#he's not uncomfortable he just looks uncomfortable at all times. it's whatever.

[rodolfoparras]

18+ MDNI 18+

Thinking about playfully wrestling with your boyfriend while he makes mindless comments about your strength “oh you’re so strong, don’t think I’d be able to escape even if I wanted,” he says in wonder, eyes practically shining as he squeezes your biceps, “you ought to be careful never know when I can break” he says jokingly while doing a half hearted attempt to try and escape your embrace.

Slowly but surely you start getting more and more rough with him: squeezing and pressing down onto spots, not enough to hurt but enough to make him uncomfortable. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t think you’d be able to get away if someone like me were to attack you.” The relaxed look on his face swiftly turns into one of concern and you can see the way he slowly attempts to back away from you.

But it’s to no avail, he’s trapped in your embrace, with you steadily inching closer to his face, a big sharp grin painted on your own face. “I mean what are you supposed to do? Can’t even push them away,” you say referring to his futile attempts at trying to push you away from him. “Guess you’d just have to stay and take whatever they’re willing to give you,” you continue, proving your point when you easily spread his legs wide and ground your cock up against his ass, all while he can’t do anything but helplessly watch as you twist and turn his body as if he were a ragdoll “Bet there’s plenty of things they would love to do to a pretty boy like you. Don’t you think?”

“Oh god- don’t -dont say that,” he gasps out, head falling into the crook of your neck as if he’s horrified. But you can feel his fully hard cock from where your hand is resting against his thighs , can hear the muffled whines and whimpers as he grinds himself up against you, can see it on him how he he’s torn between pushing you away and completely stopping this little game or pulling you closer to him to see how far you’ll take this.

What a sick little thing you got at your hands.

“How about this?” You say, hand yanking ahold of his hair to bring his ear closer to you “You try to run and we’ll see if I can catch you. Does that sound alright?”

This time you don’t get a verbal response. Instead you can see it on his face what he’s trying to say: and what happens if you catch me?

The silence is swiftly broken with a soft thud as you release your hold on him.”Run, quick,”

He doesn’t waste a second scrambling up the stairs, practically tripping over his feet as he turns corners. He looks and sounds absolute terrified and you can’t help but love that, cock growing harder as you follow him up.

With each step you take you can hear his rapid breaths getting louder and louder , can feel his own thudding steps as you walk down the narrow hallway, can practically smell him - not some cheap cologne nor any deodorant but rather a mix of sickly sweet vanilla and sugar- something that’s just so him - something you’d want to sink your teeth in and drain completely. You follow that very scent all the way to your shared bedroom.

And there he stands, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, or rather like a animal that’s bleeding out on the side of the road, with his cock still painfully hard and with a suspicious dark spot on his sweatpants.

“Oh sweetheart,” you coo, voice dripping with faux concern, while slowly walking up to him like he was an injured animal of some sort. “Why do you look so scared hmm? You know I won’t actually hurt you,” you continue, watching in amusement as he swiftly backs up til his back is flushed with the bedroom wall.

You’re quick to press yourself flush against his chest, once again trapping him in your embrace.“Come on. You wound me. I really wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that,” You say eyes once again flicking up to the wet spot on his pants “Look, got yourself all worked up and for what?” You ask, as you cup the wet bulge over his pants.

“Stop - ah don’t” he cries out, sounding and looking absolutely horrified as he tries to push your hand away but once again it’s to no avail and he has to stand there as you freely grope him. However it doesn’t take much before he’s bucking up into your touch, head lolling back against the wall as whines and whimpers freely pour past his tongue “fuck- so good mph,”

“See sweetheart, I just want to take care of you, wouldn’t dream of hurting you,”you say with a soft smile as you continue to rub him through his pants. The man only furiously nods, begs and please of more more more, continuously rolling off of his tongue as he practically humps the palm of your hand.

“Unless you want me to, that is,” suddenly you’re flipping him around, hand rough as ever as you shove him up against the wall before slotting your leg between his thighs.

The poor thing squeaks in suprise, tears freely spilling from his eyes ,as incoherent words start pouring from his mouth.

“Come on now sweetheart,” you groan out , hand once again yanking at his hair and successfully pulling a hiss from him “you know that need you to use your words. Now tell em what you want yeah?”

Once again he’s fumbling over his words, too overwhelmed with emotions to form a coherent sentence. However you won’t take that for answer, hand once again yanking at his hair till he finally responds to you.

“Want- ah want you to touch me sir ah- please do anything touch me- hah fuck me - hurt me just anything please please-“

“Well who am I to say no when you ask so nicely?”

[noonecareslol]

꧁ Pillows On The Floor

☙𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐅 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❧

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’ve had enough of waking up in your bed alone when it’s meant for two people.

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈：None really just pure fluff. BUTTTT this is my first fic written on tumblr so be nice pookies :)

༺༻

It started when you first moved into your shared apartment. You would put your pajamas on, wash your face, and pull the covers back to slip in your shared bed.

Well, it’s supposed to be shared. Instead, just like clock work, Bucky would take his pillow and blanket to lay on the floor. Every. Night. You understood why. He spent nearly 70 years in HYDRA’S harsh conditions. Being uncomfortable was all he’s ever known.

At first you let him be and it eventually became a routine. You would both get ready for bed before kissing him goodnight. You would slip into bed and he would slip into the blankets thrown on the floor haphazardly. Each night before turning off the light, you would ask if he would join you. But he always responded with the same stubbornness, “I’m more comfortable down here. I promise.” And with a squeeze of your hand, you would both go to sleep.

After about a month or two of the same nightly routine, you became sick of feeling the emptiness next to you. You would reach out for him during the night only to be met with one of your many stuffed animals. So, you decided to start sleeping on the floor with him.

“What are you doing?” Bucky questioned as you lay your pillow next to his. His eyebrows were furrowed and his sleepy eyes were squinty.

You place another blanket on top as you slide in next to him, “I’m going to bed? It’s nearly 12.” You attempt to fluff your pillow, trying to get comfortable on the hard wood flooring.

A small chuckle escaped his lips as he propped his head on his elbow, looking over at you with his light blue eyes, “Y/n, i’ve told you i’m fine. You don’t need-“

“I know you’re fine. But I actually want to sleep on the floor.” You interrupted him and he could tell you were lying just by the way you haven’t stopped fluffing your pillow.

It’s not like the floor is comfortable. He knows that, you know that. But you aren’t doing this for him. You’re doing it because you don’t want to be the only one in your king sized bed anymore. And you’d rather be on the cold floor with him than alone on your bed.

Bucky sighed before flopping on his back. A small smirk played at his lips as you continued to mess with your blanket and pillow, “Whatever you say doll.”

You give up on your pillow before turning to face him, “It’s so comfy down here. It’s probably good for feng shui too.” You kiss his stubbly chin as you lie to him, and yourself.

“Feng shui, hmm?” He turns to face you, draping his cold metal arm across your waist. He pulls you close and your face buries in between his chin and shoulder, “I love you, Y/n.”

Your body warms at his touch, even with the cold floor pressing against you. He still makes you melt after all this time. You lean up and place a soft, loving kiss on his lips, “I love you too Bucky.” You cuddle against him and close your eyes.

Bucky smiles as you attempt to fall asleep. His hand reaches up to play with your hair. His metal fingers running through the soft strands. He waits and waits until your breathing finally slows and your chest rises and falls evenly before he gently sits up.

Careful not to make any sudden moves he slowly pulls the blanket off of you. A smile plays on his lips as he looks at you. Your knees are pulled to your chest at an attempt to keep warm and your hair is messily laid on the pillow.

He turns around and pulls the comforter and the sheet down. He fluffs up your pillows the way he knows you like and moves some of your plushies to make room.

Slowly he moves down, bending his knees as he softly scoops his arms under your waist and legs before pulling you to his chest. He steadily stands up, lifting you with him. You instinctively nuzzle into his chest, the warmth radiating off his body making you feel safe. He lays your legs down first as he slips you into the bed. His hand moves from your waist to the nape of your neck as he pulls the comforter over your body. Your eyes gently flutter open as Bucky places a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Shhh, shh. Go back to sleep darling.” He whispers as he sits on the edge of your bed. He’s moved his hand from the nape of your neck to your cheek, softly stroking your face.

Once your eyes close again he slowly starts to stand up, careful not to make any sudden movements when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist.

“No. Please, I want to sleep next to you. I feel safe in your arms Bucky. I don’t want to wake up clutching my teddy bear anymore.” Your eyes were a bit glossy, tears threatened to fall as your grip became tighter.

He sits back on the bed and places his hand on your thigh, “I don’t know Y/n. I don’t know if I can. I’m so used to being uncomfortable that its normal now.” He slowly rubs your thigh, reassuring you that he is okay on the floor. You’ve always been understanding about his trauma and it was one of the many reasons he fell in love with you so fast.

You give a small smile, “Can you maybe try? Just test the waters and if you don’t like it, you can go right back to the floor.” You’re pulling his hand now, tugging him to the bed.

He slowly nods before walking around the bed and slipping in next to you. He hesitates as he feels his head land against the pillow but you’re quick to wrap your arm around his waist. Your plushies are tossed off the bed now and you’re nuzzling into his side.

“It’s definitely more comfy than the floor.” He chuckles as he wraps an arm around you pulling you closer.

A pretty giggle escapes your lips and Bucky is quick to place a loving kiss on them. You hum contently as your eyes start to close. And as you fall into a deep sleep the last thing you hear is Buckys soft snores.

༺༻

a/n: Hey gang FIRST fic i hope you like it🙏🙏

[eoieopda]

triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus. 

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly. 

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door. 

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?” 

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds. 

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath. 

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks. 

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years. 

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough. 

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling. 

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping to sleep off again.

“Well?” 

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?” 

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line. 

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view. 

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls. 

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.” 

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then�� what? You forgot your own birthday?” 

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention. 

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him. 

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.”  Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.” 

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways. 

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time. 

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself. 

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out. 

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.” 

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling. 

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level. 

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no. 

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly  gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip. 

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name. 

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten. 

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time. 

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on. 

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others. 

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens. 

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.” 

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull. 

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term. 

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —” 

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another. 

