate, was insistent on doing the fucking, and Eddie was in a mood, so he agreed. He limped out of there, sore enough that he knew he’d regret it all in the morning, but not upset about it.

His mind kept going back to Steve, though.

So he fucked him again, in his pool, under the stars and moon in some romantic subplot to his summer. They had to be quiet so the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but Steve’s quiet whimpers and whines as he fucked into him slowly, ripples of water crashing against their chests echoing against the concrete of the pool deck, were still loud enough that Eddie had to cover his mouth and move slower. He’s stunning with his hair wet and slicked back, his sun-kissed skin glistening in the moonlight. Eddie wants to write a song about this.

He fucks Laura the next night, doesn’t even think to ask her name before she’s screaming his. He finds out after, when he sees her necklace after she’s facing him in bed. He kisses her cheek and leaves.

No one is Steve.

****

“I wrote a song about you,” he admits while he’s holding Steve against his chest, rubbing his fingers up and down his spine. It’s the third night in a row he’s come over, the third night where he’s held Steve until he’s asleep and then snuck out as if he’s just another one of his slutty moments.

“Mm?” Steve’s exhausted, probably wrung out from two orgasms in the last hour. He’s barely awake.

“You’ve got in my head, Harrington,” Eddie says, voice dripping with fondness.

“Sing it for me?” Steve asks.

He can’t deny him a damn thing. He sings what he has, though he’s still working on the melody a bit. Steve won’t care.

It’s shaky because he’s trying to stay quiet, doesn’t wanna ruin this moment they’re in.

Steve snuggles in closer, hums contentedly.

Eddie feels splayed open when he’s done. He keeps holding onto Steve, waits for him to pull away and ask him to leave.

Instead, Steve kisses his chest, right over his frantic heartbeat.

He’s quiet, just lets his lips linger on his skin for a bit. His fingers are curled into Eddie’s side.

“If you can be just mine, you can come with me,” Steve finally says.

“Go with you where?” Eddie didn’t know he was leaving.

“Chicago. My parents are paying for my apartment while I go to school. They don’t have to know I brought my boyfriend,” Steve explains.

Eddie doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Yeah. I’m in.”

Every summer after that, Eddie’s still a little bit of a slut. But he’s a slut for Steve and Steve only.

[sevinagreatergood]

Yes, they are wrong. The marauders owe Snape their deaths. Which they luckily gave fairly quick.

You see, it's kind of pitiful of you to pick your wording. Maybe you're not English. But you see, in the books, James Potter selfishly chose a different secret keeper which ratted their own hideout away. Maybe you know of him, he's called peter Pettigrew. Doubt you know about him. Maraudersfans erase anyone who is ugly. And yeah, Snape (might) have cause James Potter his death. Pathetic, even for me. I wouldve ripped his head off and gave it to lily. Maybe she can become one better with him by drinking his blood.

But hey, you know how it goes. If you say, a victim should always keep their tormentor alive. Let's hold a petition then. Let's keep trump in that office because who gives a fuck about victims right? How dare a victim wish to save one measuly pathetic soul (ginger cunt) and not her actual male whore. Who else made a lot of victims oh yeah. Let's erase pol pot his crimes. Did we even have slavery? Slavery is a word for victims. That doesn't exist according to you. And it definitely does NOT exist because that would mean their tormentors are actual tormentors.

Women? Well, burn, hang or drown them I guess. How dare they talk back. Victims hating their tormentors? Comedic joke of the great 2025 I guess. We should just sit still, look pretty, fuck, be a harlot if the man dies, and if we think we're more, we should accept our death penalty. Because women weren't victims. That would mean they were awful and just as guilty as the men for going against their oppressors/tormentor. Yeesh. Very very good observation you made. What next?

Oh right, Sirius. The bitchboy from wolfstar even though he comes as straight as they come except his creepy obsession with James. Who was James his equal. James looked down on:

Remus: he didn't choose Remus as a secret keeper of his family due to his condition, even though the pup willingly became their carpet

Peter: he was worded as their fan boy in the books (doubt you read it. It's alright. Reading is for the rich and elite. Someone like you who hates victims wouldn't understand. Stay dumb like that, let's see where it gets you)

Snape: for simply liking slytherin.

Lily: for being a girl that rejects him

His one and only equal is the "amazing" Sirius Black. A fellow white, rich, pureblood like James. How cute. No wonder you hate victims. You love the rich with rich! Guess you fit right into trump's alley. And you're right. How dare Snape do that to Sirius. He should've butchered the whore and fed it to their pet, the puppy bitch. Honestly, snatersdo open my eyes. Snape was too soft. He should've drank the blood of his enemies. But knowing how disgusting maruaders were, he'd probably get rabies and std's lol.

