#mostly thinking about the ‘want to build you up until you’re good as new and maybe one day I’ll get around to fixing myself too’

[smile-dance-breathe]

people who know the enneagram types, do you think that Jeremy Knox is a type two?

[hanjisick]

— COOKIES

order #6 of the coffee shop series: a cookie

ingredients. y/n x barista!felix. he’s never had a gf before. hopeless pining on felix’s end. mostly fluff with some angst. also the boys keep trying to play shitty wingmen again.

allergies. making out and felix being awkward

size. 3.2k

special add ons. felix is a sociable, confident, kind barista at yellow wood café. but once you show up on one rainy day, you turn him into a mess.

you hadn’t prepared for the rain to come so quickly.

the forecast had said that it would only pick up in the afternoon, and you figured that you would be home by then. so of course, you had left your umbrella at home.

you decided to run into the nearest building, hoping to stay there until the rain had died down a little.

it was a coffee shop, one that you hadn’t been to before. you had no clue how you didn’t know the place existed. it seemed like just your type of hang-out spot.

the difference between the café and outside was stark. looking through the windows, it was gloomy and intense, while inside, the atmosphere was warm and cozy. the smell of coffee brewing and people chatting filled your senses.

“can i help you?” you had been staring off for a minute now, your entire body drenched in rain.

“sorry,” you apologized, “i was just looking for somewhere to be until the rain stopped.”

“you’re alright! could i get anything for you while you wait?”

your eyes stared the barista up and down. he was around your age— and was the epitome of sunshine. his features were gentle and strikingly beautiful.

his name tag read “felix.”

then, you drifted towards the menu on the counter, written in chalk, slightly smudged.

“are the cookies any good?” you questioned, staring at the cute plastic containers full of baked goods, specifically the heart-shaped chocolate chip cookies.

“well, i baked them myself, so they better be good.” felix’s shy smile told you that he was proud of his baking.

“i’ll buy one and see for myself.”

usually, the freckled barista wasn’t nervous at comments like these, but your gentle eyes made his heart flip in ways that he didn’t quite understand. “will that be all?”

“for now.”

he rang you up, handing you the cookies straight out of the container.

without waiting to sit down, you bit into the cookie.

two of felix’s fingers met his neck, checking his pulse quickly— a nervous habit of his.

but his nerves turned into excitement as your eyes lit up.

“i’ll take two more cookies and a mocha, please!”

felix couldn’t help but smile widely, “our muffins are really good too. we have blueberry and chocolate chip right now, but i’m working on a recipe for a cappuccino muffin.”

you cut his ramble short, “i’ll try both. and a brownie.”

“got a sweet tooth?” he rolled up the sleeves of his baby blue cardigan to begin making your mocha, “i don’t want you to get any cavities.”

“i’ll have just one bite of each and bring it home with me,” you reasoned, taking a stool at the bar, “i have nothing better to do, anyway. the rain says it’ll last for another hour.”

“so you’re gonna spend that hour taste-testing the treats?”

“i’ve never been here before, i better start working on my regular order.”

“will you be a new regular?”

“if the mocha is good. otherwise i think i’ll just go back out into the rain, i’m already drenched anyway.”

there you go again. causing felix to worry about how good his barista skills were in a way that nobody does.

he couldn’t help but drizzle a chocolate heart on top before handing it to you.

immediately felix jumped back. “your hands are freezing!”

“that’s what happens when you’re in the rain.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at felix’s concern. it wasn’t bad at all.

“i think this goes against every rule we have here,” felix shrugged off his cardigan, throwing it across the counter.

immediately your quiet laugh died down, your stomach twisting with butterflies. mostly at how kind the freckled boy was, but you couldn’t ignore the way that the white shirt under it clung to him tighter.

“thank you.” you wrapped yourself in the cardigan, breathing in a faint scent of a fruity perfume, almost masked by the overwhelming smell of coffee.

“felix,” chan, his boss, nudged him with a grin, “did you just do what i think you did?”

if it were any other barista, they would’ve been scolded. but felix had taken up a large spot in chan’s heart, one that meant that he refused to rebuke the boy.

“she was cold! right, y/n?” he defended, “she just came in from the rain outside.”

“so you’re just gonna give every customer your clothes if they’re cold?”

you could see a faint red tint forming on felix’s ears, “well no! but she’s new, i wanted to give her a warm welcome.”

there was a familiar look in chan’s eyes, one that felix could spot from miles away. one of knowing.

“alright then. i’m glad you were able to earn us a new customer. even if it meant giving up your clothes.”

“do you have any paper?” you interrupted with a mouthful of muffin, “and maybe a pen too?”

felix was thankful that you saved him from chan. “yeah! i’ll get it for you. hold on.”

thirty minutes later, once a spot of sunlight through the clouds had appeared, you were gone.

felix glanced over at your spot, sadness pulling on his heart, full of what if’s.

what if you didn’t come back? what if that was the last time he would see you?

he noticed the piece of paper left behind.

the title read, “felix’s bakery ranking.”

first place was the cookies. second was the brownies. then the chocolate chip muffin, then the blueberry.

“she must love chocolate,” felix jumped at jeongin’s voice from behind him, “she also got a mocha, right?”

“how do you know? you weren’t even here.”

“chan was telling the group chat.”

“he was doing what?” felix reached for the phone in his back pocket to confirm his words.

“talking about how you were mesmerized by that girl.”

“was not!”

“you totally were,” chan patted his back, “i’ve never seen you smile that wide.”

“says a lot for how much he smiles.”

felix groaned as jeongin flipped over the scrap paper.

“see you at 3 tomorrow,” he read out, looking up at felix whose eyes widened, turning to chan.

“i don’t work tomorrow! can i work tomorrow?”

“so it isn’t just you being kind?”

“i need to get my cardigan back.”

“you’re a terrible liar. just admit that you want to see her again.”

“just schedule me to work tomorrow!”

the next day, felix was walking on clouds.

the boy normally walked with a pep in his step, serving customers with a comfortable kindness that nobody else could replicate, but today there was an extra hint of sweetness to everything that he did. even some of the most unobservant customers had pointed it out.

but each of the boys knew exactly why he was acting the way that he was, thanks to the messages that chan had sent.

as the vintage clock on the wall inched closer and closer to 3, felix became more dazed, clumsy even.

“are you sure that he should be working right now?” minho shot chan a questioning look.

“just let him get it out of his system.”

“but we’re cleaning up his spill messes all for a girl that he had one conversation with. he’s hopeless.”

“i don’t even think he’s had a girlfriend before.”

“really?” minho’s eyebrows raised, “with how all of the girls stick to him like glue?”

“i don’t think he knows how much of a heartthrob he is.”

chan glanced towards felix, who was busy chatting with two girls who had stopped by just a few minutes ago, “he’s clueless sometimes.”

the bell on the door rang as you stepped in, blue sweater in hand, eyes darting across the room to find the blonde boy who immediately abandoned his conversation.

“i came to return this,” you slid it across the counter, just as felix had done the previous day, “and get a cookie as well.”

“just the cookie?”

“and a mocha.”

“your total will be—“

“just give it to her for free,” chan whispered from behind, trying to help the frantic boy.

“it’ll be free today,” felix stumbled on his words, “and maybe i could heat the cookies for you too? they’re better warm.”

“that would be great,” you took a seat at the same spot as before, “your customer service is top tier. free service and a cardigan on a rainy day?”

“we try.” felix couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face, or take his eyes off of you.

even when you weren’t paying attention to him, typing on your laptop and munching on a cookie, he would stare at you, just barely hiding behind the espresso machine.

“why don’t you ask for her number?”

felix jumped as yet another barista appeared from behind him— something that had been happening too much recently. or perhaps he was just less focused on his surroundings.

“i can’t do that. what if she rejects me?”

“she would’ve let you down by now, do you know how obvious you’re making it?” hyunjin tried to reason with him.

“i guess that’s true, but i’m nervous. she’s really pretty.”

“so? you’re pretty too.”

felix gave the compliment a light laugh, “but she’s intimidatingly pretty.”

he kept an eye on the way your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, your finger tapping to the rhythm of the café’s record player on the table.

“you’re such a hopeless romantic. just get her number. she’s gonna leave again and you’re gonna be upset that you didn’t.”

“maybe.”

with those words in mind, felix shyly approached you, hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

“hey,” he started, almost chickening out just from your eye contact.

his fingers went to his throat, checking his pulse, “do you think i could get your number?”

when you stared at him in silent shock for a moment, he continued, “not as, like, a weird thing! i just want to be your friend.”

he could see hyunjin out of the corner of his eye, ready to pull out his hair in frustration.

your smile faltered, but you still took the phone from his hand, saving your name as y/n.

“text me later.” there was a hint of sadness in your voice that felix didn’t fail to pick up on, but he didn’t dare to comment on it.

he ran off into the back room, ready to scream over the most embarrassing, disappointing moment in his entire life.

hyunjin followed close behind, “felix! what the hell?”

“i got nervous!”

“so you decided to friend-zone her?”

“she could’ve friend zoned me first!”

“she obviously wasn’t going to!”

“but if she did then i think i’d die!”

hyunjin was close to slamming his head against the nearest wall. “i’m gonna die right now if you don’t walk back out there and tell her that you’ve spent the whole day thinking about how pretty she is!”

“she’ll think i’m weird!”

“then i’ll do it!” felix tried to hold him back but failed as hyunjin opened the door, only to be met with an empty spot where you used to be.

felix let go, his shoulders dropping.

“where is she?”

“i guess she left,” hyunjin turned to see his devastated friend.

“did i fuck up that badly?”

hyunjin bit his lip, trying not to make it worse for him than it already was. but the truth was that, yeah, he did.

“maybe she’ll be back.”

felix texted you that night while he sat in bed, deciding on, “hi it’s felix! :)”

he kept his cardigan next to him.

perhaps it was a little creepy, but he decided to sniff it. it smelled different than usual. perhaps that’s what you smelled like.

perhaps he would never even get to know what you smelled like.

tears brimmed his eyes as he shut off his phone, staring up at the fan on his ceiling, letting the noise drown out the eerie silence.

felix wanted to slap himself for being such an idiot. he had no problem talking to people, he was the most extroverted extrovert that an extrovert could get. but he couldn’t help but question everything he did in front of you, even if he had just met you.

you didn’t respond.

when felix showed up to work the next day, it was like the sunshine was hidden behind a rainy cloud.

he knew that it shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did. he knew that checking to see if he got a text every minute wasn’t normal, or whip his head toward the door every time a customer came in.

so felix spent another night in his bed, phone in hand, staring at the text that he sent.

would it just be easier to forget about you? it’s not like he had anything going with you anyway.

it was only when he set it down for the night and closed his eyes that it began to ring, and he sprang right back up, eyes widening as he stared at the caller ID.

it was minho.

“hello?” felix answered, voice filled with sleep.

“you were upset at work today,” he stated, “is it because of that girl?”

“you could see it?”

“everyone could. like we always do.”

“i’m just gonna try to forget about it.”

“don’t.”

“what do you mean?”

“you have her number, right? come clean, text her that you were nervous. ask to meet up.”

“like a date?”

“exactly. ask her on a date.”

felix chewed on his lip, anxiety clouding his judgment once again. would he have the courage to even do that?

“chan said that you’re not allowed to work until you sort out your sadness. and nobody wants to cover your shifts, man.”

when minho hung up the phone, felix laid back against his pillows, letting out a breath of air that he didn’t know he was holding. then he checked his pulse.

opening your texts, he began typing. ‘i lied. it was something weird. you’re really pretty. you can block me if you want.’

he deleted the message.

‘actually,’

no.

‘i meant to ask for your number in a not-friend-way,’

no.

‘sorry for the other day. i was anxious and said the wrong thing, but i really wanted your number because i think you’re gorgeous. do you want to go out sometime?’

he sent the message and resisted the urge to chuck his phone across the room. instead, he threw it back down onto the bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and squeezing it as hard as he could.

minutes later, felix heard his phone buzz. he scrambled to pick it up.

‘that’s ok. i was a little disappointed, you’re rly cute :)’

it buzzed again.

‘wanna come over tomorrow and watch a movie or something?’

his fingers shook, trying to type back, ‘sounds great! does 5 work?’

you reacted to his text with a thumbs up, and then he was back to squeezing the pillow.

felix didn’t work the next day. instead, he spent the day showering, squealing, spam-texting friends, and preparing for his first-ever date.

when you opened the doorbell, you were met with quite possibly the cutest sight in the entire world.

there felix was, holding a box of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies in his shaky hands. “i baked these for you, kind of as an apology, kind of because i wanted to impress you. and i know you like the cookies.”

you giggled at his honesty, letting him inside as you took the box, “thank you felix, you’re such a sweetheart.”

he checked his pulse.

“sorry for the mess. i tried to clean a little, but i don’t have people over often.”

“it’s okay,” he was quick to reassure you, “my house doesn’t look all that clean either. kind of comes with being a human.”

you laughed, taking a seat on the couch. he followed your actions.

“so, about the whole number thing,” he toyed with the rip on his black jeans.

“i thought you were really really beautiful.”

suddenly, he was way too aware of how close you were to him. but he wouldn’t let himself get nervous again.

“one of my coworkers was telling me to ask for your number and i was nervous and thought that you wouldn’t like me like that.”

felix sighed, “so i ended up saying the wrong thing and giving you the wrong idea.”

when he looked back up, you were smiling, holding in laughter. “that’s honestly adorable.”

“really?”

“i got sad, i thought you were just that kind to everyone and that i was developing some crazy ego thinking that a boy as attractive as you would like me.”

“you think i’m attractive?” his ears were on fire by now, completely stiff as you leaned in to look him in the eyes.

“i don’t understand how you don’t know how attractive you are.”

“what do you mean?”

“do i have to spell it out for you?”

“probably.”

“i think you’re gorgeous.”

“i also think the same about you. you looked so cute eating all happily, and when you smile, it makes me want to kiss you.” he chewed his lip, trying to not regret his bold words.

something tense was in the air, something that made felix’s heart pound a thousand times faster.

“then do it.”

felix froze. was he supposed to tell you that he had never kissed a girl before, much less sat this close to one?

“well, are you going to? or are you getting shy again?”

“i’ve never kissed anyone.” he let his heart thud out of his chest at the confession.

your eyes visibly widened, “you? you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“or held hands with a girl. and i’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“that’s impossible.”