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is. 

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be. 

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s. 

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper. 

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just —  get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t. 

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?” 

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks. 

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her. 

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking. 

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake. 

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all. 

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation: 

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….” 

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll  push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase. 

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming. 

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he? 

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold. 

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.” 

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —” 

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance. 

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand. 

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.” 

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the clatter of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom. 

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?” 

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

[rubyvhs]

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, car sex (just fingering), angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them). 

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree. 

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way. 

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI. 

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean. 

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer." 

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way. 

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends. 

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times. 

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever. 

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one. 

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes. 

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers. 

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you." 

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth. 

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever. 

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw. 

"We— Dean, can't here—" 

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing. 

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right." 

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?" 

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance. 

"De, someone can see—"

"Don't overthink it." He says, burying his head between your breasts, kissing, biting, licking and loving all the noises you're making. He groans into your skin, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot that has you moaning out loud. "God, sweetheart, love that sound."

He moves his hands to your waist, thrusts his hips once, checking your reaction. A little tremor passes through you. Eyes hood over. 

"Can't believe you're here, and all for me." 

"Yes," you breathe, resting your forehead against Dean's, overwhelmed by his words and how close his hand is to your inner thigh. "Please."

"If I slide my hand up your skirt, will I find you dripping wet for me?" Another shudder shakes you gently. 

"Yes."

When he grips your knee and your neck, closing your lips with a kiss while his other hand travels higher, you start feeling your pulse hammering in your ears. The windows start misting over, giving you privacy— not that you particularly believe Dean cares. 

Dean moves his seat back, then pushes you until your shoulder blades hit the steering wheel so you're more comfortable, your legs bent on either side of him, hands braced against the door and his chest. 

"Dreamed about this," He says, his voice low and husky. The way his eyes are raking over your body, you're not even sure you're supposed to hear him. "Thought about this everyday for six years, sweetheart. Now I get to have you." 

He glides one finger between your lips, sliding up and down slowly. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans, eyes focused between your legs and you fall over, your head on his chest, before he pushes you back against the steering wheel, "nu-uh, wanna see it. Wanna see how wet you are for me, baby."

You have so much to say— a lot of apologies and 'I miss you's’ and so many more beautiful words and kisses and you want to tell Dean that you care about him as much as he does you and why you left—

He dips two fingers inside you. Curls them immediately, and just like that, he finds your most sensitive spot. 

You half pant, half moan, the words 'Dean, oh my god, please' a jumbled drowned-out mishmash because he starts torturing your clit, his thumb rubbing perfect circles, hard and fast, reducing your bones to liquid. But when you're right there, he eases away, lazily pumping two fingers in and out. 

He smiles, exhaling a content breath as his gaze zeroes between your thighs, ignoring your pleas. "Yeah? you wanna come, darlin’?" the pet name and the question both bring out a loud moan you didn’t know you were holding, your hips involuntarily moving against his fingers until he stops you. you’re about to whine again but he increases the pace, crooking his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm rips through you, powerful, relentless, so intense you think you might just black out. You’ve never felt so boneless in someone's arms, until your head falls right into his chest as he works your pussy, the sensation easing off and then coming again like waves crashing against the shore.

Dean doesn't stop. His fingers are rough, his thumb still being put to good use, and the release lasts so long. So fucking long you think you have an out-of-body experience. 

It takes a minute until you're able to breathe anything but his cologne. When you can, you sit up slightly and move into the seat next to him, thankful for the lack of a console to separate you since you don't get very far, just lay your head on his chest. 

He kisses your head. You can even feel his smile against the kiss until you notice the bulge of his pants and frown. You quickly get up and Dean's entire face falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—" 

Dean grabs your wrist before it makes it halfway to his dick. "This isn't an exchange, sweetheart." Your entire body is like jelly, you can't move and you're pretty sure if you try sucking Dean off, you’ll pass out. But it feels… rude. "You're spent. I'll get you home so you can take a hot shower, and we'll pick this up again when you're ready. How about that?" 

You can't fucking believe your luck. Dean wants an 'again'. 

[rqyup]

out of place | xavier & sylus ver.

pairing.. sylus x reader, xavier x reader

cw.. angst to fluff

a/n.. sorry for the long break.. 😓🙏 masterlist | request

ꜱʏʟᴜꜱ

You always felt out of place as Sylus's plus one at events. Despite the countless reassurances he gave, the discomfort never quite left. It wasn't about your looks—well, not entirely. It was about the way people carried themselves, as if they belonged here. You? You were just dragged along. While others seemed to thrive in the flashing lights and loud chatter, you longed for the calm of Linkon, somewhere quiet.

Sylus’s hand rested on your waist as he chatted with one of his acquaintances, the usual routine. It had been going on for hours, and you were starting to feel drained.

Noticing your discomfort, Sylus leaned closer, his teasing smile evident. "Hanging in there, sweetie?" He whispered as his acquaintance left the picture.

You sighed. "I'd rather be asleep right now.

"You know we can leave whenever you want, right?" He pulled you closer, his smirk deepening.

"Yeah… but I don’t want to ruin the fun," you mumbled, glancing around at the lively crowd.

Sylus raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want my love to be uncomfortable. This party was for us, after all. You can do whatever you want, and I’ll oblige. I’m at your service, sweetie."

"Well.. I'm craving some cuddles and kisses right now. And maybe some dates in Linkon.." You cheekily replied.

In which Sylus replied with "Such a spoiled kitten, hm?"

You couldn’t help but smile. Yep, you really did have good taste in men.

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ

Ah, yes—the perfect boyfriend, or so the Hunters in the association liked to say. You never understood why Xavier saw anything special in you. After all, you were just another Hunter, right? You were proud of your strength, but you were so much lower in rank compared to him.

The nagging feeling of inferiority was always there. The way others looked at you with barely concealed judgment made your insecurities flare. Seriously? A low-ranked Hunter…? He can do better than that.

It gnawed at you, especially as Xavier slept peacefully on your lap. He was perfect in every way—how could you be enough for him? You believed he deserved someone better, someone stronger, someone who could keep up without faltering in the first round .

Xavier groaned and stirred, breaking your thoughts. "Love… how long has it been?"

"Four hours," you chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. Your sleepy, cute boyfriend.

He blinked up at you, his voice laced with curiosity. "Don't you ever get tired of me asking you to train me?"

"Well, it's a bit of work, but I don't mind," he replied, still sleepy.

"Even when I last, like, thirty seconds at most?" You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

"It's the thought that counts," he said, his voice softening. "I like spending time with you. Honestly, I'm glad you'd rather train with me than hang out with your friends."

His possesiveness was so evident on his face, you knew he had always been a jealous man, but every time he showed that side of his—you still can't help but laugh.

You paused, relishing the surge of feelings his words alone gave you. "Are you sure..?"

Xavier smiled, his gaze turning tender. "I'm sure."

Before you could respond, he leaned up to kiss you on the cheek, leaving you feeling lighter than you had all day.

rqyup © 2024 – do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my content; dividers by me; likes and reblogs are appreciated !

[courtesons]

"It's not about being fragile Fabian, it's just important to talk about these things. This club is different from some you've been before and we've never officially been public with this dynamic before, you might become uncomfortable or need a moment to not be around so many people" He said gently. Perhaps it might seem 'obvious' but Ethan had enough experience to know you left nothing unsaid or assumed in this kind of dynamic. Communication was always key.

"You can have whatever drink you like, though in limited quantity. No getting drunk or even too tipsy to relax" He instructed for the night, he didn't want Fabian's levels of ability to consent to be hampered or put into question. Though the ground rules were momentarily distracted from when he saw the young man slip off the harness and take off his shirt, giving Ethan a first time view of what Fabian looked like shirtness and in a leather harness. A look he would most definitely be needing to recreate.

"Fabian, you looking hot is simply a constant state of being" He pointed out, before a curl to his lips in a playful smile. "But yes you do in fact, somehow, look even hotter than usual like this" He agreed, toying with the leather strap through the shirt for a moment. "I'm sure you could give off any aura or vibe you wanted, submisssives and dominants and everyone in-between is going to want you" He pointed out. "But while you're with me? Let's just say I've been coming to this club long enough to have a reputation. While you're with me they'll know all too well just how submissive you can be."

"If they're a stranger, you come to me for permission. Always" He instructed, a clear rule. "If we both know them and feel comfortable around them, you can make your own judgement - though I must know where you are at all times, alright little one? No running off without telling me, it's a safety thing" He smiled.

"I'm not that fragile, Ethan," Fabian said with a bit of a rolled eye, "I've been to clubs. I'm not going to need to bail over sitting and chatting. Just put a tequila matador in my hand and I promise you I'll mellow out." Fabian smiled, "That's right, you haven't me drunk yet. If you thought I was into all this sober..." He laughed, grabbing Ethan's head and planting a swift kiss to his forehead as soon as the harness was secure. Then he turned back to the mirror to inspect how he looked. Tight pants, dark shirt, held to his frame by the harness on top it. He frowned, and quickly reversed the order. He undid his shirt, leaving the harness in place, slid the garment off his body and then put it back on over the harness. "Much better. I didn't like the way it made the shirt bunch up, and now..." Fabian undid two more buttons on the wine colored shirt, letting it open up even deeper to reveal the hints of the harness as well as more skin. It would be distressingly easy now for Ethan to slip his hands inside the shirt while they were out clubbing or dancing. "Fuck, I look hot." He turned to look at Ethan, and smiled, "We look hot."

The extra reminders were great, both to give Fabian some ground rules to hang onto but also because the idea of "entering a place as a submissive" was something thrilling for Fabian to process. "Would people know right away? Do I give off a submissive vibe or something?" The chain necklace around his throat could mean anything, so it was possibly people wouldn't even know.

"Oh, speaking of consent," he said, "If someone wants to play with me or touch me and I am willing, should I ask you for permission first? Should I tell them to go arrange it with you? What's the rules, sir?" Fabian added the honorific, indicating he was asking as Ethan's submissive who was following orders.