But since you squint your eyes so much, it looks like you're shitting. I can see how you missed the fact that this emo whore cussed an adult man by a bully name as soon as he got out of prison. Yelled at harry too. Also wanted Snape to die, actually prepped for it too. And let's not forget that after all of that, Snape still was kind enough to summon a stretcher for your poor baby. Ugh, tears, tears, how sad. 😂. God bless, or whatever I guess.

Moving onto Remus. The sperm bank of your favourite ship. The big big alpha male, meanwhile a 15 year old disgusts with his existence lol. He and James truly did their children a favor by dying. Oh, but so did Lily. Yeesh, all these kids, disgusted with their own awful, terrible, bully of parents. Yikes. Let me see, let me see. What did you yap about a litteral bitch?

Oh right. The usual snater rumors. See? You did it again! Not reading. How can you accuse Snape of ratting him out, when the bitch almost gobbled kids if not turned them? Also, Snape saved those kids. Thanks, bro. If DE is so awful as you say, Remus basically became a Greyback back there. How about you.... actually DO read the books. You know. Just in case you were squinting a bit too hard, you missed whole sentences.

Ratting out? Bitch, I would've dragged him to court and made sure he got the death penalty. Begone with child eaters. Funny how you point out Snape teaching kids how to kill a wolf, that he almost suffered under and guess what? The class in fact did come in handy, because that's how useless and pathetic they are that Snape had to predict that shit. But you also don't point out how in the very beginning of Remus his book, he made fun of Snape.... As a fellow bully of Snape his tormentors.

So that's that. But I do understand you now though. You hate victims rising up, yet you Stan classsists. Isn't far fetched for you to Stan a temu version of Albert Fish.

For the first time, I do agree with a snater though. You are right, marauders don't owe Snape shit. They wouldn't be even to pay it back if they repented for what they did to him their whole life. Robbing someone their childhood is the highest crime someone could get.

And even if Snape wouldn't switch. Gryffindors of JKR in Snape's era definitely deserve a death sentence. Also, it's a what if situation you know "Snape would have switched" which deludes into a headcanon. And headcanon vs canon which is Snape did in fact change, means nothing but shit. So keep your shit to yourself. And thank my bestie ksrfn for bringing me to more snaters. Your a goddamn fucking whorish cunts, because I bet you will say "women rights and racism are different things from snape" which is all bullshit from a goddamn bitch ass hypcrite.

Keep your headcanons to yourself maga pig. And don't drown on the marauders their semen, please. They are known to have an inviable cloak and a map to know everyone their locations 24/7, so who knows when they'll catch you if they don't like you. 😂

Also, about harry. Who gives a fuck. We litterally live Ina society kids die in slavery from products we buy. I have evidence where people announced they care more about their goddamn pets aka animals than humans. So how about your stop kind yapping about harry death and shit. Snape didn't dream of joining DE. His dream to go to Hogwarts was to escape his abusive homelife (that Sirius didn't experience as nearly as bad btw, if you do say so it's a headcanon.) I think this is enough. Glad to help lol 😸

“The Marauders owe Snape an apology.”

No, they really don’t. I’m in no way excusing how they treated Snape as teenagers, that was a bit uncalled for (although he was a bigot and aligned with/in the process of joining a terrorist group, and I feel like that says something about what kind of person he was). But let’s look at what he did to the Marauders.

James — Snape directly caused James’ death. There’s no way around that. Snape told Voldemort about the prophecy, which is the whole reason he went after the Potters and the whole reason James is dead. And Snape didn’t care. Yes, he tried to save Lily because he was “in love with” (read: creepily obsessed with) her, but he didn’t give a single fuck about James or Harry. He was more than ready and willing to just let James and Harry die. And it’s because of him that Voldemort went after the Potters in the first place.

(Note: I have seen far too many people — including Dumbledore — brush that off with the argument that “he had no way of knowing” that it was the Potters. And yeah, he didn’t, but that doesn’t make it okay! In fact, it makes it worse because it suggests (read: confirms) that Snape wouldn’t have even bothered switching sides if it hadn’t been that Lily was in danger.)

Sirius — Snape completely ignored the four people (besides Sirius) that were telling him that something else was going on and tried to hand Sirius and Remus over to the dementors to be kissed. He completely ignored the four people telling the same alternate story (and showing no signs of being confunded, thank you) and insisted that Sirius had to be guilty instead of even considering that he may be throwing an innocent man to the dementors. He then spent the better part of a year taunting Sirius for not being able to go out and physically help the Order, regularly accusing him of being lazy and “taking it easy” while Sirius was trapped in the house he had grown up being abused in.

Remus — Snape outed him as a werewolf and literally ruined not only Remus��� life, but also the lives of every werewolf affected by the British Ministry of Magic. He made it so that Remus had to leave the only steady job he’d had in who knows how long (it’s confirmed that James was supporting Remus financially during the war because he couldn’t find regular work) and he opened the door for Umbridge to make the discriminatory laws that made it impossible for werewolves to find any kind of work in the magical community.