“i don’t know how to prove it.”

“your awkwardness does the job.”

you decided to make a move, “but i can show you how if you’d like.”

felix’s mouth went dry, unsure of what to do or say.

“it’ll come naturally. just let it happen,” you smiled reassuringly as he nodded.

climbing onto his open lap, your hands carded through his blonde hair.

you leaned in to meet his lips briefly, his eyes burning into your own.

it was a soft and gentle kiss, just like him. but his eyes were full of desire for more.

“can i have another?” his hands met your back, pulling you into him.

this time, the kiss lasted longer, so much longer that he began craving more of you, so he did what he saw in all the movies.

he slipped his tongue into your mouth, grinning against your lips in pride at his actions.

felix’s hands traveled to your waist as took your word, letting go of his anxieties and doing what came naturally.

and without even realizing it, he began to take the lead.

all of the feelings were overwhelming. the way that you tugged on his hair, how close your bodies were, the way your tongue felt against his own.

he never wanted to stop.

until his phone began ringing.

you pulled away and he let out a shaky breath, slowly opening his eyes to stare at your features up close.

“felix, your phone,” you reminded him.

he jolted out of the daze, reaching for it.

chan.

he was about to just cancel the call when he saw the spam texts, asking where he was.

with a heavy sigh, he answered with you still on his lap.

“did you make up with y/n?”

“be quiet! i’m with her right now!”

you let out a laugh.

“oh! tell her hi!”

felix hung up on his friend with a groan, turning the ringer off.

“can we go back to kissing again?”

“after he’s done blowing you up,” you pointed at the buzzing phone.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Losing It

steddie, omegaverse, virginity kink, loss of virginity, mdni 🔞

Steve has always been good, and good omegas kept their legs closed. His mother loved to say, “No one buys the cow when they can get the milk for free.”

Which, gross. He isn’t a cow, and any milk he has will be for his pups, thank you very much. But his mom clearly knows what she’s talking about—former stewardess who landed a hotshot business man at 21 and got him to build her a house just close enough to her dirt poor parents to rub it in. Who got pregnant a year later, stopping after Steve because, “Pregnancy is miserable, Steven. I could barely keep anything down with you! I lost weight and still got stuck with stretch marks!”

She only started saying that after he presented, while the cow thing started much earlier. Mostly about his father’s secretaries. And anyone in short skirts.

But his mother always would say, “You’re such a good omega, Stevie. So sweet and pure. You’re going to make an alpha very happy someday. Just make sure you get what you deserve first.”

Robin says his mom gave him a complex, fucked him up. “Seriously, Steve, it’s like a fetish. You get off on blue-balling your dates,” she says one night while Steve is shelving new releases.

“I do not! I just wanna make sure I find the right alpha.”

“You thought I might be-”

“Shut up!”

Neither of them needs to think any more about his drunken confession when they first became friends. How he tried to kiss her before she admitted to only liking girls and awkwardly screeching that he had nice tits but she was much more interested in playing with Tammy Thompson’s boobies.

“Besides, you’re a big ol’ virgin, too!”

“Yeah, but not because I wanna be! I’m a virgin in a loser way; you’re a virgin in a porno way!”

Steve’s lower lips trembles, his shoulders hunch, and in moments Robin is at his side.

“I’m sorry, that was bitchy!”

“No, you’re right! I’m a prude and a tease and I’m—Rob, I’m really fucked up.”

They talk it out the rest of their shift, and Steve makes up his mind to find a decent alpha and get it over with, rip off the bandaid so he doesn’t have some virgin/whore complex when he finally gets married.

But finding a decent alpha is *hard* and he goes on too many first dates and zero second dates. He’s about ready to give up, to focus on re-applying to colleges instead, when it finally happens.

He’s running late, picking up Dustin as a favor to Mrs. Henderson, forgetting he needed gas until he’s on the way.

It’s dark, and he pulls into the near empty parking lot, spotting Dustin leaned against a shitty white van. Steve parks and rushes out, apologizing as he pulls Dustin to him, crushing him to his chest.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Dustin huffs, pushing him back. “Eddie waited with me.”

“Figured we’d give you another ten minutes before I drove him home myself,” Eddie Munson says with a smile, blowing out cigarette smoke. “You okay, Harrington?”

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you,” he starts, blushing, not sure why he suddenly feels warm. “For waiting with Dustin, I mean.”

Eddie drops his cigarette, crushes it with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, of course. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Steve, you’re being weird.”

“No, I’m not! Get in the car, Dustin, your mom is waiting. See you around, Eddie?”

“Yeah, see you around.”

Steve considers showing up early next week when he picks Dustin up from Hellfire. Or hanging around the record store in hopes Eddie comes in. But in the end he decides that he’s better off being straightforward and asking for what he wants. It’s not like an alpha would say no. Not to what Steve is offering. Not when he smelled interest and fear coming off Eddie the night before.

And with how his spicy scent made Steve’s mouth water… He thinks he’ll have fixed his little problem soon.

So he gets dressed as carefully as possible, and drives to Eddie’s.

He knocks, pleased when Eddie is the one to answer and not his uncle, the alpha blinking against the daylight. “Um, hey, Steve, what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding a little bit sleepy.

“Can I come in?” Steve blurts, nervous, maybe even a little bit terrified.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie steps aside, bowing as Steve walks past him, and it might just be what he’s planning to do, but Steve’s never been so charmed in his life. “You sure you’re okay? Because you seem kinda… Off.”

“I’m fine! Honest. I just…”

“Steve?”

“Iwanyoutafuckme.”

Even with how fast he mumbled it, Eddie clearly understood. “What the fuck? What? Why! Why ME?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting, and all the alphas I know suck, and you’re weird but nice, and…” Steve pauses, swallows hard as he looks straight into Eddie’s dark chocolate eyes.

“And no one would believe me anyway, right? So no one has to know.”

Shame flames up his neck and over his cheeks, because that was part of it. The tiniest bit. But Steve bites his lip and shakes his head. “I figured you wouldn’t make fun of me. For not being good at it.”

“With how sweet you smell, I doubt any alpha would tell you that you were bad at sex, Steve.”

“They sure do like calling me a frigid bitch and saying my pussy’s gotta be too dry to feel good since ‘I’m so good at saying no.’ But, sure…” He sniffles, and Eddie steps in close.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t—” Eddie reaches to cup Steve’s cheek, and on instinct the omega leans into the touch.

He purrs, takes a step closer of his own and scents at Eddie’s neck. “You smell real nice, Eddie,” Steve whispers, his lips ghosting along the skin of his throat.

“You smell like hot apple pie.”

“Oh yeah?”

“With vanilla ice cream.”

“Nancy said my scent was really mild, and Tommy always said it was sour…”

“So, you’re just sweet for me, Stevie?”

“I wanna be real sweet for you, Eddie. Let me, please?”

Eddie can only nod. He leads Steve back to his room, watches as Steve strips out of his clothes, revealing delicate pink lace. “You really want this…”

“I really do.” Steve takes Eddie’s hand, brings it to his crotch, lets him feel how much slick already clings to the lacy fabric of his panties. “I want you to be the first alpha to touch me here. I thought about it all night, how good your knot would feel in my tight, hot pussy.”

“I don’t think I’ll last long enough to make it good. Shit, Steve, I’ve never—”

“It’s okay. We can always wait until you’re ready to go again—”

Eddie kisses him then, with far too much teeth, but Steve feels the desire in it and grins.

He’s getting what he wants.

Eddie’s right in the end, popping his knot too soon. Steve cries out in pain, his own dick going soft as he whines through the alpha’s near-violent orgasm.

But the second time is better. After that, Eddie begs to eat him out, to come all over his tits, for Steve to stuff those panties in his mouth and ride him.

By the time he leaves, he has a date for the following evening.

Now that Eddie’s gotten a taste, Steve’s pretty sure he’s not going anywhere.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 4: Pushing the limits

genre: mostly fluff... with a tiny bit of angst because I just can't not write angst LMAO

word count: 5861

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: for once, you have a good day. and you feel untouchable. until, that is, you're not.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: sorry for the delay on the update, but it's finally here! I'm excited to see this story evolving! what are you excited about with this chapter? Let me know in the comments! <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

It’s weird to think that once upon a time, you lived in New York. 

You had always loved the city in all its might. A lot of people complained about the grey, tall buildings, but you used to think that the colour suited you. That the lifeless of it all didn’t really matter, because life was all over New York City. The bustling of the people, the voices and languages mixing in every block, the smell of food from the falafel carts in every corner; sure, the city was dead, but my god were the people alive. 

You were alive, back then. 

So much so that you think you might have attracted the dead, because the night you met Josh was a night you felt invincible. You felt like you had enough power in you to light up the entire grid of the city that never slept, so when he approached you, with his light blonde hair and bright blue eyes, you were up for the challenge. Even your friend was impressed when you didn’t coil away from his eager hands, and maybe she regrets it now– maybe she curses herself for not pulling you away from him, for not stoping you when you left with him. Maybe she hates herself for what she let you do back then, but the truth of the matter is that even if she had tried, you don’t think she would’ve succeeded.

Josh was different than most guys you knew, but that didn’t mean much– your aversion to human interaction had always plagued you when it came to romance and friendships. Alas, you found your similars; you met people who loved book just as much as you and you found your place with a selected few. You didn’t mind, not having all that many friends when you had an amazing handful instead; they were all loyal, understanding, and kind, much like you. 

Meaning that Josh wasn’t. But you didn’t know that at first, too blinded by the flowers, and the expensive dinners, and the beautiful gifts. Whenever you remember them– the moments, the memories, the things– you’re washed by a sense of shame and embarrassment unlike anything else you felt before. You’d like to stand up for yourself and deny it, deny all of it, say you’re not materialist like this, but that would be a lie. You are a bookseller, for crying out loud. A collector. For you, mementos mean something; the feeling of something familiar in your hands, be it the weight or the texture or just the shape, enough to bring back moments that are long gone in the hands of time. Objects and souvenirs are the next best thing you have to a photo album of memories that can’t be captured by a camera, and you are not ashamed of it. 

What you are ashamed of was how easily you fooled yourself for him. For Josh. It was all those damned fairytales you’ve read growing up, it had to be. Or maybe it was his friends and their comments of how perfect you two were together. Whatever it was, it had to be something. You’d hate to believe that you were shallow enough to endure him on his worst days just because of the things he gave you on his good days. 

Naturally, Josh was a much more extroverted personality. Keeping up with his social life was exhausting. Every night there was something to do, a dinner, a party, a meet-up. And those weren’t all that fun, either, though you learned to fake it pretty well. During these public appearances, you let yourself believe that yes, you two were this amazing power couple. You allowed yourself a moment to push away from all the regret and just enjoy the small things– the touches, the fleeting kisses, the loving nicknames. Because you knew that once you got home, all of that would fade and disappear until the next event you’d be forced to attend.

The question that most people asked was why did it take so long for you to leave him, why did it have to be that bad before you allowed yourself to go; and the answer was always the same: you don’t know. You don’t fucking know why you stayed with him, you don’t know why you loved him, you don’t know anything except the fact that you did– you did stay, you did love him, you did everything you wished you hadn’t. And it still led you to that night, to that rotten smelling taxi, to you crying in a red eye flight, to you landing, lost and hurt.

Because that night might have been the first time he laid his hands on you, but you doubted it would be the last. And it was up to you to do something about it. 

————————————

“Y/N? Are you up?” 

It’s a rhetorical question more than anything– you’ve been awake all night and Spencer knows. He blinked awake with every twist and turn, and in the morning, when his alarm went off, you were stiff on your side, trying to pretend you’re asleep. 

This has nothing to do with him. Last night, things ended in a positive note. After he showered, he came to bed to find you still wearing his FBI hoodie, and the smile on his face was enough to have you smiling too. You fell asleep to the sweet sounds of him reading you The Illustrated Man. Ray Bradbury is a common name in your guys’ conversations and it’s cute how he spends almost fifteen minutes looking for one of his books in the mess that are his shelves. According to him, they used to be alphabetised by author’s last name, much like in your store, but because of the time you’ve had in there, things have gotten a little… messy. You have a habit of reading different things at the same time and Spencer finds that adorable, even if it breaks his system with how you leave books scattered around the house.

“Yeah,” You call back, meeting his eye when he pops his head through the door. His hair is pointing in all directions, and you can smell food coming from the kitchen. “Are you cooking something? Spence, you said you don’t cook, what are you doing?” 

“I’m a thirty year old man,” He said, laughing at how you push the duvet away so desperately you trip on it to run to where you assume the fire is. “Careful! Oh my god, Y/N, you’re breaking my heart here, I’m not burning anything!”

It’s not your fault that your mind immediately goes to the worst case scenario. From all the stories you’ve heard, all the ones that ended in disaster were set in his kitchen. “Spence, you could’ve woken me up,” You shake your head when you see that he actually just made toast with butter and jam. “I would’ve made you something to eat.” 

“You’re not my maid,” He says, standing behind you with his hands in his pockets and this is when you notice– he’s wearing sweatpants. Previously, when he was sick and you brought him medicine, he was wearing casual clothes too, but you were too busy fussing over him to fully appreciate the beauty that is Casual Spencer. His grey sweatpants and crumpled white t-shirt are enough to have you blushing and averting your eyes. In your store, he is excited. At home, he is relaxed. Those are two different things in the best of ways. “And I wanted to… talk.” 

Immediately, you have alarm bells ringing in your head and he notices it. It’s kind of funny, how you learned to read Spencer while he is reading you– you know when things set him off when his eyes widen a little, like a little tell he does every time. Maybe you’re better at this than you think, proud of yourself when he immediately waves his hands in the air, a desperate gaze in his eyes making you snort. “No, no, no,” Words fall from his lips a bit too fast for you to not trip up on them. “No, it’s nothing like that! It’s nothing bad, I just want to know how you’re doing and… check in on you.” 

“You want to check in on me?” You shouldn’t sound this enamoured, and you hate yourself for it. For the first time, you two are having an open conversation about what is happening and you want to make sure you’re present and paying attention.