[awrkive]

OOOOH this event sounds so fun, could I have angst #21 (the bl*od one) with JK please? Low-key I’m thinking of like a royal vibe where like they’re both royals but enemies but it’s up to you Dee whatever you write I will gladly eat up 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

callofthegreen asked: Angst+21+ Jungkook (I'm a sucker for angst, and you always make it hurt so good, love you 💗)

21. "Is that... blood? Please tell me it isn't blood."

note: you said royals and i immediately thought... fantasy 🤓🤓 man idk the setting is very much inspired by mlbb universe 😭 this is kinda erm but hope you both enjoy i tried my best! 😭

wc: 1.8k (boo i know sorry)

You try to conceal the uncomfortable gnawing at your thigh – but the trek to the steep of the mountain was getting too much to bear, and every passing second is starting to feel like suicide. 

Subtly looking to the side, you observe Jungkook stands just fine. He has cuts all over his face from the attack of the common creeps back at the jungle, but he generally looks okay overall. Meanwhile, you still haven’t told him a horned lizard got you good and sliced quite deeply at your thigh when you made the mistake of kicking at the wrong time. 

It hurts like hell. Jungkook has been offering to stop by at few spots whenever he hears you inhale a sharp breath, probably assuming your discomfort about the length of the walk, but you couldn’t have it in you for him to think that you aren’t built for this. 

He’s spent the entirety of your childhood mocking you for your poor archery skills, laughing with his older cousins about how you couldn’t even pick up a sword the right way. He bitched and moaned about his status to be prince – completely wanting to be a warrior instead, and as a result insulted you for acquiescing to your royal responsibility of being princess. 

You hate him for many things. Hate him for how he affected you all those years, hate him for making you cry on the night of your 13th birthday, hate him for the fact that your father liked him more than you, and hate how he goes through life like it’s his stage and he’s the main character who never dies. 

Right now, Jungkook isn’t like the scrawny kid who used to pick on you for a hobby, second to perfecting his sports – he’s now a twenty-seven-year-old responsible king who had strategically led the movement of winning the impending war. 

But that doesn’t magically erase all the animosity you have towards him. 

You hate that you’re betrothed to him, hate that you knew that even before your father and your mother broke the news to you at the ripe age of 18. Hate that both your kingdoms are to form an alliance to battle the current rise of rebellion from the west. But after you lost your parents from the war that transpired two years ago, it had to be done. 

Jungkook may not be the same old guy who made half your life miserable – but you know that underneath his composure and the respectable manner in which he presents himself with now is nothing but a mere facade. 

Frankly, you do not trust him. You do not trust his plans. You do not support the war and everything that he and his council stands for. 

You don't want to be by his side when you're proven right.

And the last thing you'd want to be in front of Jungkook is weak. 

But a goddamn rock had made you trip on your own way, and you couldn’t help the shriek that escapes your mouth when you drop on the ground. 

“Fuck–” you pull your wounded thigh up, automatically wrapping your hand around the area and squeezing to manage the throbbing pain. “Shit.” You hiss when you see red your trousers, panicking internally. 

“What the hell– is that blood?” Jungkook drops his bladric on the ground and immediately goes to you, eyes widening at the sight of your thigh. “Please tell me it isn’t blood.” 

“Don’t touch me!” You say when Jungkook hovers over your thigh. He recoils, and you know he didn't expect that much hostility – given that you’ve been quiet for the entirety of the trek, and even though you haven’t exactly been welcoming to him for the past month of the expedition you both coincidentally sneaked yourselves into, you’ve been civil. 

Jungkook pulls back, one knee bent on the layer of dirt on the ground, hands surrendering up as if to reassure you he wasn’t going to do something you wouldn’t like. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not.” Jungkook retorts, eyes trailing to the growing spot of blood on the fabric of your trousers. It’s getting more painful by the second –  and you want nothing but to scream about how it fucking stings. “Jesus christ, __, just let me help. That’s a damn big wound you’ve got there.” 

“I’m fine–” you insist, but it’s broken by a sharp intake of breath as another twinge comes up. you wince. “I just need– I just need some fabric. Tie it around the wound.” You manage to say, distressed. Both physically and emotionally. 

“We need to– I need to clean you up,” Jungkook says and maybe it’s your eyes playing jedi games on you but for once, he actually looks genuine to you. As if he actually cares. 

You scoff. “I can do that myself.” 

You don’t expect the way Jungkook snaps. 

“For once, can you stop being stubborn? You can barely breathe properly, __. You can say and think what you want and hate me again after this but just let me take care of you this one time. I’m going to clean your wound and make sure you’re not gonna bleed yourself to death by the time we arrive at the port.” Jungkook looks into your eyes and they feel almost… earnest. Like he wants you to really listen to him. He closes and opens his mouth as if wanting to say something. You wait for it, then for a few seconds it doesn’t come, until... “I’m not out to get you, __.” 

I’m not out to get you. It’s a simple sentence with a simple message. One that you should understand right away. 

But you don't.

You avoid his eyes when you only say, “I don’t trust you.” 

What you don’t expect is his quick answer.

“I know.” 

He crosses the distance between you once again, and you watch as he hesitantly hovers his hand over your thigh again. He looks for your face, silent – but his eyes scream for permission. You don’t give it verbally; too tired to speak, too consumed by the pain in your leg to voice out any more complaints lodged in your throat. 

When Jungkook initially places his hand on your leg, you don’t flinch. And it’s a surprise. Surprise because you expected his touch to burn you like how Icarus did when he flew too close to the sun, but instead it felt like winter night. Cold, but strangely warm. 

When you don’t say anything, he halts.

“Can I?” He asks. Leveled. Waiting. Always waiting. Almost gentle…

You purse your lips when you nod your head. 

Jungkook brings forward his satchel where he takes out a small knife, and there’s nothing but the gentle breeze of the wind and songs of the birds surrounding you at this part of the mountain when Jungkook begins cutting throught the fabric of your pants, effectively revealing the – admittedly – ghastly cut on your bare thigh. 

“Jesus,” Jungkook looks at you, eyebrows creased. “When did you get this? It can’t be from the fall.” 

“I–” you clear your throat and look away, ashamed to be admitting this now. “The horned lizard got me back at jungle.”

Jungkook looks like he wanted to say something but for god knows what, he keeps it to himself.

You watch quietly as he takes out a flask, twisting open the cap and looks at you before pouring over the water on the wound. 

When you hiss in pain, Jungkook immediately stops. 

“Are–” 

“I’m fine– it’s okay,” you assure him, biting your lip, glancing down at your wound. It would be hard to walk further carrying this with you. 

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook says. You assume it’s for his previous action, but you don’t exactly know how that guaranteed an apology.

You ignore it and he continues tending to the wound, relieved that he’s got some clean scraps of fabric in his bag – a quick aid kit, perhaps – to tap your wound with, and when he asks you to leverage his shoulder for a little bit so he can lift your thigh up a little in order to wrap the fabric around your thigh, your breath hitch at the proximity. 

Even though you and Jungkook are bethroted, you never really shared any moments where you’re required to be as close like this. The banquets are public appearances that only needed you and him to sit beside each other and smile and laugh at the visitors so they think you’re a good pair, but once the doors are closed, one becomes a stranger to another. 

But this… this feels different. It’s… intimate, in a way. 

When you said that his touch didn’t burn, it felt a little more different when you feel his skin touch yours. There’s a little spark to it – fleeting, quick. And you swear he lingers for longer than necessary when he finishes tending to the wound. 

It makes you confused.

“I wish you told me sooner.” Is what Jungkook says when he lets go. 

You pull your hand away from his shoulder. “I didn’t want us to lag behind.” 

“I wouldn’t have mind.” Jungkook says. It’s spoken with so much sincerity that it suddenly triggers a lot of underlying pain – and not just because there’s a big wound on your thigh that’s feeling a little better now – but because Jungkook is acting so different with you. “I’ll try to hunt us something to eat. We’ll stay here for a while so you can rest. Your wound’s pretty fucking big and I’m sure it’s gonne be swollen in a few minutes. Let’s just dry it out for awhile so I can apply the gel all over it, and then we can–” 

“Jungkook,” you cut him off. “Can you stop?” 

He looks at you, rightfully confused. 

You feel mad. Mad at the horned lizard for cutting you. Mad at yourself for letting yourself get cut. Mad at Jungkoook. Mad that he’s being nice. Mad at the situation. Mad at the war. And mad that all of this doesn’t make sense to you. 

“Stop trying to act like you care," You purse your lips and stare into his eyes when you add, “I don’t trust you. Right now I’m putting my guards down and maybe you feel nice enough to not obliterate it but this doesn’t mean you suddenly get to act like you’ve always cared about me. You never did, and I doubt you ever will.” 

Jungkook looks at you. His dark brown orbs have always held something in them – the stars, looks like it, but the stars were beautiful and you didn’t like associating him with beautiful things. 

“You don’t know everything.” Jungkook says, looking away just as he says that. You thought there was more… or maybe you thought there was more so you could retaliate with something – just something – but no words come after it. 

You find yourselves staring blankly ahead at the landscape of nothing but the vast blue skies. 

[lennadanvers]

Pure Imagination: sitting on top of his amp

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female!Reader

Practice makes perfect. That’s what people say. Eddie thinks practice makes thinks automatic. Boring. He kinda likes the thrill of not being sure if he has what it takes to make it right- he’s used to feeling uncomfortable, on the brink of being not enough.

The rest of Corroded Coffin, on the other hand, enjoy knowing that their next performance will always be the best. And Eddie may think it’s boring to play the same song twenty times in one afternoon, but he loves his friends too much to bail on them.

Besides, now that he can play all the songs even while asleep, he can put his attention somewhere else. To hell with Jeff’s cue. His hands will do what they have to do, right on beat. Meanwhile, his head can focus on more stimulating thoughts.

Like you.

Eddie loves a good audience. And there is no better audience than you. He’d know. You were there once, at the talent show.

He was far less experienced than now. He loved playing the guitar just as much, though. You were in the third or fourth row, not that far from him. Eddie was nervous. You were laughing with your friend, but not at him. When he stepped on stage, you stopped talking and started paying attention. The smile was most likely the remnants of whatever had made you laugh earlier, but Eddie likes to lie to himself and believe it was for him.