He also taught Remus’ class how to identify and kill werewolves while covering for him during the full moon. This not only risked exposing Remus, but also completely robbed him of his chance to teach about werewolves as he should have been able to — as normal people with an affliction that they have no control over — instead of as monsters, the way the rest of the magical world (and Snape) views them.

(Pettigrew... probably owes just about everyone an apology, honestly, I’m not even going to touch that one.)

My point is that Snape did horrible things to the Marauders and I honestly don’t think they “owe him” shit.

[izadi234]

A/N: Hello! I know I KNOW I said I would post the next chapter of Forget me not BUT! My sister got me obssed with Kpop Demon Hunters, and since its release, I've been down bad for every single character from that movie ever since so here is one of my ideas!

Famous Producer! Reader (Romantic) x Kpop Demon Hunters

Bodyguard! Father! Reader (Platonic) x Kpop Demon Hunters (kind of)

This small draft is about Huntr/x and I'm planning to write one about the Saja Boys in this same storyline.

Imagine you being a famous producer. You've been working with tons of famous idols, from groups to solo idols, but the ones that were your favorite and the cherry on the top for your career were Huntr/x.

And no, you didn't meet them just because. You see, the girls need new ideas not only for songs or dances but to advertise and produce their songs at the beginning of their career and despite having the old producers from the 'Sunlight Sisters' their ideas were... old, and they didn't get the ideas that Huntr/x had in their minds.

That's when your father came in. He was a bodyguard, specifically the 'Sunlight Sisters' bodyguard and later on Huntr/x's. He saw how his girls struggled with explaining their ideas to the old producers, so he gave them your number, and after a lot of things about it, they told Bobby to schedule an appointment with you.

At first, you didn't think too much when you saw the email of this guy named Bobby and just decided to give it a shot because of the name of the group, which you found cool.

But your jaw dropped when you recognized the girls or, specifically, the girl.

Rumi. Kpop royalty. She was at your door with two of her friends. And she wanted you to produce their first song. Yeah, you.

You were a bundle of nerves, and to be honest, you made a fool of yourself in front of them. Just a bit. But they found that very cute.

"So... You're (Name), right?" Rumi asked kindly as she smiled at you

Meanwhile, you were staring at her and her friends as if you've never seen someone like them, but her voice pulled you back to earth.

"I uh... Sorry, what was the question?" You chuckled nervously

They couldn't think of you as more than a cute and a bit awkward producer but damn weren't their jaws down to the floor when you started working.

Your face changed immediately. Your eyes were focused, and your lips were in a fine line as they explained to your their song and ideas. They waited for you to interrupt them once you got confused but that never happened.

Once they finished explaining themselves, you started giving them some ideas and suggestions, leaving them completely surprised that you had understood their vision.

"We know there is a lot we are asking for, so it would be valid if you had doubts or didn't understand at all" Zoey said, a bit embarrassed, not by their ideas but the complexity and how she thought none of them could explain themselves

"Oh no. I understood," you assured her."So basically, what you want is..."

Yeah, and you proceed to explain exactly what they all wanted for their song and it's production.

Ever since that day you became their producer and friend... Well, at least that's what you call them, for them you were more than a friend.

But it wasn't only your personality or work that pulled them towards you. You had something special, something that made the moon honmoon around you react differently.

Around you, the honmoon was yellow, a very chirpy and happy yellow, but you never seemed to notice it, or if you knew it, then you never paid mind to it.

For our 3 hunters, it was fascinating and scary. Maybe you were hurting their honmoon without knowing, or maybe you knew about it but didn't know what to do about it. They were sure that you weren't doing it on purpose as they didn't feel tense around you but didn't know what to do.

That's when they went to Celine. She was impressed and excited which left the girls confused but then she explained herself.

"As you may know, yellow is one of the 5 principal colors of Korea. It represents fertility and abundance, but many years ago, it represented high status and wisdom. Ever since the first hunters appeared, there's been a few people who presented this kind of color with the honmoon. Those people had an ability that was believed given by the gods so they could help fight evil. They're gifted with powerful minds full of emotions and creativity, which later one was discovered could help the hunters write and perform their songs better and give the honmoon more strength. Not every generation was lucky enough to meet one of these 'shooting stars' as they called them, but the three of you must be the luckiest of all. Now that you're so close to seal the golden honmoon, this shooting star appears right in front of you. Let them help you, but don't tell them anything. They may get scared and don't understand our duty as hunters"

And that's how your friendship began.

Meanwhile, your father was happy that you had found some friends in those girls (even though he noticed the way the three of them looked at you or how they asked about you) and to be honest he would be more than happy to see you with them in a more romantic relationship but that was your decision to make.

"Hey F/N (Father's Name)! Have you seen (Name)? I wanted her opinion about some lyrics" Zoey said as she walked into a room where your father was resting and talking with Bobby

"Oh. They must be at their apartment" he said

"Really? Oh, well. And do they like jajangmyeon?"

"What does that have to do with checking some lyrics?" He asked her

"..."