“Of course I do,” His mumbling is barely audible from the living room, but when he yelps ouch and turns around with a plate of toast and coffee, you hear him loud and clear. Words mean a lot for someone like you, someone who lives off of them, but actions might just mean more because of who they are coming from. Because of his shy nature, when Spencer is direct and a bit more abrupt, it means something– it means that he is angry, or happy, or emotional, or dedicated. You like that he is dedicated about this; about you. It’s selfish in nature, but it’s true– him making you breakfast, him fussing over you, him trying… it’s all just Spencer’s way of showing that he is serious about this, and you don’t mind one bit. “Here you go. Eat up.” 

Instead, you show him you’re serious too. You smile, and wait until he has grabbed his own food and joined you on the couch, to start talking. “Spencer, thank you,” You whisper, looking down at the little space that keeps you two apart as a reminder: things might be getting better, and they might be on the mend, but there is still a long way to go for things to get great. 

Surprisingly enough, though, it’s quite easy to forget about Cat Adams when she’s not harassing you with unwanted gifts or letters, and it feels quite powerful to do so. Just like how easy it was to forget Josh when he couldn’t call you anymore, or touch you anymore, or scream at you anymore. What felt like the weight of the world on your shoulders now is simply the touch of a butterfly, floating away as soon as the moment of overthinking and anxiety is done. Some days, it lasts longer than others, and those are the bad the days. But on the better days, the ones that you are able to busy yourself with your store, your crush, your family; yeah, those are the days that Josh and Cat simply can’t get to you. 

Today is a better day. 

Hell, you might even dare to say that today is a good day, and more and more, you realise just how rare they are. So for today, you don’t allow the ghost of past and future lives to haunt you. For today, you’ll enjoy the blessings of the present. 

“Thank you for… helping me through all of this,” You continue, sipping on your coffee to try and keep your hands busy and away from his. After you got a little taste yesterday, feeling the warmth of his palm enveloping yours, you can’t help but want more. You want more touches, more smiles, more sneaky glances. You just want more Spence, however you can have him. “You didn’t have to help me through it all like this. And you certainly didn’t have to come back in the middle of a case just because of this whole mess. So thank you. This really means a lot. You… You mean a lot to me.” 

“Y/N, I didn’t come back because of this situation, I came back for you.” 

All air is knocked out of your lungs when he says that. In a very Spencer fashion, he doesn’t say it like a confession, like it’s a secret he couldn’t keep it inside anymore. This is nothing more and nothing less than a fact, like all the many others he has told you in your year or something long friendship. He came back for you, and the Earth is round. He came back for you, and the Russian Orthodox Church excommunicated Tolstoy. He came back for you, and Plank’s constant is a fundamental universal constant that defines the quantum nature of energy and relates the energy of a photon to its frequency. 

Simple as that. 

“I came back for you,” He says again, nervous finger ripping his toast apart until there is no longer a toast there anymore, just bits and pieces of what it once was. Cleaning your hands from crumbs and butter, you gently extend your arm, wanting to show him support in the best way you know how to. But then you remember: Spencer is a germaphobe. He’s reserved and he prefers to wave rather than shake hands, and you pause, hand hovering over his in unsureness. Just as you’re about to pull away, he moves, a flash of limbs and plates that leaves you not time to react.

Spencer is fast and it actually surprises you to see the clumsy man being so agile. He takes a hold of your hand and the familiarity of it all spreads a blush through your body. Even if he had stopped then and there, giving you just this little taste of affection, you would be happy. The way your cheeks flush to that rosy tone he loves so much and never says anything is enough of a hint to how you’re feeling, and this time around, Spencer wants to push the limits just a little bit, just a little more. And it’s obvious by the way his eyes shine with a mischievous glimmer of intent, grabbing you into him until your bodies crash together. 

This is the first time you two hug. It’s the first time your arms go around his shoulder, and it’s the first time his arms hook under yours. Spence hugs you like he needs to hug you, face rubbing on your neck like he’s trying to bury it there and hide from the whole world. Like you can actually protect him, and this time, you actually think you can. Your hands move up and down his back, a soft touch for the man that hated them so much. Sadness sweeps through you when you think about little him, avoiding touches and waving from afar instead. “Spence…” You mumble, pushing away for a second to try and talk to him, but he is quick to hold you in place. 

“Stay,” The way his voice breaks off makes you hug him even tighter. “Please. I… I’m happy you’re here.” 

“Spence, what’s going on?” Maybe it’s good that you can’t really look eye to eye. Those honey orbs, always so shiny and expectant, render you defenceless every time. 

He takes a moment to answer and you know he’s thinking, the machinery in his head whirring to lifer. “When you called me that night, I think my heart stopped. I thought… I thought something had happened to you, and I couldn’t… be there. I couldn’t be here. And it broke my heart, because this is my fault. It’s my fault that you’re scared and that your entire life changed, and I’m just really sorry, Y/N.” 

That is a hard pill to swallow. You knew he was feeling guilty; you know more about Spencer than he thinks you do– but what you didn’t know was that he was feeling bad. “Spence, I’m okay. And I’m safe. All because of you. I… I’ve been doing some research, and I know this is not usually something that would take priority for the FBI, considering that besides a note, Cat hasn’t really done anything to me, and if it wasn’t because of you, I’d probably be going through all of this alone.” 

“You are a priority to me.” 

“I know that now,” You whisper, shaky fingers raking through his hair in a desperate attempt to calm him down, praying, begging, hoping  he won’t ask you to stop. “At… first I did blame you a little. Like, not blame you, but… it was like I couldn’t separate you and what was going on and I was angry and upset and I’m sorry too. I pushed you away when I think we both needed some support from each other, and I didn’t mean to make you worry even more, you have to believe me, I swear!”

You don’t know when the roles reverse, but it’s like a war of tug, sometimes you pull and sometimes you get pulled, and right now, Spencer is pulling you into his arms with the strength of a man who needs you. “No, Y/N, no no, you don’t have to apologise! This… God, this is a mess.”

Chuckling with him feels better than chuckling at him, and you take the moment to just enjoy the feeling of being in his arms with no rhyme or reason. “It really is, but it’s our mess and I think that, all in all, we’re dealing with it quite well, Spence.” 

Everything about that moment is soft. The light is trying to come through the curtains and you smile to yourself. Spencer has always been stubborn about sunlight and he prefers the apartment on the darker side, but you can’t help but let your fingers move from his shoulder, dragging the tips all the way from his shoulder, down his arm, and extending to the end of the curtain, hooking them on the corner and raising a little bit. “It’s a nice day out…” You mumble more to yourself than him. 

“Do you want to go out?” Spence asks, raising his head away from your shoulder to look at you, but you just shake your head. “What do you want to do? I have the day off today, so we can do anything you want, I swear.”

“Hmm, can we go to the store?” Sure, it’s not the most exciting thing ever, but you miss it. You miss your books that you keep in a special corner behind the counter, and you miss the deliveries that are probably pilling up with your neighbour. The question is more amusing than anything, though, because you know the answer already. 

And him shaking his head only confirms your theory. Even though you know, you’re still frustrated. “Spence, please…”

“Y/N, your house is above your store,” He does seem to be upset with his own answer, and though that does not make you feel any better, you at least know he understands where you’re coming from. “We can’t risk it right now. Cat just sent a note straight to your address, and we don’t know if she knows you own the store or not, or if she has a partner working with her from the outside, or–”

“I know, I just– I don’t want to lose my store. It’s all I have.” The way your fingers fidget, playing with each other in a familiar nervous manner that you’ve surely picked up from him, has Spencer reaching out to hold your hands with both of his. It leaves you a bit breathless to notice just how big his hands are, covering yours completely. 

“You will not lose your store. I will not let that happen. But I think this could be a good chance to maybe think about a hiring a manager or a helper for a while. Temporarily! Just until we can make sure that you are safe.” Without noticing, his thumb slides over the top of your hand, a calming back and forth that eases the frown on your forehead when you think about a stranger at your store. “Just someone to be with you when the store is empty, Y/N.” 

Logic is on his side, as usual, and although you would never consider this under normal circumstances, you are reaching a point in which there are no other options. “A couple of days ago I sold out of stock for the first time since opening the store. I’m finally turning profit after being barely able to keep the place afloat. I love my daily routine there. I can’t let her take this away from me, Spence.”

“And she won’t. But don’t you think the help will be good? With new stock coming in and the reading events you wanted to prepare, having a trusty helper will save you some stress. And we’ll have Penelope run a check on every candidate!”

“I don’t know… is it fair for me to get someone involved in… this?” He instantly knows what you mean. “Can I think about it?” 

“Of course you can. I understanding this was not in your plans, and I know you love your job and your routine and we’ll make a new one for you! We’ll create a schedule and we’ll alternate days so that you don’t have a predictable location and-and we can make it a fun thing, you know? Creating the week’s schedule, like the Sunday crossword! We could do the schedule on Saturdays and the crossword on Sundays– what do you think?”

You think this is a plan. A future plan. A future plan that is reliant on the fact of you still living in his apartment and part of you hates it, because part of you, a big part of you, wants to go home and stop feeling like such a burden to him. But then there is the smaller part of you; the part that likes waking up and hearing his hoarse voice first thing in the morning; the part of you that feels spoiled with the breakfasts in the couch; the part of you that hasn’t really been loved in a while and really missed it. That is the same part of you that swoons every time he smiles at you, and you nod, and nod, and nod. “That sounds perfect,” You whisper, looking around the living room and seeing this future he talks so much about. It truly does sound… “Perfect.”

That afternoon, he helps you write a job ad for a store manager. It’s fun doing this with him because you get a chance to pick that brain that always amazes you so much. “No, no, you should give them a feel for the store,” The way his breathing hits the nape of your neck with every word he says while reading over your shoulder makes you shiver. “Oh? Are you cold?” What you miss is the the little smile he gives you from behind, turning to quickly grab the blanket you left on the armchair to cover your shoulders.

“But I don’t want them too comfortable, it’s still my store,” You grumble, leaning back without even thinking about it. You are both by the kitchen counter, and you’re sitting on a stool with Spencer right behind you, so when you fall back, arms curling around your body and wrapping the blanket tighter around you, you fall right onto his chest. The shattered pieces of that wall you two had between you two lay on your feet, no completely gone but simply lowered; the jitters of having him so close, the anxiety of maybe having him pull away, the strong beat of his heart right on your back. It’s all there, and it all amplifies when his arms wrap around your waist. It’s too careful, the way he holds you; too light and gentle and oh so slow. You just want him to hug you like he did before, to show you more of that hidden strength he kept suppressed all the time. Spencer is not dominant by any mean, but he isn’t someone to be walked all over, either, and the more that Cat pushes you, the more you are starting to see him push back. 

And you love when Spencer push back. 

“Okay, focus!” His voice snaps you back to reality, so close to your ear and his chin digging on your shoulder. It’s cute how he likes to fit his face in the little nook of your neck, between your cheeks and shoulders, and it’s… oddly intimate. The kind of intimate that makes you tense up a little just at the thought. “Hey… I know this is a big step for the store, but I’m proud of you. It’ll be great to be able to share the responsibility of the place with someone else. A team is not so bad, Y/N.”

If he is any indication of what is like to have a partner, if having Spencer by your side and ready to back you up is a little taster of what being on a team is like, then he might just be right. “I know, I just… this is my baby, you know? I moved to Washington with a backpack and an email from the agent to lease the place and there is a lot of effort and emotional energy and money that went into this!”

“You moved to Washington with just a backpack?”

Curiosity is a natural response for a man like Spencer. He is curious about virtually everything and anything, and it makes your heart beat faster, every time, when he asks something to you. It feels like a sign of trust, that he is willing to actually learn from you, to listen to you, and to store all you say into his hungry brain. This time, however, when your heart speeds up, it doesn’t have those same palpitation of adoration, those same butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Instead, it feels like there’s a rock, heavy and cold and hard, being thrown around your gut, all sharp edges and precise hits. “I, uh,” Immediately, you want to move– you want to push your hair back or scratch the mysterious itch on your nape or rub the tension off of your forehead– but then you remember that he is an avid reader. And that, apparently, you are his new favourite book. 

You try to play it cool, hand coming back down to the laptop’s keyboard to type out some basic information on the store and the schedule. “Yeah, it was a weird time,” And that’s all you say on the subject, even if the way he squints, those molten brown eyes running over every inch of you that you’re sure he has committed to memory, tell you that he has gotten much more information than you were willing to give. “Okay, I think it’s ready?” 

He knows what you’re doing, but he doesn’t care. Uncomfortableness is written all over you, from how your shoulders hunch forward to how you stick your hands between your thighs to stop them from fidgeting. Spencer is very careful of your self-awareness. He has seen you shut down before and he knows the telling signs– you pull away, withdraw back and back and back, until you disappear in the background of your anxieties. The last thing he wants is for you to not speak to him again, arms squeezing you a bit close in fear that you might just get up and leave him behind again. Having you sit on the armchair, so close yet so far while he slept in the couch next to you, had been hard. Incredibly hard. And Spencer isn’t sure he can handle that again.

So he lets it go. 

He hums, and nods, and lets you think you’ve fooled him. He lets you think that you’ve successfully whisked his attention away from the topic he wants to chat through and dissect so badly. “Looks great,” It’s cute how fast he reads the ad, and before you can overthink about it, he clicks ‘send.’ “Spence! Oh my god!”

“You weren’t going to do it,” He laughs, shaking his head and turning the stool so that you two are face to face. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s okay,” You whisper, breath hitching on your throat with just how intensely he’s looking at you. There is tension between you two, strong and growing, and it’s not the first time you’ve noticed it. 

Sometimes, you think that this weird connection dates back to the first few months you knew each other. At first, it was about stupid things like what authors were truly considered cult or what were the best tropes. Banter, with Spencer, was always fun, like a little debate filled with smiles and giggles and… privacy, almost. Intimacy. It’s like every time you two talk a bubble forms around you, and no one can steal his attention. He is present, at all times, and it makes you feel like you matter; it makes you want to be present, too, happily listening to his rants and lecture with attentive eyes. Sometimes, you even pulled out a little notebook after he was gone to work, noting down the facts you’ve managed to remember, and whenever you were a bit bored, you would pull your notes out and read them over, smiling at the memories of him. The memories of him that are now locked in the drawer behind your counter. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I need to go get some stuff from the store,” You mumble, looking up at him with begging eyes. “I know you said to keep out, but please, Spence, I need more clothes and I need my things.” 