When he started playing, you didn’t look away from him once. He supposes it would’ve defeated the purpose of a show, but still. His fingers felt your eyes. His arm. His neck, his cheeks. Eddie hoped you’d think the blush was because of the heat from the lights and not because of you. To this day, he’s a little ashamed you saw him with the buzz cut.

He doesn’t regret it, though, because you made him feel important.

Eddie wants to return the favor. That’s why he plays looking at the amp. It’s easy to picture you there. Back in high school, he noticed you like to sit on furniture. The art class tables, the kitchen counter at someone’s house party… And his amp, hopefully.

He starts playing and the beat paints you there. You’re sitting crisscross, hands on your knees. Eddie improvises a little and your fingers follow, little taps that echo his heartbeat. He shakes his hair and you laugh, and he’s happy. Truly, really happy. Who cares if he’s trapped in a dark garage. Who cares if no one will really appreciate his art when they play at the Hideout. Eddie, for once, doesn’t give a crap.

He can still pretend you’ll catch his guitar pick. He can convince himself you’ll keep it in your wallet for good luck, or that you’ll make it into a necklace. Eddie can convince himself you’ll keep a piece of his music hanging next to your heart. It’s easy to believe a part of him will always be warm, on top of your skin, under your t-shirt in a space that is exclusively yours.

It feels natural to be exclusively yours. His music is. His inspiration, too.

If Gareth wants to play another million times the same song they already perfected, great. Amazing. Eddie will happily take any chance to play for you.

A/N: me?? Posting Pure Imagination again?? Who is this diva?! Sabrina said "short and sweet" so that's what I did. I won't let this series die- instead I'll drag the suffering for as long as possible (that is to say it's taking longer than expected to finish). Anyway, hope you like it! If you want me to add you to the taglist, just comment or send an ask.

Btw, I used dividers for the first time to introduce a new series (The Heartbreak Chronicles, in case you want to check it out), and I was thinking maybe I should find a divider for this one too. Maybe something Alice in Wonderland related? Or just Eddie in general? Pls let me know if you have any suggestions.

Masterlist here

Taglist: @whataboutbibi , @hellfirenacht , @daisyridleyss

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Visitation Rights

The Professionals is a crossover of In The Woods Somewhere and Professional//Victim, co-written with @victimeyez CW: long term captivity, (seemingly) conditioned whumpee, references to past torture, mild physical violence, and worst of all, socially awkward situations

Buck’s visits were a highlight of Tommy’s time at the lodge. He tried to make it out every couple weeks. Fletcher was omnipresent, always supervising them, but the three of them would play cards and watch movies. Once, Buck brought his gaming console from home so they could play Super Smash Bros. 

Every time, Tommy’s heart lifted from having someone around who cared to just spend time with him, just to make him happy.

And every time Buck left, Tommy would slip into a cold darkness in his mind; the stark absence of Buck’s sunshine. 

Buck knew what Fletcher put Tommy through. He knew that Fletcher was on their best behavior when he was around. And yet Buck left after only a few hours, not to return again for two or three weeks at a time. Just leaving Tommy alone to his fate. 

Buck was allowed to leave. Tommy was not. 

That bastard. With his car and his job and his apartment and his boyfriend.

Tommy felt his stomach drop when Buck had mentioned that. “My boyfriend…”

It was stupid, but it hurt to know that Buck had other relationships, outside in the real world, that he would leave Tommy for and go home to.

And yet Tommy counted down the days until Buck returned. When he walked through that door, all was forgiven. 

Buck felt like he was driving to court mandated community service, except the court was himself and the community was one person. 

His crime, then, was being the one who got out. His punishment was having to go back.

It wasn’t that bad, really, it was just… supremely uncomfortable. Fletcher didn’t do anything to him besides act like a smug asshole sometimes. The new class of trainees barely gave him a second glance. And Tommy was nice and all, and Buck could tell that he really appreciated the visits, it was just…

Tommy fawned hard for Fletcher. It was normal to expect him to be scared of them, to heed their will, but Tommy acted trained. He acted broken in.

It was gross to watch, frankly. Part of Buck judged him. He himself had learned that it was better to obey and not talk back, but he had never pretended to like it. He had never pretended to like Fletcher.   

Part of Buck hated it because it showed what would have happened to him if he hadn’t gotten out. 

When he tried to tell himself he wasn’t like that, it brought to mind all the times he had thanked Fletcher for mercy or small kindnesses. All the times he had begged and bent and told Fetcher what they wanted to hear. 

Tommy had been living this life for five years. Both he and Fletcher had said whoever had kept him captive before was even worse. Buck really couldn’t blame Tommy for becoming whatever he needed to be to stay alive.

It was still hard to witness. 

But Tommy seemed genuinely happy when Buck came over, not just a performance to keep himself out of trouble. He smiled so wide it made the scar around his eye crinkle.

Is that how Buck’s looks when he smiles?

Tommy’s nervous, eager to please attitude paired with giddy excitement of having a friend did give him the vibe of a kid who wanted to hang out with the cool, older kids. It inspired an older brother type of feeling in Buck that he’d never really experienced. He had to remind himself sometimes that Tommy was a grown adult. 

Which made the gift bag riding shotgun feel like the wrong choice, now that he was on his way with it. 

Fletcher was waiting for him outside as per usual, whittling a piece of wood. They slipped it and the carving knife into their pocket as Buck got out of the car.

Buck kept halting and hesitating as he picked up a gift bag off the passenger seat. He clutched it nervously in both hands.

Fletcher nodded at it, not having to ask aloud.

“I got him a stuffed animal,” Buck admitted, cringing slightly. “Is that, like, really infantilizing? I mean, he’s like, how old?”

“He’s thirty.”

“He’s thirty?” Buck repeated incredulously.

“I know; they kept him baby-faced and twinky,” Fletcher agreed.

“Okay, this is stupid,” Buck shook his head and began to put the bag back in the car.

“No, no,” Fletcher waved their hand at him. “He’ll like it.”

Buck hesitated again, bag frozen halfway. “You sure? Like, honestly?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Come on.”

Tommy was resolved to keep it together this time. No pinning all his hopes and happiness on Buck. Buck was just a guy who came around sometimes. Maybe he counts as a friend, or maybe just an acquaintance. A friend of a friend. Something like that. 

Tommy was sitting in bed reading when the knock came. He had tried reading outside first, but the weather was turning and the cold wind was too biting to be comfortable.

Fletcher led the way into the room and stepped aside for Buck. He was fiddling with a colorful gift bag held between both hands.

“Hey, um…” Buck toyed with the bag before holding it out to Tommy, shoulders drawn up in embarrassment. “This is for you.”

Tommy glanced at Fletcher for approval, who gave him a nod. He reached out and took the bag, heart fluttering with nervous excitement. Pulling aside the tissue paper he revealed a teddy bear.

Tommy pulled the bear from the bag and held it with both hands, staring at it. It had soft brown fur, arms and legs out, semi-stiff, somewhat curved.

“It’s designed to, like, hug,” Buck explained. “Sorry, I know it’s kinda… I know you’re an adult…”

Tommy pulled his gaze away from the bear to look at Buck, eyes shining with tears.

“This is really for me?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Buck said gently. “Of course.”

Tommy clutched the bear tight to his chest, burying his face in the fur. Its limbs were perfectly shaped to embrace him back. Fuck “keeping it together.” Buck was the best thing that ever happened to him.

“I love it,” Tommy said, voice muffled. “Thank you.”

Fletcher smiled and nudged Buck. It wasn’t a cruel smirk, just a genuine, See? I told you he’d like it.

Buck inherited a small friend group when he and Nico started dating. They had recently introduced him to a board game called The Settlers of Catan. It had been a good time, and he wasn’t sure exactly how that might translate with these two, but he had decided to give it a go. 

Tommy was eager, as always. He always seemed hungry for anything new - new things to learn about the world outside, new things to try. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so pitiful. Fletcher always kept their look of detached amusement, but they would forget to keep it up as the visit moved along. Buck might have been here for Tommy, but in an odd way, this was therapy for Fletcher, too. 

Fletcher snatched the orange pieces up while Buck started setting up the board. 

“What color would you like to play as?” He asked Tommy, while he finished linking together the border pieces. 

“You pick first, I’m not picky,” Tommy offered easily.

Buck had noticed Tommy avoided making choices for himself even when he could. It felt like he should be eager to have some control where he could, but he never took the opportunity. Buck had never lost his will, not till the very end, but Tommy seemed nearly mindless on his own. 

“I’m still setting up the game, how about you pick a color in the meantime?” Buck tried gently.

“That’s okay, I can wait,” Tommy responded. “Can I help set up the board?” 

Buck looked up at him finally, and Tommy was smiling sweetly at him, an adoring look in his eyes. Did he think of as Buck another master? Tommy pandering to him gave him a sudden jolt of revulsion. 

“Don’t you want to make choices when you can?” 

Buck meant it to come out kinder than it sounded. It was a little too sharp, almost accusatory. It shouldn’t have mattered, but Tommy was very tuned in to tone and body language. His face fell and he slouched in his seat, ducking his head. 

“Uh, I guess I’ll take…” Tommy’s hand hesitated in the air; he didn’t seem to know how to make a choice for himself anymore. 

“Pick a color, boy.” Fletcher’s voice was flat. 

Tommy grabbed the nearest baggie of pieces without even looking at the color, just worriedly trying to read Fletcher’s face to gauge how much he’d annoyed them. When he looked back down at his hand and saw he’d chosen yellow, there was a tug down at the edges of his mouth. Buck almost asked him if he’d like to pick again, but there’d already been too much fuss over picking a color. Fletcher was less patient than Buck, and looked vaguely annoyed. Tommy had pulled his arms in, looking disproportionally upset, but with a grim look of determination. To play the game? To keep from crying? To associate like a normal person? Buck couldn’t tell. 

Buck explained the rules, while Fletcher flicked through the rulebook, looking up at him and then back to the book like they were checking him. They stroked their chin thoughtfully.

“Fletcher? Have you played this before?” He realized he hadn’t even considered it, though according to his friends this had been a popular game for a while. Who would Fletcher be playing board games with? The trainees? 

“No, I’m just hilarious.” 