"Zoey..."

Before anything else happened, Zoey ran away like a little child that had been caught painting the walls.

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

"Hey F/N! Bobby!" he heard Rumi's voice behind both men that were discussing the girls' schedule for the day

"Rumi" F/N greeted her with a small nod while Bobby greeted her with more energy

"I've been wondering... Is (Name) coming to our show tonight?" She asked a bit nervous

"I don't know. I guess so" he looked at herwith his eyes half open in a suspicious way

"Why?"

"I-I I was just wondering, that's all" she said nervous

"Yeah... right..." he didn't believe her

"And... are they free after the show?"

"Rumi!"

Then the girl ran off

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

"Hey F/N" Mira greeted him as he was checking the security points of a stadium where the girls were going to preform

"Yes, Mira?" He turned to look at her

"Which is (Name)'s favorite color?"

"I uh... it's f/c" he answered a bit, confused by her question

"Really? Thanks!" She turned around and ran towards backstage again

"Girls, I know her favorite color!" He heard her shout at the other two hunters

"Really? Awesome!" Some other voices could be heard from the backstage

"Wait Mira!" He called out for her

"Why do you wanna know their favorite color?! Mira!"

Yeah... Your father was a bit overprotective over you, but hey! He was your father. He had a valid reason.

But he still trusted those girls as he had seen them grown over the last years.

Everything was perfect for them. The honmoon was about to turn golden. You were by their side supporting them, oblivious about the risks they face every day and the importance of the songs you help to write and produce. F/N and Bobby were also by their sides and the fans adored them.

Nothing could go wrong, right?

Well, everything went downhill when a new boy band was forming at the Underworld.

Hello! I hope you like this small writing because I had fun writing it and I have more ideas! Still I would like to see if you had any ideas or something like that or even requests!

Anyway thank you so much and see you in the next one!

XOXO

-Izadi

[dayboundpapercrane]

caleb x reader mc (afab!) | MDNI 🔞 | cw: nsfw | cw: loss of virginity | mc is greedy and freakier than caleb confirmed | guilt ridden caleb is scrumptious he's kinda subby here | "just the tip" but it's a fat lie

You were kissing him deeply, sucking his tongue and biting his lower lip, Caleb shuddered above you grasping your waist as you made the kiss dirtier, your hands were rubbing him so well, thumb teasing the tip precum already dripping on your belly, your pussy was soaking at this point, so wet and burning with arousal

"Fuck I need you so bad, hah, Caleb look at me, baby"

Caleb's breathing was heavy, already affected, as much as you loved him for caring for you so much to the point of thinking he might taint you, ruin you for his greedy depraved dreams. You wanted it. You weren't used to him saying no, it was his fault you were like this, so when he looked at you and you pulled him down holding his nape whispering on his lips, begging, you felt his walls starting to crack

"Caleb I need it, I need you, it feels so good, ah, please atleast the tip?"

"Just the tip is fine right? Imagine how good i would take your cock"

"Caleeeeb...baby please!! Please! Please just the tip"

He moaned deeply and gave the smallest nod, if you weren't already staring at him you wouldn't have noticed. You were burning from the inside with need, raising your hips before he changed his mind you lined your pussy with his tip, Caleb held your hip and rubbed your clit, it helped getting you more wet for the slide, and you could feel the tremor on his hands, he was so nervous, but just the tip entering had you obscenely moaning, opening your mouth to breathe in you pushed your hips a bit more feeling your hole greedily suck it inside clenching strongly. Caleb was moaning with you biting his lip cursing.

"Fuck, baby..you....you ....are soo tight, Ahh I cant..I might cum"

"Hah, oh god....it's in, it's inside you"

Caleb kept staring down where you were both joined. His pupils were so dilated, his grip on your hips bruising, you kept squirming, grinding the tip inside, he groaned and decided to hold you still.

"Dont. Baby, please...we cant do more, fuck we shouldn't"

But your greed didn't know where to stop. Deep down, you also knew he was into it. You had seen his looks, rarely, but lustful, filled with something you weren't sure was safe.

"But I don't want anyone else, I want you, does this mean you want someone else taking me?"

It was manipulative. You knew how possesive he was, yet you could feel his inner turmoil, the sweat on his forehead, the red tint on his cheeks turning a deeper tone, you kept kissing him as you begged, telling him how good it was going to feel, how wet your pussy was all ready for him, you could feel how fast his heartbeat got after you said "take my virginity Caleb" "God, please taint me with your cum already" he gripped the bed sheets hard gasping a bit at how crude you were being "forget about others" you were rubbing his chest, tip still inside your pussy. "You want it as much as me" kissing his cheek "You probably got off thinking of taking it right" his breath hitched "watching me grow up beside you, not being able to touch me how you wanted" he whined softly at you, looking at his eyes confirmed everything you had said was true.