It doesn’t take much convincing to have him ready to go, and you are almost giddy at the sight of Spencer in jeans. Everyone can, or at least they should, see beyond the slacks and the sweater vests. Underneath it all, you know there is a man who needs some tender loving– you know there are scars, maybe visible, maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. Without his tie and his button ups, Spencer is just like any other guy, and the walls come down. Right now, he is Spence, your favourite customer and the guy that makes your heart beat faster, and you kind of love that you get to leave Agent Reid behind for a day or two. 

“Let’s go, Spence!” You call, excited to get out of the house for a bit. The fresh air coming in from the open window teases you enough to have you stomping, shouting for him again. “Spencer!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” His laughter echoes in the apartment and you smiled when you see him grabbing his phone and keys. 

This is too good to be true. It has now been eight days since the initial package you received in Spencer’s name, and as much as you know his intentions are good, you do wonder if maybe he is going a little overboard out of guilt. “I’m so excited to go to the store with you again!” You shriek, going down the stairs with him in tow. You’re not really looking where you’re going, constantly turning back to look at him just to catch a glimpse of that adorable smile he tries to hold back. 

“Y/N, watch out–“ In all fairness, Spencer tries to reach for you and hold you back, but the moment your feet touch the ground floor, your body hits another with such impulse that you sway back into Spencer’s hands. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, yeah, I’m–“ Turning to the person, a young woman with an expression of as much shock as yours, you immediately start to apologise. “I’m so sorry! Oh god, I’m so sorry, I–“ “Don’t worry at all,” She smiles and picks up her boxes again. “I couldn’t see because of the boxes, it’s my fault.”

“Are you moving in?” 

You know that tone of voice. It’s stored in your brain as the tone of voice you never wanted to hear again, after hours of it back at the BAU office. “Hey, come on,” You whisper, allowing him lightly. 

“Yes! I’m moving into apartment 13. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Abigail. Do you guys live in the building?”

“Oh, I uh, I’m just–“

The way he slips his hand in yours, fingers folding with yours. “Yeah, we live upstairs,” He says vaguely, slowly continuing to walk own the hall. “We’re a bit late, but it was great meeting you Abigail. See you around.” 

You barely have time to wave before he has you out in the street, phone out and ready to go. “Sorry, I just need to call Garcia for a second. Go ahead, yeah? I’m right behind you, I promise.” 

Under his watchful eyes, you take the lead in making your way to the bookstore. The sound of his shoes crackling in the sidewalk behind you is comforting. “I’m going in, just call out for me when you’re ready, okay?” 

As soon as you get inside, it’s like you’re home. The books are everywhere, and you feel their warm embrace as they whisper stories in your ears. You’re like a hurricane in there, moving around with such trained expertise that no one could ever contest that you belong there, in your sacred place. Your backpack is by the counter, slowly filling up with books you want to take with you, and you enjoy the fact that Spencer is busy to check your emails for online orders and stock. So far, no big losses have taken place and you’ve only been closed for a couple of days, but you are realistic about the future of this place and you know this cannot continue. The more you see the store suffering from all of this, the more you agree that having someone mind the place while you’re out might be a good idea. Hesitancy still swirls in your heart, but you’ll do anything to avoid the heartbreak of losing your bookshop. 

You don’t turn around when the bell rings. “Spence, I might need a couple more minutes–“

“We got to go. I’m sorry Y/N, we need to go, grab whatever you can.”

A sharp exhale escapes you like a knife just wedged itself in your lungs. “What’s going on?” 

“Officer Kaper just called for backup,” Everything is fast again, moving forward, forward, forward, and Spencer knows how overwhelming this must be, specially after the slow and soft morning you two had, but he is working on a one track mind. He needs to get you out of there. 

“Backup?” Cars honk while you two cross the street in a hurry. “Spencer, stop running, stop! What’s going on?!”

He doesn’t answer you until you’re both in his apartment, door locked and phone in hand, nervously squeezing it while he paced around. 

“Spence,” You call again, careful with how you approach him when he is trying so hard to keep control of himself. “Spence, I– What’s going on?” 

His eyes tell you everything. In those whiskey coloured pupils, you see the hurt and the pain, and you see the hesitation. One hand moves to push his hair back, frustration lacing every movement he makes, from walking to the couch and letting his body plop down to how his head hangs low. 

“He’s on his way to the hospital. His house got broken into and… we have no confirmation, but we think it’s–“

“Fucking Cat.”

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

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[wildernessuntothemselves]

Jealousy, Jealousy... | Final Part

A/N: this is the main ending. there is an alternative ending available for the other boy on patreon. the link for which is found at the end of this chapter.

Word count: 13k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, mostly dom!reader, face-sitting, PIV sex, dirty talk, creampie, handjob, heartbreak.

“Hey, baby.” You greet Yeonjun, giving him a kiss on the lips. “Ready to go?” 

You were picking him up to go home after a long day of work for the both of you. You had in mind a night of drinking wine and complaining about your day until you passed out in his arms and you can’t wait to get home already. 

“Just a little longer, doll.” He tells you and you immediately start whining. “Junnie… those two bottles of wine I bought aren’t gonna drink themselves. We gotta get cracking.” 

He chuckles tiredly. “While I appreciate your efforts to get me drunk, Beomgyu has composed a new song and I need to stay back to hear it.”

“Oh.” It’s still so weird to you how you now have to hear news about what your best friend is up to from other people. You used to know these things first. If this was a few months ago, you’d have already heard the song before anyone else did. But now you’re lucky if you even get to hear it at all. 

But that’s for the best. You’re doing good with Yeonjun. You’re doing good without Beomgyu. You’re breathing. You’re eating. Your heart is beating… maybe even for someone else for a change. It may have been excruciatingly painful at first–forcing yourself to step away from him, not seeking him out to try to make things better after your most recent fallout, not jumping at the chance when he reached out himself, pretending like you’re too busy to see him, making up excuses so you won’t be alone with him, building up your walls so maybe one day you can stand in a room with him and not have to hold back every cell of your body from throwing yourself at his feet and begging him to love you, but you’ve gotten a lot better at it. 

“Do you wanna listen to it?” Yeonjun asks when he sees your curiosity, but you hesitate. Should you? Maybe you should just wait in the car…

But when you see Beomgyu come out with his acoustic guitar and set it on his lap, you find yourself nodding and grabbing a seat next to Yeonjun. You miss hearing him sing. You miss being privy to his passions and whims. Maybe it's selfish of you to allow yourself the opportunity to witness more of him than you’re willing to give him but you never claimed to not be selfish. 

As if Beomgyu shares your thoughts, he glances at you, hesitating for a second and you can see the thoughts flitting behind his pretty eyes–you know him too well. Is he thinking about kicking you out? Does he not want you to hear the song because you’ve been keeping your distance from him? 

Eventually though he looks down at his guitar and starts to play, and as soon as the first words leave his lips, your heart drops. 

Oh, I’m falling in love

As time goes by

As my feelings grow 

I’m becoming more anxious

How deep is your love?

I want to ask

Couldn’t it be the same if not deeper? 

Your heart lurches in your chest at the lyrics. Falling in love? Is Beomgyu falling in love with Haeun? You know you have no right to feel hurt by this but you do. Why couldn’t he have loved you? What does he see in her that you couldn’t have given him? Is she prettier than you? Smarter? Kinder? Funnier? What was it that made you fall short of deserving his love? 

Seeing you change little by little

I’m afraid I’ll lose you

Not mine

My one minute, one second

Take them all

All my time is yours

Why?

Why have you changed?

Why are you so far away from me? 

Now we are at different paths. 

It hurts even more that it seems she’s not reciprocating his feelings. She has everything you want and she doesn’t even want it. He’s willing to give her everything but it seems it’s not enough for her. Oh how cruelly ironic. 

She seemed to be very into him before, at least after the band got more popular, and with every increase in their popularity, she attached herself to him more and more, but something must’ve gone wrong along the line. You have known for some time that Beomgyu and Haeun have been having relationship troubles but you don’t know exactly what because Beomgyu hasn’t told anyone but you guess it’s really bad if this song is about them. 

Is she in love with someone else? Has she lost interest? How could she do it so easily when it’s taking everything in you to do the same. Can she tell you her secret so you can stop suffering and give your heart completely to the man who actually wants it? 

How can I go back

To our beginning

When we were looking at the same place

The when we had the same heart

I hope you don’t know it

This feeling

Even though I love you

I still feel alone

He’s hiding it from her, afraid to reveal his feelings–maybe because he thinks she doesn’t feel the same way, that if he reveals them she’ll reject him. You know that feeling all too well. You wish you could protect him from it even if he was the cause of your own similar pain.

As the chorus repeats, you become even more sure that the song is about him. You can hear the anguish so clearly in his voice. Beomgyu has always been so talented, always able to give his all to the song and live it as if it’s his own, but you know him too well. You know this is real pain. 

I’m drowning in you

Don’t leave me like this

As the bridge reaches its climax, your body shakes, wanting to lunge forward and take him into your arms, to save him from himself even if it would tear you to pieces. But you can’t. You don’t have the right to anymore. All you can do is sit there and wait for him to finish his song, wait for the boys to discuss it as if it’s not his heart being laid out in the open to be dissected. 

“What do you think?” He asks once the song is over, biting the skin of his finger, a nervous habit you’ve always quietly found adorable. You would always grab his hand and kiss the poor finger better, scolding him for hurting himself, but secretly you loved it. You loved having his hand in yours. You loved having an excuse to press your lips against him. And you loved the smile he would always give you in response. 

“It’s really good." Kai says, impressed. "Didn’t know that someone as emotionally stunted as you could come up with such a moving song."

"Fuck off." Beomgyu mutters, not in the mood for jokes, obviously nervous to see what the others think. 

“Yeah, I like it too. You said you’re thinking of having violins in the opening?” Taehyun asks, picking up a music sheet. 

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. I know we’ve never done that before but I feel like it would really add to the atmosphere of the song.” 

"I think it could be fun." Taehyun hums, turning to Soobin. “What do you think?” 

"I agree. It's good to experiment a bit while still maintaining our sound which I think this song does really well. It could expose us to more people while still not alienating our existing fanbase.” He praises and Beomgyu smiles, relieved at his song being so well-received by the other members. “I especially like the bridge part. I think once Yeonjun sings it, it would really elevate the song.” 

Beomgyu's face falls at that but he quickly covers it up. You furrow your eyebrows. That can't feel good, being compared negatively with Yeonjun, even if Soobin didn't mean it like that. 

You look at Yeonjun, who hadn't said a word so far. He was staring at Beomgyu weirdly. Did he not like the song? 

You nudge him, giving him a questioning look and he just shakes his head, smiling at you before saying, "I like it. Good job, man."

Beomgyu gives him a tense smile in response, and the group falls into an awkward silence for a few seconds–a weird tension hanging in the air, before Soobin clears his throat and begins discussing how they'll play the song, what parts could be improved and who will get which part. You don’t really listen anymore, just looking between Yeonjun and Beomgyu. 

Your boyfriend seems to have gotten over his weird reaction, now focused on the technicalities. Beomgyu is focused too but he doesn’t look as enthusiastic as you expected him to be–as you'd seen him get when talking about his songs before–and it's more proof to you that this is a very personal song to him. 

As the boys finally break up after a while, most of them going their separate ways to pack up their stuff and get ready to leave, your boyfriend stays behind with Soobin, still discussing something with him. That’s when you spot Beomgyu alone, putting his guitar in its case, and you take the opportunity to go talk to him, unable to hold yourself back this time. 

“Hey, Beomgyu, that song was really good.” You start by saying, wanting to congratulate him on a really good song but also needing an opener. But Beomgyu doesn’t say anything in response, simply giving you a blank look–which fucking hurt but you guess you deserve it–so you continue lamely, trying to get him to respond. “You’re really talented. I don’t think you’re gonna need to moonlight as a stripper anymore.” You try to joke but again he doesn’t really say anything, turning his attention back to his guitar bag which he zips up. 

“Umm… Beomgyu, that song… is it about you?” You bite the bullet, and he finally gives you some sort of response, albeit nonverbal. He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. “Is it about you and Haeun?” 

“What?” He frowns and you explain yourself nervously, hoping you weren’t overstepping boundaries that have sprung up in your absence. “Well, the song is about a guy who loves someone who doesn’t feel the same about him and how she’s changing and being distant… is that what’s happening with Haeun?” 

He sighs. “Maybe. So what?” 

You wince at his callousness, like he doesn’t have time for you. You suppose you brought it on yourself with the way you've been avoiding him. Still you ignore it, determined to tell him what you think anyway. “Well, if it is, you should tell her. Tell her how you feel, she might feel the same way and you don’t even know. You might both be pulling away when all you want is to be with each other.” Yes, you know how hypocritical it is of you to say that but you can’t imagine a world in which anyone would reject Beomgyu’s love. “If you love her then you should tell her, right?” 

He snorts. “What do you even know about how I feel? Do you have any idea about the amount of hurt and self-loathing it would cause me if she doesn’t feel the same way? How it would ruin our relationship if she’s not where I am?”

“I know.” You grit down on that same pain. “I know.”

He pauses, his anger burning out as soon as it ignites. Then he asks quietly, “Yeonjun?” 

You press down on your lips. You know if you say no then he might figure it out. He might finally discover your wretched secret, so you smile and nod, fully knowing how hypocritical you are being right now. You’re such a fucking coward, you disgust even yourself. 

“Right.” He is quiet for a minute, and the atmosphere is charged with weird, unreadable emotions that buzz in your ear and form sparks over your skin. You almost excuse yourself–not really wanting to leave despite how uncomfortable it is but knowing you should. You’ve said what you wanted to say. There is no good reason for you to linger around any longer. 

But then Beomgyu speaks again. "Are you happy?"

You pause, frowning in suspicion at the unexpected question, which Beomgyu notices right away and clarifies, "We haven't talked in a while. I wanna make sure you're doing alright." He says, tone genuine… and a bit sad. 

"I am." You allow, not being untruthful. You are alright, no matter how bad you feel doing it without him. "We're doing well. Yeonjun is as wonderful as ever. He is sweet and funny and he shows me something new everyday. Which is a bit scary for me–you know how I am afraid of change, but he makes it exciting.” 

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.” He smiles at you. It doesn’t reach his eyes but you know he means it. “And I wish I could be there to see it for myself. Do you think you can let me?” 

That’s what you were afraid of. This is why you shouldn’t have talked to him. You knew he might use it to try to get back into your life, and you know how hard it would be for you to say no. But you do it anyway. You have to do it for yourself and for Yeonjun. 