Fletcher’s voice was entirely calm, nonchalant enough that it took Buck a moment to process. The laugh that erupted from him was mostly incredulous. Tommy had broken first, giggling, and there was a look of genuine happiness back in his features. Fletcher chuckled to themselves and started to collect the resource cards in a row in front of them. 

“I’ll play banker,” they announced.

Buck snatched them back. “Absolutely not, you’ll be stealing from the bank every second we aren’t looking!”

“Labor is entitled to all it creates, Buck.”

“Not here!”

 

When Tommy had to choose where to locate his settlements among the different paths, Fletcher would start to count down from 5. Buck ignored them and helped Tommy pick, explaining some strategy. Fletcher was more interested in maximizing the amount of sheep they could get over a real strategy, or at least, as far as Buck could tell. But they also picked places near forest sections. 

“I belong in the trees.”

Trading and bargaining was one of the best parts with his friends at home. He hadn’t thought about how uncomfortable it would be when Fletcher wanted to make alliances. Both boys had quickly gotten possessive of their imaginary settlements, and neither was eager to help Fletcher in-game for entirely out-of-game reasons. Fletcher stared at Buck. 

“Nope. No chance.” 

Fletcher’s eye twitched. They leveled their gaze at Tommy.

“I don’t have any wheat, sorry.” He carefully kept his hand out of Fletcher’s vision. 

Fletcher flicked their proposed trade, one of the many sheep cards they now held, onto the table in front of Tommy.

“Yep, yeah, sure,” Tommy chirped, intimidated easily into handing over a wheat card. 

“Dishonesty is unbecoming of you.”

“Yes Fletcher, I’m sorry Fletcher.”

“Uh-huh.”

It was still playful enough, goofy enough, that Buck almost felt like he was still playing with normal people. If anyone else had intimidated so seriously over Settlers of Catan, it would have been really funny. With Fletcher, it was still pretty funny. Or Buck was as fucked as both of them - a likely possibility. 

Fletcher beat Buck by a narrow margin, mostly because he and Tommy were much less aggressive players. They ended up doing a few rounds, and Buck won twice. Tommy got the last game by stealing from Fletcher. Buck was 97% sure Fletcher wouldn’t punish him for that. After that, they had dinner, and wound up talking a while longer over an evening pot of coffee. 

When it came time for Buck to schedule his next visit, Fletcher pulled out their phone to look at a calendar.

“You have a smartphone?” Buck asked incredulously.

Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Well, you play music off of like a 2005 ipod nano,” Buck said. “I guess I expected you to have a flip phone. Or a jitterbug.”

Fletcher scoffed, chuckling lightly as they said, “First of all, it’s not from 2005.”

Tommy was having a great evening, after his blunder. It really felt like he was just hanging out with friends, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in five years. Tommy wanted to play along. He wanted to be part of the group, be able to joke and rib with the others. He wanted to belong. 

“Yeah, I thought I was the one who was cut off from the world for five years,” Tommy laughed.

Buck grimaced and tried to hide it by forcing a smile and a nervous chuckle. He watched Fletcher warily.

Fletcher’s attention had locked onto Tommy. They didn’t laugh. There was a ghost of a smirk on their face, a hint of amusement in their eyes. But it wasn’t because they liked Tommy’s joke. It was more of an, “Ohhh, you fucked up, bud,” kind of look. 

Tommy felt his cheeks flush. He knew he was in trouble. Buck knew he was in trouble. He had absolutely killed the vibe.  

Buck hesitated, coat and boots already on.

“You know, it’s still early…” Buck began.

“It will be late by the time you get home,” Fletcher responded without taking their eyes off of Tommy.

“Well… I don’t work tomorrow.”

“Nico will wonder where you are.”

Buck stammered, trying to think of an excuse to guard Tommy with his presence. Tommy knew it too, eyes flickering nervously between the two of them.

Eventually he just said, “Fletcher, would you like to walk me out to my car?”

“Sure, Buck,” Fletcher said easily, finally tearing their gaze off of Tommy.

As soon as they had both stepped out of the house and Fletcher had pulled the door shut, Buck turned to them.

“It was nothing,” he said immediately.

“What was?” Fletcher asked lightly, playing dumb. 

“Come on,” Buck said. “It wasn’t even an insult.”

“I don’t feel insulted.”

“Fletcher, I saw your face. Just… you don’t have to do anything.”

“Buck, there’s a delicate balance here.”

“You know he’s not gonna… what, rebel, or whatever you’re worried about. He just wanted to act like we were all friends for a moment. He was having fun.”

“We’re not friends, though, are we?”

Buck shifted from one foot to another. 

“Please take it easy on him. I remember how you strangled me when you thought I rolled my eyes at you.”

“You did roll your eyes. And you didn’t do it again, did you?”

Buck dragged his fingers through his hair, cupping his hands behind his head. 

“I’m… I’m begging.”

Fletcher laughed. “We both know this isn’t you begging.”

There was a tense silence.

“How can I convince you?”

Fletcher shrugged.

“I’m asking a favor as a friend.”

Fletcher scoffed. “That is a very consequential sentence in my line of work, but you wouldn’t know that. Look, I’m not going to kill him, alright? I’ll probably just like… smack him and give him a lecture or whatever.”

Buck rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not gonna like… suspend him from his wrists in the basement or something?”

Fletcher gave Buck a look. “Buck, I did that to you when you tried to kill me, not made a joke at my expense, Jesus.”

“Okay, alright.” Buck did a rotation, looking at his car and looking back. “I just feel bad leaving him…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Fletcher made a gesture of pushing him towards his car. “Go home.”

Buck reluctantly did as he was told, not knowing what else to do. No matter how many days or months or miles apart, no matter how much he owned for himself or how much life he lived on his own, Fletcher still controlled him. And he hated himself for it, but he drove away.

When Fletcher walked back inside, Tommy had disappeared. They went to his room first, expecting to see him sitting on the bed with his knees tucked to his chest waiting for them, but it was empty. 

Fletcher ducked down to check under the bed before stepping back out into the hallway. They weren’t about to play hide and seek with this guy, so they put their fingers to their tongue and whistled loudly. 

Tommy slinked out of the dark bathroom, smart enough not to ignore the call.

“You hiding out in there?” Fletcher asked.

“I was just… sittin’ in the tub.”

Fletcher raised an eyebrow and gestured Tommy over. He kept his head bowed and sank to his knees in front of them.

Fletcher’s scowl twisted. They were going to order him to do that, and Tommy doing it himself kind of took the wind out of their sails.

“Hey, look at me,” Fletcher said.

Tommy raised his head, and Fletcher slapped him hard across the cheek. They grabbed his face and aimed it back toward themself. He earned another slap when he tried to look away, instead forced to make eye contact. His eyes were wide and scared.

“Your playtime with Buck is a privilege I can take away, just like anything else. Don’t go getting fucking bold. We can play house and you can enjoy your room with a view and three meals a day and all the other bullshit I allow you as long as you know your place. You stay well behaved and things can be good. Understand?”

“Yes, Fletcher,” Tommy bleated remorsefully, his voice somewhat muffled by their grip. 

“Don’t try to fucking mock me again or I won’t be so lenient,” Fletcher added, give his head a shake for emphasis. Tommy clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against the jarring wrenching.

“I really didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” Tommy gritted out.

Fletcher released his face so he could speak clearly. Tommy flexed his jaw.

“I just got… a little caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again. I am sorry, Fletcher, I wasn’t trying to be insulting,” he repented, clasping his hands together.

“Hmph. You’re dismissed.”

Tommy rose to his feet. He was dewy eyed, but looked surprised to be getting off so easily.

“Thank you, Fletcher.” 

He bowed his head and hurried off to his room. 

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[flo-zoinks]

Headcanons for if anyone sat by them at the campfire and just started pulling strands of their hair out…😈

Chlo boo u high-key a freak but I fw it💀❤ I was laughing for a solid minute when I read this oh my goodness😭😭

WHAT I IMAGINE WOULD HAPPEN IF U SAT AT A CAMPFIRE AND STARTED PULLING OUT CHUNKS OF EADH RDR2 GANG MEMBERS HAIR.. (MY OPINION)

(Again as reactions differ greatly between people we are assuming here it's someone similar to John in terms of age gender and likeness around camp)

Arthur - exclaim like "what the hell are yu doing?!" Then leave camp for like a week until hes not mad

Hosea - lean back away from you and tell you off for being such a weird idiot, then just go back to whatever he was doing unfazed

Sadie - literally pounce on ur ass until someone like Arthur pulls you too apart, but she swears its not over and now you sleep scared

Dutch - push you off whatever your sitting on and tell you to leave camp until you get your head straight, then immediately go to the nearest mirror to fix himself

Molly - slap your hand away and look really offended, tell Dutch, then adjust her routine to be furthest from you in camp from now on in anxiety

Sean - be really confused, but try and laugh it off that you want to take his gorgeous looks out of jealousy

Lenny - probably would think it's a bit racially motivated so shove you and tell you that its not okay to do that then leave for the night to talk to Sean or Hosea

Abigail - slap ur face and ask what the hell you think you're doing, and make sure Jack stays away from you

John - give you a confused look and tell you smth like "what's wrong with you man" then leave

Javier - start shouting his ass off at you in spanish for ruining his fine looks and punch u to the ground. He dont freak w someone messing up his vanity

Jack - cry and tell Abigail who then slaps you for being a fool and 'nags' John to do something about it until he eventually tells you you're weird for that but stop because Abigail is annoying him

Mary-beth - move away and stare at you for a solid 10 seconds before saying "what the- please don't do that" then leave. Miss Grimshaw wouldn't let that slide though, and Tilly and Karen would give you evils for a good while

Tilly - exclaim (near shouting) "go away _ that's not normal!". Same as Mary-Beth past that w Grimshaw and Karen

Karen - shove you or punch you real hard, then go for a beer to calm down. Tilly would give you evils for a while. Karen would probably shout at you drunk hours after

Kieran - IM NOT AN O'DRISCOLL STOP IT!!!! Javier, Sean, Kieran and Bill probably jeered you on and patted you on the back after

Pearson - hair? Chunks of it? Be fr now

Charles - "stop that."