Caleb looked so guilty, ashamed, and so beautiful. You loved him so much if only he knew how much his guilt aroused you, kissing him again you started moving your hips down taking him slowly, his hands shaky grabbed your waist pushing himself in, he was big, your walls kept fluttering. He started rubbing your clit in circles, making you moan deeply, his lips on your nipple sucking, it was too much at once you whined gripping his hair as your orgasm hit.

"AAahh~ Ah Caleb Caleb..its in, its all in, so good, ahh yess! Yess keep rubbing me"

"Ahh so good! So good!!"

Your orgasm had made the slide easier, you felt so full, finally you had his cock deep inside you, Caleb kept moaning your name, kissing your neck, cheeks, and chest, your legs started shaking a bit overwhelmed by his size, it had you breathless, until you came so hard again you saw white, holding him close to you curving your back deeply as he kept thrusting prolonging your orgasm. "Im all yours now Caleb" when he pulled out and saw few drops of blood on the bed sheets under your hips, his shaky sigh by your ear was all you heard before he came hard all over your pussy and belly.

A/N: afraid of posting other stuff i have that is a bit more scandalous, so for now, have guilty caleb, tomorrow who knows, maybe a piss kink (im kidding, or am i)

[raekensluver]

still my home

masterlist | main masterlist

description: after a painful fight, you leave with nowhere to go - only to be quietly reminded that harry’s always known how to find you.

pairing: childhood best friend!harry lewis x fem!reader

contains: angst/comfort, childhood best friends to.....?

song rec: my tears ricochet by taylor swift- "and i can go anywhere i want. anywhere i want, just not home."

w.c: 750

the slam of the door was too loud, too final.

it echoed through harry's flat like the closing scene of a bad play, the kind where everyone ends up a little bit broken. you didn’t mean to slam it. not really. but your hands had been shaking and your voice had cracked and all you could think was: i need to get out.

harry had been your best friend since the two of you were kids in guernsey. scraped knees and bike rides, whispered secrets under blankets at sleepovers, your name always the first one out of his mouth when he needed to rant, and vice versa. somewhere along the way, it had shifted. the touches got longer, the looks heavier. and then, like it had been inevitable, you were his.

his girl. his best friend. his heart.

and now you were out in the street, hoodie pulled tight around your face, the night air biting at your cheeks, your phone heavy in your pocket with no idea where to go.

because home was harry’s place.

and right now, you couldn’t go home.

"you didn’t even think to invite me," you had said, your voice shaking with that awful mixture of hurt and disbelief. harry had blinked like you were speaking another language. "what? to the pub? it wasn’t a big deal – just last minute drinks." "yeah. in london. the city we both live in. where we’re both friends with everyone there. you didn’t even ask." "it wasn’t anything serious– " "harry, it hurt. not because you went out. because you didn’t want me there. because it didn’t even cross your mind." he’d looked away, jaw tense. "you’re overreacting," he muttered. and that had said more than anything else. "overreacting? are you serious? you’ve been doing this for weeks. disappearing. brushing things off. acting like i’m just… background noise." he’d rubbed the back of his neck, defensive. "you know i’ve just been busy. work’s a lot right now. you always take this stuff so personally." "because it is personal!" you snapped. "we used to talk every day. and now you forget to text me back for two. you make plans without even thinking about me. i feel like i’m losing you and you don’t even notice." he hadn’t said anything. and that silence? it was the worst part. "you didn’t think. and that’s the part that really fucking stings."

you wandered the pavement with no destination, everything muffled except for the wind and the chaos in your chest. your hands trembled as you finally pulled out your phone. the contacts list blurred through your tears.

you scrolled. stopped. scrolled again.

there wasn’t anyone.

because harry had always been the one you called. when things went wrong, when your heart ached, when the world didn’t make sense. but now the hurt was because of him.

you locked the screen. dropped the phone into your pocket. wrapped your arms around yourself and kept walking, streets blurring into one another, the city a smear of noise and light.

after a while, you found a bench on a quiet side street and sank onto it. it wasn’t familiar. not really. but you’d come here a few times when you needed to breathe. because the view - of the skyline, the subtle stretch of buildings glowing under streetlights - always calmed something in your chest.

you sighed, curling your knees to your chest. "it’s dumb," you muttered to no one. "but i love the view."

you didn’t hear the car at first.

didn’t look up until footsteps slowed in front of you.

harry stood there, breathless, hair messy, eyes wide.

you blinked, confused. "how did you-"

"i figured," he said, voice soft. "you’ve always said you like this bench. because of the view."

he sat beside you without touching you, without assuming.

"i don’t expect you to forgive me right now," he said softly. "i just didn’t want you sitting out here alone."

you looked at him. he looked like shit.

you swallowed hard. "i didn’t know where else to go."

he turned to you, eyes soft. "i didn’t know what to do when you weren’t here."

silence.

then, "why didn’t you think of me?"

he sighed. "i don’t know. and i hate that i don’t. maybe i took for granted that you’d always be there. and that’s not fair. i don’t want to be the kind of person who forgets his person."

your voice was barely there. "you made me feel invisible."