“I can’t. Not now.” Each meager letter leaving your mouth feels like a blow to the heart. It lays battered in your chest, asking you why the hell you would refuse it its salvation, but you just push it down again, silencing it. 

“But I miss you.” His words come out choppy and weak, and you know he’s holding back tears. You hate him for it because it makes you want to cry too. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course, I miss you!” You whisper as if you don’t want the universe to hear it. "I'll always miss you. But I can't keep doing this with you anymore. I'm tired of the whiplash." 

"No more whiplash.” He shakes his head harshly, getting closer to you but you step back, causing pain to bloom across his teary face. “I get it now. I've worked through my stuff and I'm ready to be a real friend again." 

"Well, I haven't worked through mine.” You stand strong. Or as strongly as you can be under such duress. “I still need time and I will not have you rush me."

He moves back, shoulders hunched down. "I'm sorry." 

"I know." You say tiredly before walking away, your bruised heart bleeding out at the bottom of your chest.

____________

Beomgyu’s song has become some kind of a local sensation. It is being listened to by a lot of the young people in your city–resonating with many youths who have gone through similar heartbreaks. From small unrequited crushes to the person you love falling out of love with you–who hasn’t loved more than they have been loved before? 

The painfully relatable song has gained the boys a considerable amount of fame online too. They were being asked to do more gigs than ever. They’ve even gotten an interview, which you’re currently preparing them for, dressing them up to look their best on camera. 

Like always, you’ve left Beomgyu for last, dreading being close to him still. And he gives you every reason to, staring at you the whole time you fix his clothes. 

"What?" You finally ask, and he gives you a dumb look. "What?"

"You're staring." You tell him, and he averts his gaze. You can see from the ear poking out of his long hair that he’s blushing. "Oh. Didn't realize." 

Oh, how many times you’ve teased him over the way his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed. It was such an endearing quality in him, just one of the many small reasons that made up the whole of you loving him. 

You got back to styling him, pretending it doesn’t tug at your heartstrings anymore, and he goes back to staring at you. 

After a long beat of silence, he asks awkwardly, "So what are you up to? What's new with you?" 

"Well, I'm the creative director for this up and coming band's new song." You joke, trying to ease off the tension. Or maybe his cute involuntary reaction softened up your defenses a little bit.

"Oh, are they good?" He grins, falling gladly into your familiar banter. 

"They are, but I think their bass guitarist only got the job because of his looks."

He gives an affronted gasp. "What the hell? Hater! What, you think just because he's so pretty he can't possibly be talented too? Us pretty people are always misjudged."

"Oh, you poor pretty boy." You reach out to pinch his chin, before you realize what you’re doing and quickly take your hand away, clearing your throat and stepping back. “All done.” 

You give him a tense smile and turn to leave but his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. 

"Wait." He shouts, and you look down at his hand wrapped around your wrist. He notices your discomfort and immediately lets you go. "Do you want to get together for some food or a movie or something?"

Why does he have to make this so hard? Why does he do this every time? 

"Not yet." You repeat what you must’ve told him a dozen times before. You can't slip back into it. Because your skin still buzzes whenever you touch him and your heart clenches painfully around the hole he left in it whenever you see him. You need time apart to fully let the love you have for him go. 

"When?” He asks, frustrated. “When will it end? What can I do to help? What do you need me to do so you can be my friend again?"

"I need you to give me space." You say firmly, standing your ground. 

“But–”

“No buts, Beomgyu. You’re the one who made it this way. If you had been my friend when I needed you to, we wouldn’t have gotten into this situation. You need to deal with the consequences of your own actions.” 

He stares at the ground, not answering you. You sigh, turning around to leave with no restrictions this time. 

Though what you said to him about his previous behavior causing a rift between you wasn’t false, it wasn’t entirely the truth either. The other reason you felt you couldn’t be his friend again yet is that you’re still not over him, and you’ve made a promise to yourself and to Yeonjun that you will only be devoting yourself to him from now on, and Beomgyu being there is just going to hinder your progress. 

But as you watch the boys do their interview, you can’t help but feel guilty for what you’d said to Beomgyu. You know it was the right thing to do, but seeing him look so glum, his light dimmed and his spirits down, you wish you had held it off at least for later. 

He is acting nothing like his normal loud, talkative self. He looks down and doesn’t speak unless directly asked a question. It hurts your heart because you know the people watching this won’t get to see how funny and bright and passionate he is. They’ll see him as the quiet guy staring at his own feet. He might still get some fans who would be into the quiet, sad look but that’s not who Beomgyu is. That’s not what he wants to be known as. 

But the rest of the boys are covering for him well, especially Yeonjun. He is so charming, you know he’s gonna be stealing hearts left and right when this airs. He certainly has managed to put a smile on your face despite all the conflicting feelings you’re feeling, and you make sure he sees it whenever he glances in your direction. 

_______________

The boys are doing better than ever, more interviews and gigs coming in and filling their schedule up so rapidly they’ll barely have any free time soon. They’re already in talks with a record company looking to sign them. Which is why you’re actively savoring moments like this when you get to just hangout with Yeonjun at the mall, eating a snack as you take a break from shopping–one of your favorite activities to do as a couple. 

“Just think, soon enough we won’t even be able to do this. We’d be getting mobbed by crowds wanting your autograph and pushing me out of the way to take pictures of you.” You say to Yeonjun, half-joking. It might really happen one day with how quickly they’re gaining popularity. They might have small fame now but who knows what tomorrow will bring, and you believe in the boys. They’re talented enough to do it, and that both worries you and excites you. 

“Well, I’ll only ever have eyes for you.” He winks at you, and you give him a small smile.

In moments like this you should feel happy. You are happy. But your happiness is incomplete. It is shadowed by worry and doubt. Yeonjun is so wonderful. He is so sweet and he can be very caring, but sometimes you can’t help but question how much he really feels for you. It keeps you from letting yourself completely go with him. He tells you words that are supposed to be charming, but they don’t sound personal. They don’t feel deep. You know he likes you, but is he ever going to love you? 

Maybe you’re overthinking it. This is what a budding relationship is like–the novelty comes with uncertainty. The first times come with doubt. The young fire sometimes burns. You shouldn’t let yourself ruin it for you. 

Yes, your love for him isn’t as old and deep-rooted as your love for Beomgyu but maybe that’s a good thing. It will take time to grow and flourish and become something just as beautiful or even more so. In time, you can learn to let go of your all-consuming love for your best friend, cover that gaping hole that Beomgyu has left in your heart, forget about the way every time you see Beomgyu with her you feel like screaming out so loud the gods themselves will weep–

“Beomgyu.” You gasp, seeing him in front of you. Fuck, he’s like bloody marry. Call his name three times and he appears. 

You try to hide, putting your head down and attempting to cover your face with your hair but there is no mistaking Yeonjun’s bright orange head and Beomgyu quickly spots you and makes his way over to you with Haeun of all people. 

“Curse your stupid hair.” You hiss at Yeonjun just before Beomgyu and Haeun arrive at the table. 

"Hey, guys, are you on a date?" Beomgyu asks as if there was any doubt about it. 

"Yes, actually." Yeonjun tells him in a tone that clearly conveys that you don’t want to be disturbed, But Beomgyu doesn’t care, grabbing a chair and pulling it out. 

"Oh sweet." He sits down. "How have you guys been?"

“What are you doing, Beommie? We have a lot of shopping to do.” Haeun complains, and every time you hear her call him that you want to claw her tongue out.

"In a minute, baby. Let's rest our legs for a bit." He motions for Haeun to sit down, but she puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to rest.”

“Well then you go on and I’ll catch up with you.” He suggests and she huffs, deciding to sit down after all. Oh, joy.  

“But I can’t leave you alone, Beommie.” She whines, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his neck, making you almost hurl. 

Thankfully, Yeonjun takes your attention away from them. “So, what new crazy thing is your boss asking from you?” 

You turn fully to him, trying your best to ignore the disgusting intruders. “Ugh, don’t even get me started. This morning, she–”

“Boss? What boss?” Beomgyu interrupts, and you clench your teeth, preparing yourself before turning your head to look towards him. 

“The editor of Elements magazine. She saw the Frost shoot and wanted me to do a pictorial for them.” 

“Oh my god, that is amazing.” He shouts, startling Haeun who was so close to his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

An awkward moment passes after his mindless question. Because we don’t talk? Because we’re not friends anymore? 

Eventually, you decide to just shrug. “I guess it must’ve slipped my mind.” 

“Right.” He clears his throat, going along. “Well, show me what you’ve done so far.” 

You hesitate, glancing at Yeonjun who sighs and gestures for you to go ahead. So you pull up your phone, showing him some of the pictures you’ve already taken.  

"Wow this is real artistic shit." Beomgyu awes and you laugh. Trust in Beomgyu to give such an un-nuanced but still somehow very flattering opinion. 

“I don’t get it. It’s just a guy in a bathtub.” Haeun speaks up, obviously intending to antagonize you. “My friend Jiwon takes better pictures than this and he didn’t even go to college. If that’s what they teach you at school then you’ve wasted your money.”

Oh fuck no. You may be spineless but you won’t allow Haeun of all people to make fun of your work. You prepare to launch into a screaming match with her condescending ass, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Beomgyu beats you to it. “Your friend Jiwon takes back camera pictures of weird strangers on the street and makes up an exaggerated or completely false backstory about them to try to make the obviously amateur pictures appear more interesting. How fucking original.”

Beomgyu’s quick defense of you makes your heart swell. Some things never change. 

“Yeah? Like this is original!” She sputters indignantly. 

“I know it’s nothing groundbreaking.” You interrupt their quarrel, “Like a guy in a tub staring longingly at the camera isn’t something that hasn’t exactly been done before but… umm, it’s actually inspired by your song. The colored water is supposed to represent love, you know the “I’m drowning in you” part? It’s killing him but he can’t get himself to get out. He wants to drown in it… I don’t know it may be stupid but I hope you don’t mind.” 

"Oh. No, I'm… flattered." He trails off, staring at you wide-eyed. “I didn’t think I would be able to inspire you again…” 

“Yeah, well...” You mumble bashfully, a charged moment passes over you as you stare silently at each other. 

"Are you done?" Haeun complains, and for once you’re thankful to her for cutting the strange moment. "I'm bored. Let's go." 

“We haven’t even eaten anything yet. Take a look at the menus and order something for us, won’t you?” He asks her, but doesn’t even wait for her response before turning back to you. "You know what would be hilarious. If you get the editor to let you do a shoot with the plastic watermelon dress you made."

“It’s not plastic.” You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly which dress he’s referring to. “It’s coral organza.”

“Looked like plastic to me.” He shrugs with a mischievous grin on his face. 

“That’s because you're fashion illiterate.” 

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m very fashion forward and hip.” He proclaims, sounding decidedly NOT neither fashion forward nor hip. 

“Yes, because a punk guitarist wearing ratty shirts and ripped jeans is so revolutionary.” You drawl teasingly and he pouts, pulling at his shirt. “Hey! You were there when I picked these out. You said I looked cool.” 

“Yeah, she’ll say you look cool wearing a garbage bag.” Yeonjun scoffs and you blush, realizing that you’ve completely neglected Yeonjun as soon as Beomgyu got here. You move back from your huddled forward stance to lean against your boyfriend.

“What?” Beomgyu asks and you quickly brush Yeonjun’s comment off. “Nothing. Now Yeonjun is very stylish. He knows all the trends and he knows how to make them work for him.” 

Beomgyu snorts, glancing at your hand that is caressing Yeonjun’s chest. “I don’t follow trends. I make trends.” 

“That’s right, baby. You’re a trendsetter.” Haeun coos, getting her hands on him too, touching him much more inappropriately than you were touching Yeonjun. 

But Beomgyu ignores her once again, asking you, "How did you even reach the editor of Elements?"

"Oh, Yeonjun knew her." Your hand falls down to wrap around Yeonjun’s, squeezing it reassuringly. 

“Of course, Yeonjun knows the editor." For some reason that piece of information really seemed to annoy Beomgyu. But you ignore his unnecessarily snarky tone and turn to smile at Yeonjun, hoping he’d forgive you for your earlier mishap. “Yeah, he’s amazing, isn’t he?” 

"Yes, he’s great.” Beomgyu mutters, standing up. “I think me and Haeun have stuff to do. Let’s go, baby."

"Yes!" She claps happily, standing up too. 

"Oh, okay. Bye, I guess." You mumble, watching them abruptly scurry off as you try to process the weird interaction.  "What's wrong with him?"

“Maybe he’s just being his usual weird self.” Yeonjun shrugs, removing his hand from yours, making you frown. "Or maybe he feels inadequate because I was able to get you the job and he couldn't."

"That's ridiculous." Why would Beomgyu feel inadequate about that? He doesn’t have any obligation to get you work. 

"Is it? If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too." 

"What?" The world suddenly screeches to a halt, as does Yeonjun. He looks at you, slowly contemplating something as if he doesn’t know that the world has stopped and is waiting on him. 

Finally, he sighs. "I tried to ignore it. Partly because the idiot is trying to hide it and partly because I like you, but ever since we got together, it's been pretty damn hard to ignore. Beomgyu is clearly in love with you.”

"No. You’re getting it wrong.” You shake your head, hoping to get rid of the cotton that has replaced your brain, your thoughts feeling fuzzy and slow as they travel through it. “He's just upset because he thinks us dating will drive me and him apart… which I guess has been true."

"No, he's upset because he wants to be with you and it's killing him to see us together.” Yeonjun clarifies, irritated at having to explain to you how some other guy is in love with you. 

"How can you be so sure? Did he tell you that?"

"He doesn't have to tell me. I have eyes…" He looks you up and down. "And well, I'm not stupid like you two."

"That's ridiculous." You denounce once more. 

"You said that already."

"Well, it is! Beomgyu doesn’t love me. I mean as a friend, sure but not… like that." 

"Oh my god, I'm dealing with two idiots. I don’t even know why the fuck I’m explaining this to you but here goes,” Yeonjun exclaims in frustration, obviously not enjoying this conversation any more than you are. “Think about it, no guy gets this worked up over just a fuck. His first explanation of his anger being just because he’s afraid our relationship is going to ruin the band was total bullshit. It was just to throw you off his scent and have a way to get you to stay away from me without revealing anything. And his second explanation is even more bullshit. Why the fuck would us being in a relationship make you lose him as a friend if he didn’t hold anything but platonic love for you? Why does he get mad every time you and I take a step forward in our relationship? Because he’s fucking in love with you. He literally wrote a whole song about how he’s secretly in love with you and it’s killing him that you’re not his!"