Trelawny - try and scare you with a magic trick pulling out some animal really close, then whilst your distracted from pulling his damn hair out he slaps your head and ridicules you

Strauss - (had to look up if he had hair lol) stand up offended and tell you off for your improper behaviour then leave to go work

Micah - firstly that hair would be greasy ass but if you chose to continue he'd try scare you to stop suddenly then talk for a good 5 minutes that you like all people are out to get him as hes a rare winner in a world of losers. If you were any minority he'd call you a slur too and blame ur identity. If you were a woman though he'd probably be into it

Grimshaw - tell you off for a good minute and say you've ruined her night as she goes to bed steaming. The girls would later get really mad at you for putting her in a bad mood

Reverend - insist you are hurting a kind priest, but whilst drunk ask you why you hate him then vent that so does God

Bill - beard hair right....? Grab your hand and pull you UNCOMFORTABLY close to warn you, then shove you away angrily saying you got lucky this time loser

Uncle - same w the beard hair right?? Yell out at you the most ABSURD CRUEL insults then tell you that you can pull chunks of his ass hair to. Hopefully you leave before he flashes you.

Thanks for asking me omg💀💀!! Tell me who I forgot yall xx

[judesdrabbles]

The Cure (part III)

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 4

On a night out, you stumble upon an uncomfortable situation with a strange man. Luckily, there was a certain someone that was just in the neighborhood.

word count: 2.1K

A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading The Cure. I’m glad people enjoy it. These next few chapters are going to be a lot more intense, so prepare and make sure to read the warnings! Let me know what you guys think. <3

Warnings: obsessive tendencies, yandere behavior, (mentions of) assault, misuse of power position, reader is drinking, smoking, SA, foul language

He had given his number to you after the incident with your car at his office, and of course he covered it up with a smooth lie. ‘If you ever need an emergency session,’ He had said. ‘You can always call me.’ After that, you had raised your eyebrows, and on his usually stoic face a grin appeared. ‘Or- if you find yourself stranded with your car again, and need your psychiatrist that is not versed in mechanics at all to help you out.’

You had shrugged it off as you chuckled. But you did save his number on your phone.

-

‘Come on, Y/N. First to complain about their love life had to take two shots. You’re pathetic!’ Your friend laughed, sliding two shot glasses filled to the brim with vodka across the bar. You cover your head in your hands and smile. ‘I guess I kind of am, huh?’

Red and blue lights danced across the room. Everywhere you looked there were people, dancing to the mediocre music that the underage, drug addicted DJ from your local town played. You didn’t go out that often, yet you could quite enjoy it. If you had enough to drink, that is.

You chug both shots down in one fluent motion, grimacing slightly. The numbing warmth began to spread trough you.

‘What do you think of him, huh?’ Your friend poked your side, teasing, then nodded in the direction of a stranger leaning casually against the bar.

You squinted trough the haze of lights. ‘Are you for real? He looks like he goes trough some shit.’

‘Isn’t that exactly your type?’ Your friend snorts.

‘Not exact- ugh, whatever.’

You take another shot.

‘Come on, you have to take some chances, Y/N. You’re so stuck up.’ Your friend jumped up from the barstool and grabbed you by the arm. ‘Come, come.’

You faintly struggled, but the alcohol clouded your judgement. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to get back in the game. Who knows?

She pushes you to the man’s direction. He smirks. ‘What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?’ He immediately drawled, his eyes scanning you shamelessly.

Alright. Maybe this was a bad idea.

You look around for your friend, but as usual, she had gone to the other side of the building to go and have some fun with God-knows-who.

You were alone in this.

‘Uh, yeah. Nothing much. Just having a nice time.’

The man puts up his hand and signals the bartender for two more shots.

‘Sure you are. I saw you staring at me already.’

This man was cocky. You didn’t like it.

‘Oh- well, my friend just thought it would be fun to-‘

‘You wanna come back to my place, beautiful?’ He didn’t even let you finish talking. This man’s mind was set on one thing.

‘What?’

‘What? Don’t tell me you don’t want the same thing. Why else would you be here?’ He gestures around the room.

You hate that he was kind of right. Didn’t excuse him for being a total dick, though.

‘This was a mistake. Good night.’

You quickly get off your seat and stumble swiftly outside. Your mind swam a bit. Even with that nice, numb feeling in your head you wouldn’t go home with such a loser.

‘Where are you going, pretty thing?’

Your eyes widen as you quicken your pace.

‘Leave me alone. I said that it was a mistake.’

‘I don’t think you get to decide that.’

The cold air outside quickly turned piercing as you felt a strong grip around your arm. One tug and you were off the main road, in an alleyway, with that same man in front of you.

‘Let me go, you asshole!’ You say as you twist around, but the man’s grip doesn’t butch as he grabs a fistful of your hair and makes you look at him. He had a burning cigarette pressed between his index and middle finger. The smoke was dancing around in front of your face.

‘Listen up, bitch. You better fucking behave before I decide to do worse things to you.’ His breath smelled strong, like cheap whiskey and cigarettes.

You wanted to disappear completely off the surface of the earth. The vodka shots from earlier really did a number on you and made your vision stir. The only thing you could do was whine- and a feeble attempt to push him away from you.

‘Let me go.’ You choked out, your voice trembling more than you’d liked it to.

But then a sudden sound- measured footsteps echoing off the alley walls- pierced trough the haze of your fear. The rhythm was steady, deliberate: each step louder than the last.

‘Y/N.’

Your head snapped toward the sound. The voice was calm. Almost unsettlingly so. What? Was that..?

In the midst of the darkness, a tall man walked over, his polished shoes clinking on the wet, paved stones. His hands were in the pockets of his well-tailored suit. His face was as calm as ever, but his eyes- they were dark. It was Dr. Vincent.

‘Do you know this man?’

‘Hey, man, get the fuck out. I’m busy here, can’t you fucking see?’ The man hissed, tightening the grip on your hair.

But Vincent doesn’t glance him one worthy look. He looks at you.

‘Do you know this man, Y/N?’

You shake your head. ‘No..’

Vincent presses his lips together. ‘I see.’

He strides over to the two of you in a few steps. And then it all happened in a heartbeat.

Vincent’s fist connected with the man’s face in a sickening crunch. The man released you, groaning loudly as blood gushed out of his nose and his eyes started to tear up. You stumble back, getting away from the man as Vincent seems clearly not done with him yet.

‘Don’t look, Y/N. Take a deep breath and wait for me.’ Vincent says calmly, looking at you. He quickly scanned you up and down, and was relieved to not see any visible injuries.

You nod, not getting any words over your lips. It was like they were sealed shut. The world spun even more around you, and you decided to squat down, running a hand trough your hair. You were shaking. What just happened? Why was your psychiatrist here? At this time? I mean, why do you even mind? He just saved your ass from something that could have unfolded to be way, way worse.

Vincent grabs the man by the collar and takes the burning cigarette from his calloused hands. ‘Such a pathetic excuse of a man.’ Vincent whispered, only inches away from the man’s face. The man sputtered, but any coherent words didn’t seem to come out. The cigarette was burning in Vincent’s hand, and the man instantly knew what was going to happen the moment he rolled one of his sleeves up.

‘Hey, man, come on-‘

He pressed the cigarette out on the man’s wrist as he could only squirm and cry out in his grip.

‘Look at you.’ Vincent gritted his teeth as he spoke, calmly as ever. ‘Isn’t this way milder than what you were gonna do to her, hm? Then fucking bear it. You disgust me.’

He throws the man harshly on the ground head first, the cigarette sticking to his skin for a bit before falling down with him. Vincent spits downward in the man’s bloodied face.

‘I’m not done with you yet. I’ll find you.’ He merely said as he turned back to you. He collected himself for a while, taking a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down.

You look up to see Vincent walking over to you. You didn’t see much of the man, since Vincent made sure to beat him up out of your sight.

‘I- Dr. Vincent.. what are you even doing here?..’ You let out when he came near. You were still squatted down, swaying a bit. It was clear to him that you were drunk.

‘Y/N.’ Vincent crouched down in front of you. ‘What did that man do to you? Tell me.’

Oh, how he wished he could hold you. How he wished he could kill that guy up front for even thinking of touching you. For coming near you.

He wanted so much. But he controlled himself. This was traumatic enough for you.

‘He- I was drinking- at the, uh.. bar.’ You say, looking into Vincent’s eyes. They were gentle. Not so .. dark anymore. ‘He followed me. He said if I struggled he would do worse stuff to me.’

‘Did he touch you? Anywhere?’

‘No.. no, he just..- you were on time. Just have a little bruise, I think.’ You roll up your coats sleeve and reveal the bruise the man left from grabbing you so harshly.

Vincent’s eyes flickered with something. He hesitated, then softly took off one of his leather gloves and reached out to your arm. He traced his fingers along the bruise. He had never thought he would do this to anyone; the mere thought of it made him sick to his stomach. But with you? It was so, so different. He wanted to kiss that bruise. Make it better for you.

But he didn’t. Not now. Not yet.

You felt Vincent’s rough fingers run along your bruise. What was he doing? Checking it? The doctor always made sure to keep his distance from you. And, mind you, this guy already had gotten a nervous breakdown about some mud under a guy’s shoe in his office.

So what was different now?

‘Thank you. For.. getting me out of this mess. I really owe you.’ You chuckle, although you just wanted to to melt into the cold pavement as your cheeks burned.

He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

‘You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. What that man did to you was vile. I’m relieved I could intervene in time.’

His hands slipped under your arms, steady and firm, and helped you up to your feet. You were still slightly woozy.

‘What ..- what were you doing here anyway?’ You ask. ‘Were you also going out?’

Vincent lets out a low chuckle, his lips curling into the faintest smile. ‘No, I’m not much for nightlife. I was running errands when I spotted you on the main road.’

It was true; he had never anticipated seeing you here tonight, but the universe had a funny way of aligning things. A chance encounter, though marred by the evening’s earlier ugliness, now felt like an opportunity. An opportunity he couldn’t waste.

‘Hey, Y/N. Let’s take your mind off things, hm? I say we go to my home. Talk a bit, and you can sober up. I wouldn’t like to leave you alone here. Not after this.’

You look up at him.

‘Isn’t that slightly .. unprofessional, doctor?’