"then i’ll do whatever it takes to remind you how seen you are. how much i love you. i’ve loved you since you punched a boy in year 7 for calling me names. i’m an idiot, but i’m your idiot. if you still want me."

you didn’t speak.

you leaned into him.

his arms came around you instantly, like muscle memory. he pressed a kiss to your temple, shaky and slow.

"you’re my home," you whispered.

his breath caught.

"then let me keep you safe this time. properly. no more fucking up."

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t need to.

his hand in yours was enough. for now.

and later, when he led you back to the flat and unlocked the door, it didn’t feel like walking into broken pieces. it felt like rebuilding. it felt like home.

because it was him.

[lambiconic]

john ( price) finally got that date with the barista

if you would be sooo kind...there's nine more to read: simon(1) , gaz(1) , johnny(1) , price (1) , the aftermath , the confrontation , simon (2) , gaz (2) , johnny (2)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Johnny had spent the rest of the week bragging that his date was the one to beat. A full day with you, and not once had he even tried to sneak a hand past your waistband.

“Top-tier gentleman behavior,” he’d declared. “Can’t top that.”

Naturally, he made it his mission to remind everyone. Repeatedly. 

“Yeah, then I took her up to the water tower and we just talked,” Johnny said for the third, or maybe fifth, time.

“M’aware, Johnny…” Price muttered, flipping through a stack of reports without looking up. “You’ve told me. Several times.”

“Just sayin’, she’s got expectations now.” Johnny leaned back with a smug hum. “So… where are *ye* takin’ her?”

“The mall.”

“The mall?”

“She said she wanted to go,” Price replied, casual as ever.

That alone sealed Johnny’s belief that he’d remain undefeated. After all, what could Mister Jonathan Price possibly offer at a mall?

Apparently… a bigger paycheck.

You see, John had been quietly stashing away nearly every paycheck since the moment you offhandedly told him he gave off “sugar daddy” energy and admitted you’d *always* wanted to go on a real shopping spree. Not a few hundred dollars. No, you were talking thousands.

And Jonathan? He wasn’t the type to forget something like that.

So, while Johnny was busy bragging about scenic views and deep conversations, Price was busy checking his bank account. Quiet, methodical, calculating. The man had hundreds of thousands tucked away, and every cent of it (at least in that moment) was just for you.

The mall wasn’t just a date.

It was a statement.

Honestly, it was a bit shocking, every time you so much as mentioned something in passing, you’d blink and Price was already at the counter, card in hand like it was a reflex.

He’d even locked your purse in the trunk of his car with a calm, “You won’t be needing that today,” and made sure you didn’t catch a single glimpse of a receipt.

Naturally, you tested his generosity.

“John, look at that!”  “Ooh! Isn’t this cute?” “I’ve always wanted  REAL gold!” “Isn’t this gorgeous?” “What do you think of this?”

Every comment, every playful nudge, was met with a quiet nod, a satisfied hum, or a firm “Put it in the bag.”

If he was trying to prove a point, he was doing a damn good job.

You even got bold in the jewelry store, leaning over the glass counter with a sly smile as you asked, “What’s the most expensive thing you’ve got in here?”

The attendant blinked, surprised, before glancing at Price.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise a brow. Just stepped up behind you, hand settling on your lower back like it belonged there. “Show her.”

You turned your head to look at him, half-teasing. “You sure you can handle that, old man?”

His smirk was slow...confident. “Oh, I plan to, princess.”

A few moments later, you were slipping on a necklace that sparkled like starlight, and he was watching you like you were the only thing in the room worth more than all of it combined.

“No need to wrap it up. Just the box, please,” he told the attendant, without looking away from you. “She’ll wear it out.”

For the first time that whole trip, you *chose* not to look at the receipt. Too many zeroes. Your brain just... shut down.

You were painfully aware of how out of place you looked. Squeezed into a booth at the food court, surrounded by bags overflowing with designer clothes, limited-edition books, collector’s figurines, and who even knows what else. The diamond necklace resting against your collarbone felt almost absurdly heavy as you took another bite of your burger.

“Might ask for a new apartment next,” you joked around a mouthful of fries.

“Alright,” Price replied without missing a beat.

“That was a joke, John.”

He leaned back, taking a sip of his drink. “So was locking your purse in the trunk. Guess we’re both bad at jokes.”

“Uh-oh,” you muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?” he asked, glancing at you over his drink, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“It’s that time,” you said.

“That time?” he echoed, eyebrow raising.

“Relationship talk time.”

He let out a low chuckle. “And this happens every date?”

“Yep,” you replied, popping a fry into your mouth. “Like clockwork.”

“Well then,” he murmured, leaning forward with that familiar calm confidence, “let’s get it out of the way, shall we?”