“That song was about me?” You ask and he gives you a look as if to say he can’t believe a single human being can be this dumb. “No, it’s obviously about the girl he’s been ignoring the entire time he was sat with us just so he could talk to you.” 

Your mouth opens slowly, tongue dry as it forms the words. "Let’s say he does love me. Why wouldn't he just tell me?"

"Why wouldn't you just tell him?"

You sputter uselessly for a while, not really saying anything. Until you give up and just stop, submerging the both of you in a suffocating silence. You’d think that your thoughts would be racing a million miles an hour right now, trying to process all this information, but nothing is going through your head except one question. 

Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? 

You’re only taken out of your looping thought when Yeonjun sighs again. "Well, this was fun while it lasted."

"What?" Your mouth hangs open, your frozen brain somehow still having enough power to be shocked. 

"You're obviously still completely in love with him. When he's there it's like you don't even see me. You don't see anyone else." Yeonjun says defeatedly. 

"No, I–" You try to deny, but he gives you a pointed look, daring you to lie to him. 

“Okay, I love him but I’m with you.” 

“Only to get over him.” 

You shake your head vehemently. “No. My feelings for you are real. Don’t you dare deny that.” 

“Maybe, but they’re not as strong as your feelings for him.” 

“But they can be.” You insist–trying to convince yourself or him, you don’t know.  Maybe if you give me the chance to–”

“To what? Wait and see if you’ll finally look for me first when you walk into a room instead of him? Pretend that I don’t know that time and distance haven’t dulled your love for him one bit? I can’t go on in a relationship where I know my partner will always be thinking ‘what if’. I won’t let myself be hurt like that by you. Not anymore.” 

You tear up. You were hurting him? You didn't even think he cared all that much. You must be a terrible judge of character to be getting both boys so wrong. “I’m sorry, Yeonjun. I never meant to hurt you. I really, really tried.” 

You really did. You didn’t do this just to get over Beomgyu. Yes, it was part of it, but you liked him too. You really thought this could work, and you really think it would have if Beomgyu wasn’t in the picture, and so you did everything in your power to take him out of it. You moved out from your apartment. You cut Beomgyu off. You dedicated yourself to Yeonjun. 

But how can you stop your heart from beating for Beomgyu? It’s entirely out of your control.  

"But you did anyway.” He says and you wince, one tear escaping your lashes and falling down the left side of your face. “Do you hate me?” 

“I could never hate you.” He sighs, and your lips tremble as you confess, “I wish you would. It might make me feel better.”

“Maybe you don’t deserve to feel better.” His words pierce your heart, and you know you deserve every ounce of pain it inflicts. 

“That’s fair.” 

You’re both silent for a long while–you trying to keep your tears under control, not wishing for him to see it as any intention to garner sympathy or guilt from him, and him sitting there quietly, his thoughts entirely hidden from you, but you know there is pain and anger in him. You can feel it radiating off of him. 

But eventually your tears dry out, and you gather enough courage to ask one last thing of him. “I know I have no right to ask this but can you not tell Beomgyu about us breaking up? I don’t want him to know yet. But don’t worry, I’ll gather my things and move out. You won’t have to live with me.”

"You're not done playing games?" He frowns and you shake your head. "I'm not. It’s just because you guys are working out that record deal and if anything goes wrong, I don’t want to risk ruining things for you.”

“Fine.” Yeonjun graciously accepts. “And you can stay. I’m not gonna kick you out into the street. I’m not that kinda guy.” 

____________________

Despite your love for Beomgyu, your break-up with Yeonjun wasn’t easy. You really liked him and had grown attached to him. And even though you still lived together, you hardly talked when it was just the two of you alone. You realize with time just how hurt he is by everything even though he tries his best to hide it from the others–not just because they think you’re still together, but because he has always refused to burden his younger members with his troubles, ever the selfless older brother. It’s one of the qualities you both admired and despised about him simultaneously. You wanted him to share his fears and worries, to lighten the load on his shoulders, and for a short while you were able to do that for him, but now that you’ve broken up, he’s left to carry all of it by himself again and with heartbreak to boot. 

You feel incredibly guilty about it, and you mourn for the love that could’ve blossomed between you had you not been so hung up about your best friend. The best friend you still haven’t talked to by the way. 

Yeonjun's words have not left your mind since the day he revealed everything to you. No moment passes by when you don't think about them. But you haven’t confronted Beomgyu about it yet because the record deal was still underway, and because you weren’t sure if Yeonjun is even right about it all. What if he’s wrong? 

Yeah, what? You'll ruin your friendship with Beomgyu? It's already in shambles anyway. Still, the rejection will be brutal. You've lived in the shadows for years. You're used to ignoring your feelings, that kind of pain is familiar to you now, but if you reveal them to Beomgyu and he shoots you down, you might not bear it. 

You'll tell him soon enough though, after the party tonight. The boys have finally reached an agreement with the record company and the contract has come through. They're officially signed to a label now and tonight’s party is a small celebration of that. 

You’ll do it after the party tonight. You’ll ask to talk to him after everyone leaves and you’ll confess everything. You're ready to come clean and end it all. Well, as ready as you can be. 

But as the party drags on, you get restless, and when you spot Beomgyu alone, refilling his drink, you can’t help but steal a little moment with him. 

“Congratulations, Beommie. I hear your song sealed the deal.” You smile widely, your lips buzzing with the desire to tell him what you really want to say–that you love him, that you’re proud of him, and that if his song is really about you then he needs to know that you’ve always been his. 

“Yeah. I’m not so useless after all.” Beomgyu’s reply is short and bitter. 

“What?” 

Yeonjun’s words ring in your ears. If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too. Is this Beomgyu being insecure like Yeonjun said?

But before you can get him to clarify what he means, Haeun comes running over, incapable of leaving him alone for more than a minute. Can you really blame her? If you had him, you would never let him go either. 

“Baby, there you are! My star boy.” She throws her arms around him, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss that makes you want to vomit. 

You quickly retreat, not having missed the soft-core porn you used to witness while living with Beomgyu. Fucking Yeonjun, is this what he calls Beomgyu being in love with you? You don’t see him pushing her away or anything. He seems pretty happy with the kiss if his tongue in her mouth is any indication. 

"Foul." You mutter, swigging your cider, almost choking on it when a voice speaks up next to you. "That can't be good for the heart, huh?" 

You look at Yeonjun sheepishly, not sure if you can talk to him about this. After all, you did break up because of your love for the man currently getting his face sucked off by Haeun. So you just settle on mumbling out a weak yeah.

"Well, you know you could always fix it by confronting him about his undying love for you." He tells you and you can’t help but snort, annoyance overcoming your trepidation. "Yeah, right. He's so heartbroken, he's going to drown his sorrows in her pussy." 

“He’s just doing this because he thinks we’re still together. If he knows you’re free, I can guarantee you he’ll be dropping her so fast she won’t hit the ground before he’s on his knees for you.” 

“How can you be so confident?” You ask and he shrugs. “Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.” 

He walks away, leaving you to think over his words. Funny, that’s how you feel about the sight still playing out in front of you, the disgusting view getting burned into your retinas. 

Deciding you needed a break, you slip away from the living room, heading towards the bathroom to wash your face off. But on the way there, you pass by your old room, stopping when you see the door slightly cracked open. 

Your feet take you inside without you realizing it, compelled by curiosity to see what he’s done with the room in your absence. Has he turned it into a gaming room? Is he using it for storage? Is he letting her use it as her own? Oh, god, you really hope not. Anything but that. 

But you’re surprised when you step inside and find it mostly empty except for your old mattress and a few items you must’ve forgotten during your move. A T-shirt here, a sleeping mask there–they were all strewn around on your bed with the odd piece of clothing from Beomgyu himself in the mix. 

You step closer, examining the items when something in particular catches your eyes. A flash of pink under a pillow that makes you reach forward to pull it out, realizing just what it was once it’s in your hands–a pair of pink panties. Your pink panties that you’d been missing for a while. Why does Beomgyu have this? You thought he just used this because he was so pent up he needed any form of release but now Haeun is never off his dick so why does he still do this? 

Could Yeonjun have been right all along?  

As you continue to hold it in your hands, puzzling over it, you hear the door open and close behind you and Beomgyu’s panicky voice calling out your name. 

"What are you doing in here?" He squeaks as if this wasn’t your room. Well, your old room but still. It’s not like he made any changes to it yet. 

You turn to face him with the panties in your hands, silent, and his eyes grow wide as he stammers, trying to explain himself. “These are old.” 

“They’re wet.” You say plainly, which means he has just used them, and he knows it too. 

He scoffs, attempting to appear unaffected. As if this is just a completely reasonable situation that you’ve blown way out of proportion. “Well–it’s just–they were on hand.” He gives you what may possibly be the flimsiest excuse in history. 

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

"Did you leave these out for me to see?" You question, and he rushes to deny. "No! I just forgot to put them away."

His eyes widen again at what he just said, basically admitting that he took them from you on purpose to do with them exactly what you had in mind. God, he's such a stupid loser. 

You walk towards him until you’re standing right in front of him, leaving him no room to breathe. “Make everyone leave.” 

“It’s our celebratory party, I can’t just–”

You grab his hand and put it under your skirt, pressing his fingers against your warm pussy. “And I want to give you your reward. Make them leave.” 

He looks at you, shocked, and suddenly you realize what you're asking of him. You're coming onto him after weeks of ignoring him. You're asking him to have sex with you when he has a girlfriend–when he thinks you have a boyfriend. Oh god. 

But then he gulps and says. "Okay."

You watch from behind the door as he stops the music and kicks everyone out, telling them that he doesn’t feel good and needs to rest, and when Kai complains loudly, he asks him if he’d like to stay back and hold his hair while he vomits. That quickly convinces everyone to take the party elsewhere, even his girlfriend. But one person knows better, and you see him peeking around Beomgyu to catch your hidden eyes. You share a look before he turns around and leaves the apartment. This is it. You’re going to do this. 

As soon as Beomgyu comes back, you pull him into a kiss, releasing your overflowing nerves with each frustrated and needy moan you let out against his lips. Fuck, you missed kissing him so much. His lips may not be as soft as Yeonjun’s–he may not be as good of a kisser–but god does he still make your heart sing. 

“Strip.” You order when you finally tear yourself away from him, though Beomgyu doesn’t make it easy, resisting you the first couple of times you try and pulling you right back into the hungry kiss. But you finally do, and Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to follow your cue then. 

After he’s all stripped down, he looks at you, gaze speaking of his own need to devour you. “Will you strip too?” 

“Do you want it?” You ask, putting on an alluring voice but deep down you were just nervous about letting him see you fully for the first time. Even though your experience with Yeonjun has made you gain confidence, you’re still insecure, especially when it comes to Beomgyu. You want to impress him. You want him to think you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You want him to forget about her. You want him to only think of you. 

Naturally, that is a lot to live up too. 

Beomgyu nods enthusiastically, somehow managing to come across as adorable in this situation. “Yes, please. Take it all off.” 

He tries to reach out to do it himself but you shake your head, pushing him onto the bed. 

“No. We do this my way.” You tell him, and he nods again, keeping himself in check. 

You reach for the zipper on your dress, hesitantly letting it fall to the floor. You aren’t wearing any bra so now you are almost nude except for your panties as you stand in front of him. 

“Fuck. You’re so hot.” He takes his cock into his hand, pumping it as he leers at you. You should feel dirty having him openly masturbate to the sight of you but it makes you feel so fucking good about yourself. It’s just what you needed–for him to show you how much he wants you. “Please, take off your panties too. Wanna see your pussy.” 

Despite his lewd display–or more accurately because of it–you’re given the courage to finally fully undress yourself in front of him, overcoming years of insecurities of what he’ll think of your body and any unfavorable comparisons he might make.

“Oh fuck–” He licks his lips, squeezing his cock as he stares at your pussy. “You’re perfect.”

“You think so?” You ask demurely, trying to hide your shock. Is he really telling the truth? It feels like it but you still need confirmation after years of doubting yourself.

“God, yes. Your tits are divine. I wanna suck on them and play with them all night. Your little pussy is so pretty, I wanna be buried in it forever. Come here, please, ride me, sit on my face, anything…” 

Is this what you were worried about all these years? He looks pretty fucking happy with what he’s seeing. Why were you so scared? You’re so mad at yourself for wasting all this time with self-doubt when you could’ve had him long ago. 

“You really need that?” You throw your panties at him, feeling more confident than ever after his proclamations. “Isn't this usually enough for you?” 

“No, please, you said you’d give me a reward." He whines, distraught at the thought of you being so close but not attainable yet again. "I’ve been good.” 

“Have you?” You scoff, straddling him, pressing your pussy against his cock and his body goes limp, letting you do what you want. “You’ve been nothing but a horndog, getting your rocks off wherever you can, whether it’s backstage getting sucked off by her or stealing my panties and fisting your cock with them. You’ve been such a bad boy.” 

“I’m sorry.” He slurs, mouth hanging open. 

"Are you? You seem to be enjoying this." 

"I'm sorry." He repeats again, staring at your pussy as it moves forwards and backwards over his cock, covering it in your slick. 

"You're fucking hopeless, Beomgyu. You'd do anything to get a piece of me, huh?"

"Yes." He nods eagerly, "Can you sit on my face?"

You laugh, climbing up his body until you’re hovering over his face and digging your fingers in his hair to keep his head down so he wouldn’t make any unwanted moves before you’re ready. "Is my pussy the only thing on your empty brain?"

"Uh-huh." He says dumbly, almost going cross eyes with the way he's staring at your pussy. You fucking love it. This is what you needed–to be needed. And Beomgyu gives it all to you without you even asking for it. 

"Good boy." You tell him and he shoots you a searing look at that–at you finally calling him that again–before you sit down on his face. 

You try not to put too much weight on him, not wanting to hurt him but Beomgyu has other ideas. He grabs your ass and pulls you down on his ready mouth, tongue flicking out to give eager licks to your already wet pussy. 