‘Oh, well, it’s outside of office hours, isn’t it?’

You were not sure if that is how the rule went, but you nodded anyway. Besides, you would lie if you said you weren’t curious about your stoic psychiatrist.. who just beat up a man in an alleyway for you. Eh, you were too tipsy to drive anyway.

Vincent smiles at you. ‘Let’s go then.’ he said, stepping aside to give you some space. ‘My car is parked not far from here, outside the shop.’

‘You were wanting to run errands, right? Did I stop you from doing that?’ You say, noticing there were no bags in his hands.

Vincent’s eyebrows raise slightly. ‘Yes, I suppose you did. But..’ He checks his watch. ‘The store is still open. Would you like to come with me? My treat.’

‘You are being awfully generous.’

‘You don’t like that?’

The words had a sharp edge, as if to challenge you to disagree. Vincent did know you well. You spill all your secrets to him every week in every therapy session you have with him, after all.

‘Touché, doctor.’

A small victorious smirk appeared on his lips as you arrive at the store. The fluorescent lights felt jarring after the dim streets. Vincent made you pick out some snacks to eat. ‘To sober up.’ He said as he payed for you both at the register.

His thoughts wandered after letting you sit in the passenger seat of his car- next to him. He was slowly driving to his house on the edge of town and oh, how he wished he could just keep you there forever now. So you don’t have to be afraid of those irritable, creepy men on the streets. Their prying eyes. Their lustful gaze. He wouldn’t mind to buy you those nice snacks every day, any day, or anything at all, really. What is professionalism, if not being responsible? He was just being responsible for you. Looking out for you.

That was all.

[deadhands69]

I Never Told You What I Do For A Living

Hitoshi Shinso x Reader

Hurt/Comfort ☔ >>☁️ From the First Five Ask game Hurt to comfort but it got a little weird. Sorry. I’ll do more Shinso in the future! Request from anon, thank you!! Who would have thought your boyfriend’s secret hero identity being outed would be a good thing?

It's so sisyphean. 

You’ve been with Hitoshi Shinso for years, but you still have no idea what he does for a living. He leaves every evening before the sun goes down and comes home late every night, sometimes covered in blood. 

Usually, it’s not his.

Usually, you don’t ask.

You just expect it. Running stacks of washcloths under warm water to clean him up every night. Tending to his wounds and reassuring him that it’s fine. 

But it’s not fine. 

Your heart breaks every time you have to look into his eyes and see the pain of whatever he’s been through. Knowing, he’ll never be able to tell you like you’ve asked, begged him to in the past. 

All he’ll tell you is: it’s nothing immoral, nothing illegal.

You spend all night wondering how anyone could even get close to him with his quirk. What he could possibly be doing. And what kind of life you’ll have with someone who clearly has a separate life they could never share with you. Just when you start to fall asleep, the alarm goes off. The bags under your eyes can easily compete with his at this point.

And then you drag yourself out of bed and do it all again the next day.

This repeats night after night after night, like it always has.

Until it doesn’t.

And he doesn’t come home. 

Or answer his phone.

The sun is beginning to peek through the blinds in your shared apartment when, finally, your phone buzzes. You answer hopefully but your heart immediately drops. 

It’s the hospital. Something about taking him in for surgery. You vaguely hear the words ‘fractures’, ‘contusion’, and ‘lucky’ but you’re barely able to listen at this point. Everything is a whirlwind. You throw on your jacket and rush out the door still in your house slippers. 

Only to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The TV bolted to the wall overhead flashes through recent news. Weather. More news. It’s all quite repetitive until a new story is thrown into the mix.

“BREAKING” the headline flashes, “unranked secret hero hospitalized after identity leaked.” You don’t need to listen to the rest of the story to know who they’re talking about.

Eventually, you’re joined by a tall dark haired man in the waiting room. You’ve never met him, but he knows you by name. Without much introduction, he jumps into the details. 

 How they’re moving him to other missions. How they should have been more careful and he’s so sorry for the pain he’s caused you both. An hour ago, you didn’t know anything about your boyfriend’s life, now you’re overwhelmed with it. The man sitting in the uncomfortable chair across from you continues speaking with the assumption someone had already contacted you before this. He apologizes again.  

It should come as some small relief to hear the man speak about their missions. Knowing the significance of the cycle you’d been in, what he’s done to help people. You should feel relieved that he’s always had someone there to talk to. That he’ll never have to hide anything from you again. It’s not over yet though.

Hitoshi should be the one to tell you these things. 

“Excuse me,” you mumble to who you’ve assumed to be his sensei. He nods.

The nurses station is busy, but as soon as they see you, you’re informed they were about to bring you back. As you follow their footsteps, you worry what state he’ll be in. Wishing you’d listened more to the phone call. Asked more questions while you were in the waiting room. After years of cleaning his wounds, you were used to it on some level but this is different.

“He’s just waking up, I’ll give you some time before letting anyone else in.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, tapping open the door to the dark room.

He doesn’t look much worse than you’ve seen him. The IV and stitches are new, but he’s awake. He smiles when you enter and you’re not sure if it’s the morphine or if he’s actually happy but you’ll take it either way.

Sitting on his bedside, he leans into your arm. 

“I have so much to tell you later,” he murmurs sleepily before closing his eyes.

It’s over.

And it’s going to be okay.

masterlist

Vampire vibes! I almost ran with it but it got realllllly not comfort ending really fast so I bailed.

[starrrlights]

Maybe in this universe...

Warnings: fem reader, soft/sweet!reader (for alt!universe and kinda for Arcane universe). Mentions of dying (almost dying), you almost die but ekko saves you last minute. You = alt!you. You = Arcane you. BLOOD and ANGSTY AT THE END.

☆○☆○

When Ekko traveled to the alt!universe, he was in shock by most things; Zaun seemed peaceful, Jinx was still Powder, everyone besides Vi was alive, and the cherry on top was you.

You were, softer, in a way. Like you were the calming wind after a harsh storm or slow ocean waves on a crowded beach. Something that his universe's you didn't give.

His you, well, you were the harsh storm or that crowded beach. After being taken in by Silco with Jinx, it altered your life completely. He made you harder, stronger. A stranger in Ekko's eyes. One that he had fought countless times with, one that he had a fair share of her blood on his hands with.

There was something so wrong bit so right about you, something that gave him comfort after the harsh realities of his own world. He knew he couldnt give in to you, this you. He had to go back home, if he could call that home.

Your touches, words, worries, and the way your eyes would linger with his; made him want to force himself to look anywhere but you, and move forward with Heimerdinger, and make that damn machine or whatever to get back home. Just so he couldn't fall deeper for you more than he already has.

The more you hung out, the more he reflected on you, the one where you were loyal to Silco, would fight until your hands bled, where your anger bottled up too much. He almost felt bad, bad that this could've been you. All sweet and soft. That made him reflect on Jinx/Powder, and Vi, and everyone else that he had lost and gained over the years. The ones no matter how hard he tried to deny, he still cared for.

He pushed himself harder to got back home after that thought. Maybe he could make things a little better back home, just a little. Just enough to know whether or not you still cared for him there like you are here.

The building part of the time machine was a success after a while, and manipulating the hex crystals went great, better than he thought even, with how many hours of work? He could finally go back, to Zaun, to the Firelights, to you.

But he couldn't leave you behind without a goodbye, so he made a (favorite flower) necklace (one basically like the one he gave to powder but different). Hoping that when you figure out that he wasn't supposed to be here, that you'll still cherish the memories you made like he will.

The travel back felt as weird and as uncomfortable as the trip to. Like every atom and speckle of the body was being torn apart and molded back together. He landed back where he first started, the room with the Arcane in it, and he made sure to get out of there as fast as possible.

He traveled down the streets of Zaun as fast as he could, zooming through with his hover board and watching the ground below him, watching for anyone familiar. (He had to ask a few people, no luck there, however)

You were in an alley way, not far from the Last Drop, but couldn't move yourself for the life of you. Every bone and muscle ached and screamed in pain from the punched and stabbings you've received. Even breathing was becoming harder to do now, how long had you been out here anyway? Not like you've been paying attention anyway.

One hand layed on your stomach and the other on the dirty ground, no doubt had some of your blood on it. This wasn't too bad, everything was subsiding with numbness and the thought in the back of your head that said that you've finally found peace in the ruined city made everything almost worth it.

But perhaps you did go too far with the fight how many hours ago, chewed off too much and now you had to deal with the consequences.

Shouting could be heard from all over, but one voice seemed to get louder, almost as if they were getting closer. You weakly looked over and saw a blurry figure of someone run to you, saying your name. They came in front of you and the image became clearer. It was Ekko.

You couldn't be cocky, or mean, or anything else towards him right now, just staring at him almost stupidly as he said some things you couldn't understand.

"...If you've come to finish me off, or whatever... just do it. I'm not gonna fight back..."

Ekko could feel his heart drop at the sight of you, worse than what he would leave you in after a fight. You just... layed there. Practically waiting for death to take you. What happened when he was gone?

"...im not gonna do that tonight. and never after."

You felt his hands moving around you, wrapping something around your midsection where the nasty gash was still bleeding out, making you hiss in pain, and dragged your body up, rushing you somewhere. But that all was long after you passed out.

Maybe in this universe, he'll still be by your side, if you'll allow him.

☆○☆○

👹👹 don't worry I'm gonna make a part two

This probably sucks but is midnight so whatever.

[heeheesang]

midnight swings. ── .✦

written & smau at the bottom ! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

warnings ! crash out ? cuddling hehe :3

I ROAMED ON THE BEACH , EVERYONE WAS ASLEEP AND IT WAS A PERFECT TIME FOR ME TO YELL OUT MY FEELINGS .

it was currently midnight. i walked along the beach until i saw one drawing in the sand, " LEEHAN AND CHAER. "

oh. before i knew it, i blew up into a fit. i kicked the sand all over the place and yelled, "fuck this, fuck you!" i yelled as i kicked it continuously.