After a beat he began speaking once more, voice low and sure, though there was a flicker of nervousness behind his eyes. “Would you like to be our girlfriend?”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat, but you couldn’t help the smile slipping onto your lips, “So,” you said slowly, “they sent *you* to be the one to officially ask?”

“We haven’t exactly… talked that far yet,” he admitted. “Guess you could call me eager.”

You looked down at your hands for a moment, the weight of the diamond necklace around your neck grounding you. “Shouldn’t we… I don’t know, talk more about it? Set rules? Boundaries? Expectations?”

He nodded, leaning forward on his elbows. “Polyamory is… all about communication, yeah. But it’s not about having every conversation on day one. You won’t know everything you need to say right now. And that’s okay.”

You tilted your head. “So, you’re saying we figure it out as we go?”

“Exactly.” His eyes locked onto yours. “Just like any other relationship. We learn together. We talk when things come up. We ask the questions when we feel them. We check in. But we don’t have to have the full manual written before we start.”

You considered that, letting the silence stretch for a few seconds. “Shouldn’t all of you be asking me, though? Together?”

He gave a low chuckle at that, rubbing his jaw. “Had a feeling you’d prefer something a little more… intimate.”

He wasn’t wrong. The last time you saw all of them in one place was when they’d popped up at your job unannounced. It hadn’t scared you…but it had been a lot. Overwhelming. Not bad, just... not the right moment.

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” he quickly added. “None of us do. I just thought… if you were ready, I’d ask. And if not—”

You reached across the table, your hand brushing over his. “John.”

He stopped talking instantly, eyes on yours.

“I think,” you said, slowly, clearly, “that I’d really like to be your girlfriend. All of you.”

His breath hitched, just slightly…but it was enough to tell you how much he’d wanted to hear those words.

“Yeah?” he asked, the softness in his voice uncharacteristic from that usual calm, commanding presence.

“Yeah,” you nodded, voice steady but soft. “I like you. I like them. I want to try… even if I’m new to all of this.”

His fingers slid over yours, curling around them. He didn’t say anything right away and he didn’t need to. There was something safe in his silence. The noise of the food court faded into the background. 

And for, what felt like years, it was just him and you.

And the necklace you would be taking back that he didn’t need to know about.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

// an: i think this is finally the last one in the series! thank you guys for the love lol it felt unreal, i hope you enjoy the sugar daddy price fantasy as this is my fav by far.

[kkayyerr]

what about Rafe with a little reader giving him the silent treatment but she is nonverbal when little so Rafe can’t figure out what caused the silent treatment!

also any idea what anon I should be? It helps me keep track of my asks because I something forget what asks I send in 😭

Silence.

Warnings: Age regression, Rafe has anger issues, fluffy ending.

Author’s note: I had that request for a couple of months, and I’m slightly embarrassed that I haven’t written it earlier.

„Why are you so quiet today, baby?“ Rafe asked all of a sudden, causing you to flinch from the surprise. The last hour, both of you were lying on Rafe’s bed in total silence.

At first it didn’t seem like something weird to him. Maybe you were just not in the mood for your usual empty rants. He was even thankful that he got to live one day without hearing about your childish nonsense.

Rafe just kept on scrolling through his phone before he felt the need to take a closer look at you.

Then he finally noticed that you almost haven’t moved an inch since you got here. You were simply laying next to him, sucking on your favorite pacifier with a hollow look in your gorgeous eyes.

Something was definitely wrong, but he just couldn’t wrap his finger around what exactly.

Rafe sighed softly. His mind started racing with all the things that he had done that could’ve upset you and caused the silent treatment that he was now receiving from you.

„Okay, listen, are you upset with me? Did Daddy do something that made his little girl feel bad?” Rafe’s voice was low, but his tone was much softer than usual. He wasn’t mad at you for ignoring him; he was mad at himself for causing the current situation.

You didn’t answer.

The look in your eyes stayed empty, and you definitely weren’t paying attention to his words.

Rafe’s facial expression darkened just a little bit. He hated when you wouldn’t tell him the exact reason for your behavior. How was he supposed to know what exactly he did wrong this time?

"Can you use your big girl words, baby?" Rafe tried again, attempting to keep his voice and demeanor calm, despite the fact that he was starting to feel the urge to pull those words out of you no matter what.

Once again, there was no answer from you.

Instead you just shrugged your shoulders and tried to turn over to the other side of the bed, but Rafe caught your arm firmly just as you tried to move.

The muffled squeak came out of your mouth when his grab became tighter.

Now he was pissed off.

Why would you treat him like that? Why wouldn’t you just talk to him like a normal person instead of doing that „silent treatment” bullshit?

„I swear to God, if you won’t give me an answer right now, I’ll…” Rafe stopped mid-sentence when he noticed that weird look on your face. It wasn’t the stubbornness or resentment, no.

It was guilt.

He took a big breath before looking at you once again. This time he also paid attention to your teary eyes.