"Bad–bad boy–" You hiss, pulling at his hair but he won't let go, too intent on eating you out, nuzzling his whole lower face into your pussy, his tongue and lips alternating between long messy licks and needy sucking motions, his nose brushing against your clit every now and then in his fervor. 

"Fuck, Beomgyu slow down." 

But that word isn't in Beomgyu's dictionary, not when he's wanted this for so long. His fingers dig into your ass, making sure you can’t escape as his tongue presses inside your hole, flicking around as much as he can while your pussy flutters around it.

"So good–tastes so good." He slurs, drool and your juices covering his lower face but he doesn’t even care. In fact if anything it turns him on if his hard, leaking cock that you see when you throw a glance backwards is anything to go by. 

"You fucking the air, Beommie?" You pant, not faring much better than him but needing to tease him anyway. "Need my pussy this bad?"

But Beomgyu can't be teased. Not when he's so shameless. 

"Yes. Will you sit on my cock?" 

"How bad do you need it?" You sit up, pulling away from him and cutting off strings of your combined need. 

"So bad. Feels like I might die without it." 

"You sound like a horny fuckboy, Beommie. You know I only like good boys." You chastise, and Beomgyu shoots back, "Is that why you’re dating a whore?"

You growl, sinking back on his face, this time not caring so much about your weight over him. "Don't talk about Yeonjun like that."

He turns his face to the side to nip at your thigh in protest so you just straighten his head again and sit down on him fully, not allowing him any space to move. "You know the only whore here is you. So stick your tongue out like a good whore and let me ride it or I'll leave your dirty cock all red and weeping."

He whines in fear, sticking his tongue out for you, not daring to risk it. You move yourself over him, grinding your pussy over his tongue as he stares up at you pleadingly. 

“You like it, baby? You like me using you to get off?” 

He moans out in response, not having any other way to communicate his agreement and not willing to pull away from you. But you hear a wet noise coming from behind you and you look back to see him fisting his cock, clearly excited by it all. He wants this as much as you do. He has been begging for it for so long, and so you’re not so cruel as to make him take his hand away, but you need to make sure your excitement doesn’t end too soon. 

“Fuck, you really wanted this, huh? Can’t help yourself whenever you get a taste of this pussy?” You tease, and he whines again, his cock thrusting into his own fist pitifully. “But don’t get too excited. You want to feel this pussy around you, don’t you?”

The needy noises he keeps letting out vibrate against your pussy, driving you even wilder as you pull on his hair harshly and desperately grind yourself on his tongue, your high so close you could taste it. 

“Good boy, gonna make me cum… you want it? Want me to cum all of that pretty face?” You growl, and his hands leave his cock to grab your ass, pressing you so tightly against him, you worry that he won’t be able to breathe. 

But Beomgyu clearly loves it. He wants you to do it. He moves your hips so you’re fucking his face harder, faster, all while those slutty eyes of his never leave your face. 

“I’m cumming–fuck, Beommie… good boy–” You scream, shuddering as you cum over him. But as you stop moving, paralyzed by the intense orgasm, he starts moving his tongue, lapping up every drop you let out, giving your pussy open mouthed filthy kisses as he wraps his lips around you and eagerly sticks his tongue into your hole to get even more. 

You have to pull away from him when it becomes too much, and Beomgyu chases after you, not having had his fill yet somehow. He's still so needy that he ends up pushing you down and laying over you, his lips incessant against yours as his cock lays heavy on your pussy. 

You tug on his hair, finally detaching his lips from yours. "That's enough, Beomgyu."

“I made you cum.” He says in a daze, a stupid smile on his face. 

“Yes, you did.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb before sticking it in his mouth, letting him suck on it. It’s useless of course. The entire bottom half of his face was glistening with your cum. Not that you were actually trying to clean him up. You liked seeing him covered in you too much. “Ready for your reward, baby?” 

“Fuck, yes, please.” He groans, his hips bucking up against you, gliding his cock against your wet pussy. "Wanna fuck you so bad. Can I put it in now?"

"Are you gonna keep being a good boy for me? Gonna listen to my instructions and not let your cock take over your dumb brain and make you hump me like a dog?"

He shakes his head even though he was literally humping you right now. "I'll listen. I'll be so good."

"Okay, Beommie. You can put it in–slowly!" 

He rushes to push his cock inside your pussy, only stopping when it's all the way inside you. "Oh god–I'm finally inside you. Wanted it for so long."

This is exactly what you had been missing. This is what you needed that Yeonjun wasn't able to give to you. Beomgyu isn't shy when expressing how much he wants you. He'll beg and plead until you give it to him. 

"Can I move, baby?" He asks, voice strained with the effort of holding back. 

You nod. "Go ahead. But slowly."

He makes a valiant effort, pulling his hips back and thrusting in slowly, shuddering every time his cock is fully enveloped by your pussy. 

“Good?" You ask as if his mouth wasn't hung open, as if his eyes weren't all hazy, as if he wasn't holding onto you for dear life.

"So good. Can't believe I'm fucking you."

Neither can you. You had really begun to lose hope but here you are, laid on your back with Beomgyu fucking you, following your instruction as best he could–the strain of it obvious on his face. It's everything you wanted and you finally have it. 

"Can I touch your tits?" He pleads, giving you his classic puppy eyes and you smile. "Go ahead, honey." 

He groans, reaching out and cupping them in his hands. "Oh god. Missed them." He leans down and attaches his lips to them, biting and kissing all over them as his hips pick up speed. 

"Beomgyu…" You warn, pulling on his hair. He fights against you, looking up but not detaching from your tits. "Don't get ahead of yourself now. You want me to feel good too, don't you?"

He nods, his face still firmly buried in your lips but finally letting go of your nipple to moan out, "Yes, wanna make you feel better than anyone else." 

His own words rile him up and he bites down on the skin next to your areola, making sure not to hurt you but still expressing his frustration. 

"You're such a bratty baby." You scold him, but in reality you love it. You love how possessive and needy he is acting. It doesn't allow a single negative or insecure thought to enter your mind. How could it when he's so obvious about his need for you? "You can go faster now, baby."

"Oh, thank you." He groans, hips picking up speed. 

"Better, honey?" You pant, brushing his wet hair out of his face so you can fully see how lost he is in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him. 

"So much better. Never wanna stop." He leans down, kissing you harshly, lips opening and closing around yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth hungrily. His hands grab at your thighs, pushing them against your body as he goes even faster, a constant stream of whines and whimpers released into your mouth. 

You force yourself to sober up despite the smoldering fire breaking out in your body from the way he's fucking you so good. You want him to keep going. You want him to keep fucking you until your mind has turned to mush and your limbs have turned to jelly. But you can’t let him have it this easily. You can't let him get away with the amount of pain and suffering he has caused you. He needs to feel it too, even if just a fraction of it. He needs to feel the longing and despair he has made you feel for so long. 

"Slow down." You order, pulling his head away from you, doing it extra mean just the way he likes it. 

"No, no, please." He cries, not slowing down. "Please… I thought this was a reward. You’re driving me crazy." 

"Do you want me to push you down and tie your hand to the headboard to make sure you behave?" You threaten, trying to keep your voice under control against the incessant thrusts of his cock into your poor pussy. "It's only gonna be worse for you."

"No. No. Wanna keep touching you." He blabbers, hands groping at every inch of you he could reach, worried you'd make good on your threats. 

"Then be good." You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls on your nipples before kneading the soft flesh.

"I will. I'm your good boy, right?" He slurs, his hips slowing down. 

Damn, he's really addicted to hearing you say that, huh?

"Yes, you are. You’re my best boy." You coo, stroking his soft hair and he nuzzles into your hand like a puppy, seeking any form of contact with you. 

"Thank you." He groans, fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold himself back, his poor cock screaming at him to just take you like he wants. "So pretty. Look so pretty getting fucked." 

"Yeah? Is it how you imagined it when you'd fuck my panties?" You ask but once again Beomgyu has no shame, his hips faltering at the reminder of his debauched actions. 

"Better. So pretty. So tight. Could stay in your cunt forever." He almost drools at the thought, and you really believe he'd love to do just that. 

"Dirty boy. Dirty little boy going all dumb for me." You stroke his face lovingly and he peers at you with pleading eyes. "Baby, please, hurts… can I go faster?"

"Aw, poor pup, do you need to hammer your cock into my pussy that bad?" You scold, giving his face light slaps. 

"Uh-huh… will make you feel good. I promise." He babbles, his hips already going faster as if he's sure you'll give him permission. 

"No." This may or may not be the one and only time you get to fuck him. You need to savor it. "Slow down."

Your hands go to his hips, clawing at his skin to slow down his thrusts and he relents, albeit begrudgingly. "You're so mean."

"But you love it." You laugh at his tearful pout. "God, you love it so much you can't stop shaking your hips like a whore. It's like you've never been fucked before.” 

"I haven't. You’re my first.” He admits, knocking any remaining breath out of your lungs.

This is his first time. He and Haeun never did it? What the fuck?

"Did you let him fuck you?" He asks, and you stay silent. He knows you’ve fucked Yeonjun. There is no way he thinks you live with Yeonjun and aren’t fucking him. But then again, he hasn’t fucked Haeun, and you were so sure that he did. 

"Did you?" He asks again, an edge to his voice and you nod minutely. "I didn't know. I thought you and Haeun–"

Beomgyu's whole face changes. "God, you're such a slut. Fucking two men at the same time."

You immediately get defensive. Yeonjun was your boyfriend. You had dated for months. You’re not a whore for fucking him. It would be more understandable if he’s referring to the fact (or what he thinks is a fact) of you fucking him when you have a boyfriend, but you’re almost certain that’s not what he’s upset about. He’s just jealous you’ve fucked Yeonjun at all.  "Just because she won't let you put it in, doesn't make me a slut."

That just angers him more, and he practically bends you in half as his dick pumps in and out of you at a brutal pace, his anger at what you’ve done making him lose it, not caring about your instructions anymore. "I hate you."

You laugh, fighting hard to hide the pain his statement elicits in your gut as well as to keep your voice steady as he practically plows his cock into you. God, he makes you so mad but he’s fucking you so good. 

"But you sure love my pussy." 

"My pussy." He growls, catching you off guard once again. He bends his head down to kiss your neck harshly, and can already feel the marks blooming there under his teeth. "Mine. Not his. All mine."

"What?” You sputter. Is this it? Is this how he confesses to you? “Beomgyu, what–”

"Shut up." He smacks your ass, not willing to hear your protests right now. "You've played with me long enough. Now be good and take it." 

Played with him? What the hell is he talking about? You’ve never played with him. But any attempt to get a sane answer out of him right now is useless as the sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room and Beomgyu latches his mouth onto yours, trying to dominate you in a way he has never attempted to do before–as if he’s trying to prove that you really are his. 

And you are. He may not know it but you’ve always been his.

But his strong facade is paper-thin and you can see right through it to the insecure boy below when he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, why did you have to be so pretty?”

“Make me cum, Beommie.” You murmur, moving a hand between your bodies to rest over your pussy, your middle and index fingers on either side of his cock as it fucks into you. “Do you feel how wet I am for you? I’m soaking the bed, baby.” 

“Fuck…” He pulls your hand away, taking a look at how wet it has become already before he grunts and pushes one of your thighs against the bed to allow space for his own hand between your bodies, quickly finding your pussy to rub your clit. 

“Oh… oh, fuck… baby…” You gasp, back arching as you’re quickly hurled towards your orgasm. “That’s it, honey. Make me cum on your big cock.” 

He groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy begins to clench around him. “Don’t talk like that. Gonna make me lose it.” 

“It riles you up when I talk dirty to you? Tell you how good you're fucking me?”

He nods. 

“Dirty boy.” You moan out for him, “Do it. Empty that cock inside me. Want my pussy dripping with you.” 

“Holy s-shit,” Beomgyu cries, and you feel his cum shooting inside of you, his hips not stopping for a second. And though his thrusts become erratic, his thumb keeps up its assault on your clit until your pussy is clamping down on his cock and milking the last drops of cum from him. “Good girl. My good girl.” 

He fucks you through your orgasm, babbling on about how pretty you are and how well you took it. He looks so fucking pathetic with his shiny eyes and needy whimpers that before you even know it, he’s ripping another orgasm out of your already fucked out body. 

“Goddammit, Beomgyu…” You squeal, toes curling at the very intense second orgasm, your body shuddering with the unexpected sharp waves of pleasure racking through it. And through it all, Beomgyu continues fucking you. You can feel his cock begin to harden once again inside you, and as the brutal second orgasm leaves your body, you wince at the overstimulation, putting your hands against his sweaty chest and starting to push him away.  

“That’s enough, Beomgyu. I can’t take any more.” 

But he resists you, shaking his head. “One more. Please, one more.” 

“No.” You tell him firmly, “Don’t be bad. Pull out.” 

He searches your face for any hint of leniency, his big pretty eyes trying to convince you to change your mind but you can’t. He’s fucked you so hard, your poor pussy requires a much needed rest. 

You both watch as he slowly pulls out, his once again hard cock glistening with your cum and his, his seed dripping down your ass now that he wasn’t plugging your pussy up. 

“Oh, baby, does that hurt?” You coo, grabbing his cock. He lets out a sigh of relief as you begin stroking it. “Yeah. So bad.” 

The little shit is milking this, but you play along. “Poor baby. Let me make it go away.” You grin, suddenly speeding up, the slide of your hand so easy when his cock is well-lubricated. You make sure to maintain your position, with him hovering over your splayed open body so he can rake his eyes over it, and you clearly seeing him struggling to choose where to look between your tits that jiggle as you jerk him off quickly, the cum leaking out of your puffy pussy, and your swollen lips as you swipe your tongue over them. 

It doesn’t take long for you to have him spilling his seed again, landing on your tummy as he doubles over and buries his head in your neck. 

“That’s it, good boy.” You praise him, using your free hand to stroke his long hair that you love so much. 

You let him lay there for a whole, catching his breath that is so irregular and stuttered that you almost don’t notice when he starts crying if it wasn’t for the hot tears falling on your skin. 

“Beomgyu?” You call out, and a heart-breaking sob breaks out of his chest. 

"Please, come back to me." He croaks against your neck. 

"What?" You sit up, making him sit up with you and pulling his face away from your shoulder so you can look at him, your heart sinking at the tears streaming down his face. "I can't fucking bear seeing you with him any longer. It hurts so much."

Oh fuck. 