"why can't i have anything nice?! why must you always be taken away by other girls! i thought it would all be fucking over but fuck you kim donghyun for making me feel this way!!!" i yelled as i dug out sand with my hands, eventually getting tired and just sitting down.

tears fell from my eyes as i watched the waves, "why... why can't i have whatever i want... for the first time..." i cried in a soft voice as i stood back up and picked up shells, stones, anything i could find.

sitting on a nearby bench, i sighed as i brought my knees to my chest. my tears brimmed on my eyes, threatening to fall out with just a single blink. i looked down to my arms, the scars and bruises left from the time chaer pushed me into the ocean.

i winced as i touched them, feeling the same— or worse pain when it all started with jieun. i took my attention to the seas instead, salt water will cure my scars faster right?

but you can't swim, yn. oh yeah. i grunted as i looked at the shells and stones i have picked up earlier, taking one and throwing it into the sea.

"fuck you kim donghyun," i mumbled as i threw my last stone with full force. with a short sigh and a small smile, i got off the swing and made my way back into the penthouse.

opening the door, i found everyone in their pajamas with the lights on, their worried faces showing through the light. "were you the one screaming?" sungchan asked as everyone waited for an answer.

i sighed, placing my coat on the coat holder before shaking my head, "no? why?" i lied.

"we all heard a scream... and and we were scared because anton told us stories before we all slept..." shotaro replied, his hairs on his arms visibly standing up.

"eh, probably just a little girl... it's fine tho, go back to sleep. i'll keep a watch for you guys." i said as i sat down on the couch and turned on the television.

"aren't you tired? where did you even go?" chaer asked as i flashed a sarcastic smile, "none of you business. and i'm not tired so everyone can sleep." without a second thought, everyone ran up to their rooms and locked the doors behind them.

at least that's what i thought... until donghyun— leehan, sat beside me on the couch. "i know it was you. you suck at lying." he said as i rolled my eyes.

"shouldn't you be with your girlfriend?" i replied, not looking at him once.

"we're not even together... i have no idea why she posted that. i already told my mom about it—"

"shh, my show is starting." i hushed him up as i heard a small giggle. the whole time i was watching the show, i could feel his eyes on me, like he's burning me with his eyes.

before i knew it, a yawn escaped from my mouth. almost as soon as i yawned, "go to sleep pretty— yn." i shook my head as he giggled again.

as moments passed, my eyes felt heavy. i was already tossing and turning my head whenever my eyes closed. within a second, donghyun moved closer and pulled me to his lap.

"if you don't wanna sleep in your room then sleep here, with me." i whined, "i'm not sleepy~"

"i can see you trying not to sleep, angel... just close your eyes okay?" i gave in and closed my eyes. then he would feel uncomfortable with my head on his lap...

i got up to change my position and he widened his eyes. "lay down properly, you'll have cramped legs when you wake up later." i nagged as he chuckled, laying down beside me.

"is it okay if we cuddle? or are we still on bad terms?" he joked but i was too sleepy. i groaned and turned to face him, burying my face in his chest as i felt his arm wrapped around me.

a drop of tear left my eye, i missed this. before i knew it, i was long gone asleep.

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hhs' notes ── .✦ double update !! hehe :3

[slay00ryu]

Over And Over Again.

Ronin x reader, angst, let's bring Ronin pain :p

Trigger warning: suicide, spoilers for KC and maybe Gluttony Gods.

Ronin for the longest time knew that looking for Ther in you was pointless, you were two different people and he wanted to let you be your own person, even if sometimes he caught himself looking at you as if you were them. He loved you for being yourself, even if his version was fucked up and destructive in a way, he wanted to free you, free you of whatever was troubling you.

Yet, nowadays the lines between you and Ther became blurry, you were colder, you looked and acted differently. Ronin started to notice how your mental health began to worsen, how you would avoid eating, how you cared so much about your reputation you were willing to try to kick him out of your life, just to pull him back, crying about how tired you were. He saw it all, still he thought that his help was enough, that the love he gave you, the change he brought you, it would be enough to turn you back into yourself.

One night, when you were staying at Ronin's house, he woke up in the middle of the night. You weren't there. It made him feel uneasy and uncomfortable. He had this voice in his head, a voice he desperately tried to push away.

What if you're trying to leave him just like Ther did?

He pushed these thoughts away, but with every room he checked the voice grew louder. You weren't anywhere in his house, not even outside of it. His hands were shaking.

"Where the fuck are you Y/N?" He murmured to himself, sitting by his desk. He could track your phone, that was what he was doing. Searching for your phone, desperately hoping that you had it with you.

He located it. He clenched his hands in fists when he saw what kind of place you were in. A church. An old church that wasn't used in ages. His stomach twisted and his heart rate paced up. It's just a coincidence, you just felt adventurous. Yeah, that has to be it, there's no way he will find you...

He stepped into the church, it was in a worse state than he imagined. Broken and devastated furniture, graffiti everywhere, only the altar seemed somewhat clean. That altar... It was pulling Ronin towards itself, he was in a trance.

His mind was racing with thoughts, worries and fear. His body felt weak, his legs didn't want to move any closer. But it was too late.

In the middle of the altar, your body was laying on the floor, you looked like you were asleep, only with your neck cut open and a knife in your hand. You chose to slit your throat open, to kill yourself by choking on your own blood. It must've been a beautiful yet painful death.

Ronin immediately knelt next to your body, taking it in his arms, holding onto it desperately. "Fuck, fuck why. Y/N. Why the fuck would you do this!?" He was shouting, his hold on your body was so tight he could break your bones if he wasn't careful. He was crying, laughing, screaming. He wasn't sure of what he was supposed to do now, with you dead in his arms. So he begged, begged that you opened your eyes and said that it was just a nightmare.

If only this could be a dream.

"Ro..." Angel whispered as she hugged Ronin from behind. They were standing behind the church, a freshly buried grave in front of them.

You are in that grave.

Ronin looked at the dirt, clenching his hand around a heart, your heart.

"I promised you, didn't I? Your heart will be mine forever." He tried to ignore the burning feelings in his heart. The feeling of guilt.

He wasn't guilty about your death.

No, he was devastated that you slipped from his grasp and stripped him of his control.

"Ronin... Are... How... You don't have to pretend to be taught here." Angel tried her best to comfort him, but it was hard when she also lost a friend whose heart was in her best friend's hand.

"What do you expect me to say Maria? That I fucking feel bad because I wasn't holding them? I wasn't holding their body Angel, I was fucking holding Ther!"

That was the centre of his guilt. The fact that he didn't see you, he saw Ther. He felt like he was replaying their death in his mind, replaying his actions.

"And now? They're probably laughing at me, both of them. Seeing how pathetic I fucking am, forever bound to Ther."

First, the Devil lost his Lilith, now he lost an Eve. Both haunting him in his nightmares and the shadows of his mind.

[lovelycrimsonredsnow]

can i request headcanons for a yandere aventurine?? please ignore this if your reqs are closed or if youre uncomfortable!

Not at all anon! Sorry if this is short I have no wifi atm 😔

~Yandere Aventurine headcanons~

(tw! Co-dependancy, obsessive and unhealthy behavior, mentions of murder, mentions of suicidal thoughts. Viewer discretion is advised)

🪙 to everyone saying "oh he'd be a manipulative yandere who's ultra possessive!" Well yes, but no.

🪙 manipulative yes, but more in the sense he's pretty much lost everything and everyone he cared about. Can you honestly look at that man and tell me his entire mental state wouldn't be dependent on you?

🪙 'oh you wanna cook? But what if your hand slips and you cut yourself?!' or 'what if you cut off your finger and I'm not here to help you and you bleed out!?' kinda thing, he will subtly manipulate you into not being able to do much of anything without him. Both out of fear something will actually happen whilst he's not looking and his need to have you near himself at all times.

🪙 he's not "possessive" per say...or that's just what he wants you to think.

🪙 but every time he brings you out to the casino with him, his arm is always wrapped tightly around your waist...perhaps even to tight to breathe sometimes.

🪙 and the aeons forbid if some guy looks at you for to long...(Which even 1/4 of a millisecond is to long in his book) He's shooting that guy immediately.

🪙 what do you mean he was just glancing in your direction? Don't you see he was obviously trying to size you up? So he could take you away where he could possibly hurt you!?

🪙 yah...ngl he's a piece of work. A hot one tho

🪙 and just like that his paranoia got the best of him. Congratulations! You're now stuck in his apartment without any chance of getting out! Ever.

🪙 you can cry and scream...(Which in all honesty will make him feel bad, but not because he kidnapped you.) But nothing can persuade him to let you out without him with you.

🪙 why cant you see? He's protecting you! Like how a loyal dog protects its owner. You'll realize sooner or later and thank him...

🪙 he's going all in for you. Won't you be a good spouse and cheer him on?

~×extras!×~

🪙 despite the two of you not actually being married (dw, he'll fix that soon) he calls you his spouse a lot, especially to his coworkers (rip topaz's ears).

🪙 he has a really hectic schedule, so most of the time he doesn't even get home untill midnight when your asleep. Does that stop him though? Absolutely not. He'll shower, change, eat....then immediately get into bed with you and burry his face in the crook of your neck. It's probably the highlight of his day tbh (other than seeing your face through the security cameras he installed in his home)

🪙 like I mentioned be his entire mental state is very dependent on you. If your angry about being locked you (rightfully so) and yell at him, despite his calm demeanor he's gonna be upset for the rest of the month. If you sob and beg to be let go he's probably just gonna cry with you...

🪙 also, something I forgot to mention before, he spoils the ever loving shit out of you. You so much as glance at something expansive through a window and he's going inside immediately to get it for you. Nothing is 'to good' for this love <3 (that and he thinks if he spoils you more you won't try to leave him)

🪙 will pretty much do whatever you want (except let you go), want him to pamper you? He's got a spa date ready. Just want a day to yourself? Well...he won't be happy but he'll do it! (He's gonna be cooing at how cute your face is through the cameras)

🪙 if you tried to leave him however...well he's deffinally gonna internalize it. Was his cockiness to much? Did he not spoil you enough? Why why why do you want to leave him?

🪙 he'll grovel and beg at your feet to stay with him, whatevers wrong he can fix it! He'll cry and cling to your legs (give this man a trophy for his award winning act), sobbing as he tells you he doesn't want to live anymore if he can't have you.

🪙 and if you don't immediately change your mind....well, that may be the first time in his entire life he gets angry at you...