You weren’t punishing him with your silence, no, of course not. You just weren’t big enough to speak with him directly right now.

Rafe reached his hand to your face and softly stroked your cheek with the tips of his fingers before gently pulling the pacifier out of your mouth.

„`M too small. Don’ wanna talk.” You mumbled under your breath before you felt how two strong arms pulled you closer. The next minute you were lying on Rafe’s chest, while he was gently rubbing your arm that he had roughly grabbed previously.

God, he had to learn how to manage his anger.

„That’s okay, little one. You can just rest in Daddy’s arms now, and we will have a talk once you are all grown up again, yeah?“ Rafe’s voice was calm and soothing again. At least now he knew that you weren’t ignoring him. Of course his good girl would never do that to him.

How stupid of him to even think about that.

This time your lack of an answer didn’t bother him much. Rafe simply placed the pacifier back in your mouth and chuckled quietly as the barely audible, soft murmur flowed from your lips.

“You’re too good for me, baby.” Rafe whispered, running his fingers through your hair, while you were already falling asleep on him.

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @aew-regression-cove @rafecameronsloverrrrr

[sevikasbbymama]

Head cannons for Ambessa with a girl who has a country accent

✾𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚/Country!Reader Hc’s

(suggestive content near the end!)

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• The first time she heard your voice was at one of those elegant mixers she had gotten the Council to host. She had been convincing some wealthy— well, to her they weren’t — investors to take a look at one of her ideas. Though, it didn’t take much convincing. She was Ambessa Medarda after all.

• You had been grabbing a drink when you felt eyes burning into your back, and when you turned, there she was. Staring at you with a smile that nearly made you drop your cup…

~~

Hc’s

• Ambessa loves to hear you talk. When you lay beside her, she’ll run her hand along your hip just to hear your voice stutter. She learned that a lot of things will make your accent get stronger, and she does everything in her power to get it to happen.

• “Say it again for me darling…” She’ll whisper into your ear, and you have to stop yourself from laughing because she’s asking you to repeat such a simple phrase.

• She loves to make you angry because that’s when your accent becomes the most pronounced. “Oh, it’s all in good fun my love…” “Yeah well it ain’t funny. You’re gonna have to make it up to me or I’m not finishing that damn book you asked me to.” She always does and it leaves you breathless.

• Ambessa gets so disappointed at how your accent doesn’t do anything to her name. You try and tell her it’s because her name is too elegant for anything to change it, but she denies that idea because your accent is the most ethereal thing she’s ever heard.

• When you both have time to relax, she’ll have you sit on her lap and try out different names for her. “Darlin’?” “No, love, I call you that.” “Sugar?” “Hm…” “Lover?” “Oh..! Say it again…”

• Ambessa asks about your home town often, and it really is the most plain thing to you, but Ambessa finds everything about you fascinating.

• When you spend too much time with her, your accent becomes less prominent and she will kick you out…of her room. She’ll make you sit on the couch with your own thoughts until it goes back to normal. “Baby, this ain’t doin’ nothin’!” “See, darling? It’s already working. Be a good girl and just wait a bit longer.” “…she’s gonna stop calling me that, I’m not doin’ this today…”

• During your first, real, argument— you were beyond pissed. Ambessa had blown off your dinner for an important council meeting she didn’t even need to be apart of. She just didn’t trust her messenger to bring her exactly the “right information.” You were livid, and you were voicing that very loudly. And Ambessa really was trying to focus on what you were saying and not how hot you sounded.

• Everytime you see her, you always say “Hey lover…” because it gets Ambessa going. Like…every single time. “Again, darling…”

• Whenever Ambessa has a bad day, you’ll get into the bath together. It took some convincing, but you finally got her to be the one sitting between your legs. You’d lean close and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. “I could spend all night telling you what I like about you, but we’d get nothin’ done. I can hardly focus when you’re around me anyways…” You could tell what was working for her based on how hard she was gripping your thigh.

• Ambessa likes to get you flustered. It makes you laugh, which also makes you forget to try and tone down your accent. “Oh lord, baby, you need to stop doin’ that! You’re makin’ me embarrassed…” “Embarrassed? For what? Having the most darling voice I’ve ever heard?” “…shut up.”

• She like when other people compliment your accent because it makes you more inclined to not hide it. She will immediately shut it down when it becomes flirting.

• “Oh, darling, you make the most beautiful sounds…” “Ah..! You know, baby? I’m— mm— I’m startin’ to think most of your attraction for me is cause of my accent…” “…Well, it is what drew me to you, yes.” “Of course it was— AH! Ambessa!” “See? Beautiful.”

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᪥ I actually loved writing this, except I don’t think it should’ve been as difficult as it was considering I literally have a country accent LMAO. If you want, I’ll write a part 2. Oh and if you want headcanons to include NSFW ones as well, let me know!

᪥ Also, let me know if we like the characters dialogue in their signature color. I’d only do that for head canons specifically.