"Beomgyu… Yeonjun isn't–" You try to explain that you and Yeonjun had broken up but he cuts you off. 

"It's not him, it's you!" He shouts, "I love you and I can't bear it any longer. And I know it's selfish and that you don't love me back, at least not in that way, but then you keep messing with me."

He loves you? He really loves you?

"But I thought you loved Haeun?" You need to know what exactly is happening with him and Haeun first. 

"I thought I did too but whenever I'm with her, I find myself thinking of you. You’re always in my head, it ruins every moment I have with her. She hates you too, you know? She can't stand how much I love you. The reason we haven't fucked is not because she won't put out. It's because I only want you. I didn't want to lose it to anyone else but you."

"Beomgyu–"

"But you don’t fucking care. You just see me as your disgusting best friend who you can play with and push away when you're done with him and I can't even bring myself to hate you for it. That's how much I love you. So just please… please give me a break."

“You think I was playing with you?” The idea seems absurd to you. How can he possibly think that? You've done everything in your power to not show how much you love him but never in your wildest dreams would you think that would mean he would see it as you playing with him. 

“Weren’t you? I mean the way you spoke to me… you always pushed me away. I had to beg each time for you to even kiss me.” He peers at you, pain and vulnerability shining in his eyes as he recalls the way you treated him. 

Fuck, you've been so obsessed with not letting your love for him show that you've done the same thing to him you thought he was doing to you. Knowing that pain all too well, you can’t bear the thought of being the cause of it.

You grab his face in your hands and kiss him, intending to pour out your own feelings the same way he did, hoping to staunch the flood of heartbreak you’re witnessing and calm him down enough for him to realize you feel the same way. 

But his reaction wasn't what you expected. He breaks down crying. "You're so cruel."

"No, no! I love you too!" Your hands are in a flurry around his face, wiping his tears, stroking his hair, caressing his cheeks, anything to calm him down.

"What? This is not funny." He sobs, looking like a wounded animal. Your heart aches at the sight. 

"No, fuck, I've loved you for years! The whole friends with benefits thing I started was just an excuse to have a way to be with you."

He stares at you in utter shock, the confusion the only thing stopping his tears from drowning you. "But you never even hinted that you liked me. You called me all kinds of names, freak, disgusting, pervert…"

"I thought you liked these..." You trail off sheepishly. 

"I did but it still makes a guy think.” He mumbles, his fingers playing with yours nervously. “You wouldn’t let me touch you or kiss you." 

"I was afraid if I let you kiss me, I wouldn't want you to stop. And I didn’t want you to touch me because I was afraid you wouldn’t like what you saw." It sounds so silly now that you're saying it out loud–now that you know he loves you and has wanted you just as badly.  

"That's stupid. I had already seen it all." He tells you casually and you frown. "When?"

"You don't always shut the door when you're changing." He shrugs. 

"Pervert!" You gasp, hitting him with no real power behind it. "What about you? You never hinted at anything either.  You only ever talked about my body."

"Well, it did start just physical but I quickly realized that I'm in love with you. Then I kept only mentioning your body because you'd freak out on me whenever I hinted at anything else."

"Fair." You pout, realizing you’ve done as much to hurt yourself as he did. 

"I didn't want to let it show that I loved you because I was so afraid you'd pull away like you did a couple of times. And then you were with Yeonjun and it fucking killed me so I had to pretend it was just sexual."

"Oh god, that's exactly what I've been doing.” You cover your face with your hands, mortified at your stupidity. We're fucking dumbasses."

“Yes, we are.” He replies fondly, taking your hands away from your face so you can look at him, refusing to let you hide anymore. "So you'll break up with him and be with me?"

"We broke up a while back.” You admit sheepishly. “He said he can't be with me when you and I are clearly in love with each other."

“So let me get this straight, Yeonjun could tell we love each other but somehow we, the two people involved, didn’t have a clue?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you nod. “I think it’s safe to say we won’t be winning any genius awards anytime soon.” 

“We could win the biggest dumbasses award though.” He cracks a smile, pulling you close to him and resting his forehead against yours. 

“No one could even compete.” You grin, kissing him. He immediately deepens the kiss, frantic and hungry still. 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Beommie. We have all the time in the world.” You tease as if you weren’t just as needy, making him whine. “I can’t help it. You made me yearn for so long.”

“Yearn? Oh, that’s bad. I made you use the word yearn.” 

He yanks your legs up, sending the rest of your body flying backwards and hitting the mattress, your loud giggles quickly covered by his mouth as he kisses you harshly, his teeth biting down on your lips in annoyance when you still don’t stop laughing. 

“Stop it.” He whines in defeat as he pulls back, and you try to keep your giggles under control, his pout is entirely too devastating to look at. 

"Are you gonna break up with her?" You ask and he doesn't hesitate to say, "Of course."

That makes you smile, happy with how easily he chose you, but then a thought pops into your mind and you frown. "You know, I hated her but I still feel kinda bad for fucking you behind her back." You really do. You've never condoned cheating, even if it was on someone as vile as Haeun. 

"Oh you mean the same way she fucked the whole football team?" He counters and you gape at him, "God damn. Why did you even stay with her for that long?"

He shrugs. "Needed a distraction. And to not come across as a loser in front of you. I mean you were with Yeonjun. I couldn't just be alone."

"Oh, honey…" You coo, but anything you planned to say is suddenly forgotten as you feel his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Beommie!" You squeak. “What are you doing?” 

"You thought we were done? You spread your legs for my bandmate. I'm gonna have to look at him every day knowing he had you first. I gotta make sure you and everyone else knows who exactly you belong to."

It may not be the most healthy coping mechanism, but you’ll let him have it for now. You’re sure you wouldn't be very happy if you were in his position either. Besides, getting to fuck Beomgyu isn’t exactly what you would consider a punishment. 

_________

A/N: Click here for the Yeonjun ending on Patreon.

Also for my patreons, you could suggest a scene from gyu's pov and I'll choose one. There will also most likely be some drabbles about oc and gyu's life after the ending (mostly smut featuring our favorite desperate boy lol) and some will be released on tumblr and others will be exclusive to patreon.

Patreons may also suggest a continuation of a previous fic/drabble. I will do my best to release at least something monthly on there.

Taglist: @blxxsss@sanasour@tinkw1nks@lol6sposts@zuzuhasablog@beomsl@seolis-world@stantxtorurmissingout@wonwooz1@yaorzu-blog@allylikesdabee@rkivezzs@malieno@leviathanlee26@yomomas-stuff@kurisaiyunobara@girlwholovekpop@zuzuhasablog@viaaasdiary@ho3forkpop@skzvcr@th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @izzyexe @boomfrogg @kpop-cakepops-recs @chronicallygyu @girlwholovekpop

[celestiaras]

hello hello, i’m here to request something (feel free to ignore)

Could you write a fem!dom!reader x Vox akuma? I understand that he’s mostly a dom, but i think it would be nice where he’s subbing for the first time and reader is gentle and showing him it’s alright to let someone else take care of him.

thank u for even considering this request :D

ft. vox akuma x f! reader — luxiem, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ vox being submissive in the bedroom for the first time┊0.6k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub vox┊breast fucking, blowjobs & facials, praise & aftercare

➤ author's note: wanted to try out writing tit fucking but i feel like it ended up being so poorly written? kinda giving wattpad vibes, i definitely need to work on it more

“aww, you big baby,” you giggled, using your hands to squish your tits together and guide them up and down around his hardened length. there was barely any friction from how slick he was with pre-cum and split, plunging between your cleavage so easily being more slippery than a slip-and-slide. it was almost difficult to control, but nothing you couldn’t handle given the opportunity you were given. “don’t worry, i got you~”

vox could only groan in response, pressing his palm against his mouth to prevent any more sinful noises from escaping with his head thrown back into the pillow. his red and black hair clung to his face from sweat while his heels dug into the mattress. it felt so strange to be below you like this, embarrassed at how vulnerable his state was while laying back as you did all the work for him, but god, it felt so fucking good. it took a lot longer than he would like to admit for you to convince him that he didn’t need to play the part of a “daddy dom” all the time, that it was okay to let his guard down and to allow himself to be taken care of. this was his first time ever subbing for someone else— he must have placed a lot of trust in you to allow this to happen at all, and honestly, you felt a bit honored.

as a result, you were trying your best to be as gentle as possible instead of eating him alive like you truly wanted to (the power you had over him must be getting to your head). he looks so cute trying to cover up his blush and subtly bucking his hips into your soft chest for more, thighs twitching and chest heaving, it requires you to exhibit a lot of restraint not to pounce on him like a wild animal as he so often did with you. however, for now, you’ll only be focusing on his comfort and making him cum, but you had quite a few ideas in the back of your mind about what other kinds of fun you could have with him in the future.

“you’re doing so good,” you whispered before giggling when he swore. he must be close already, managing to display all of his telltale signs despite keeping most of his face covered. you dipped your head to help him out with your mouth, lightly sucking at the leaking pink tip of his cock that peeked out from between your tits steadily bouncing around it.

his hands gripped the sheets with his knuckles turning ghostly white even when compared to his pale skin, composure long lost to the soft embrace of your breasts until the building pressure finally exploded. you gasped as thick ropes of cum suddenly spurted out all over your lower face, spilling in a pool atop your chest and dripping back down between them. he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d had an orgasm so intense, or if he’d ever experienced one like it at all, but he was quick to apologize once he realized the mess he made and reached over to grab a nearby towel to clean it off before you stopped him.

“don’t apologize for anything,” you smiled, taking the cloth from him to wipe everything off yourself. “you did such a good job.” the praise along with the kiss you placed on his forehead flustered him since he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end on all this, but it made his heart flutter in a new and exciting way.

[bamboozledbird]

HOWLING: TST Rewrite // Chapter 1 / next.

Characters: Thomas, fem!reader, Newt Pairing(s): Thomas x Reader (the slowest of burns) Word Count: 3.2k Tags: Mix of book and movie canon, newt!sister!reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and gore, sad times are ahead my friends

A/N: I honestly do not know where this came from. Mostly from my middle school love of Newt probably. Purely maternal. I thought that boy was gay way before Dashner. So here is newt!sibling!reader, and of course, the angst of being in love with your brother's 'killer' :( I think this will be more like snapshots of instead of a full story, mostly due to my schedule, but I do have a lot of moments in mind.

This place is full of bad omens. Broken mirrors, red skies, night terrors that bleed into daylight. They say you’re safe here, but you felt more at ease inside the Spring’s looming walls than you do in this quiet bunker. The concrete is cold, and the steel surfaces gleam menacingly, even in the dark. You always tuck your fork from lunch into the waistband of your sweats, just in case something jumps out from the other side of the funhouse mirror. 

You count 13 new immunes today. You should’ve known then that there was something wicked brewing in the wind. 

None of them stand out to you at first; they look just as dirty and shell-shocked as all the others did when they first arrived. You’re sure you looked the same on your first day at the compound. 

You poke at your apple with your fork, chin drooping onto your knuckles as your eyes lazily trail over a boy with spiky hair. A few tufts are clumped together with sweat, and he somehow looks unimpressed and exhausted at the same time. Your gaze shifts to a tall girl with messy black curls. Her face is delicate, pretty, even through the dirt and scrapes on her cheeks. She appears to be the only girl in the group—poor thing.

Sighing, you roll the ache out of your neck until it pops, and your eyelids start to wilt with your alertness. New arrivals stopped being exciting after you realized they were all going to disappear, one right after the other. It was just a matter of time. 

Your eyes are almost entirely closed when they land on a boy in the center of the pack. His Henley is torn, soiled like everything else, and his eyes are wide—calculating in the way he studies his surroundings. You don’t know him, and yet you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more. 

It’s striking, the anger, and it suddenly occurs to you that you’ve been angry for so long there might be nothing left in you but this rage. How odd, you think distantly. How odd how something can build in an instant; how you can remember a feeling from a void of nothing. 

You don’t know the why, but you stare at the boy and you know he’s the who. 

You’re on your feet before your brain can catch up to your legs. The boy turns to you, and his mouth parts—most likely to ask why the hell your gaze is so murderous—but you hit him before he can utter a single word. A solid jab to his eye socket that sends a jolt of pain through your thumb to your wrist. The grinding of your snapped bone makes your empty stomach churn, and you feel a little woozy with adrenaline and low blood sugar. 

It’s a good punch, but you’re the one who ends up on the ground. The guard escorting the new group drops you with ease and pins your arms behind your back. A few kids come to the boy’s aid, gripping his shoulder like they’re afraid he’ll jump on you, but he doesn’t look angry. He holds a hand over his eye and stares at you, dumbfounded and confused, but not angry. Somehow, that just makes your scowl even more bitter. 

You’re dragged away from the cluster of new immunes and directly deposited in a sterile examination room before anyone has the chance to say anything. It’s hauntingly silent in the room, and your thin tank top does little against the chill in the room. 

You should be more worried about what your punishment will be—if they’ll send you away to where all the missing children go—but you aren’t. It’s just so…loud inside your mind, a million ravenous locusts buzzing, feasting on your ear canal. You can’t make out what they’re saying, what they’re trying to tell you—what you’re supposed to remember about the boy with the bambi eyes and a dark cloud casting a shadow over his face. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this much. For as long as you can remember, literally, dread consumed every one of your thoughts—no room for things like anger, hate, betrayal. You’re spilling over the missing pieces of yourself WCKD chipped away with their mindwipe. It would be fascinating if it wasn’t so awful.

Anger is a nasty feeling and so is weakness. They're bitter, poisonous, and you're afraid you might leak onto the rest of the kids in the compound. This feeling, this bright burning you’re trying to swallow, it's an epidemic of its own. 

A pair of guards with ridiculously large guns flank a mouse of a woman in a stark white lab coat. They’re there to protect her from you, you realize, and you feel like laughing. Two hulking men equipped with high-powered grenade launchers just in case you try to backhand someone else. They must be bored; there really isn’t much guarding for them to do in the middle of nowhere. 

You watch the doctor examine your thumb with mild interest. You’ve gotten used to the pain, mostly. You curse under your breath when she moves it, and the woman flinches like she’s been struck. You grin a little. You probably shouldn’t be so amused, but it feels kind of nice being on the other end of scary, even if it means being stared at like you’re a wild animal. 

The doctor mumbles something to someone in her earpiece, and they all move to leave. “What—that’s it?” you sit up on the examination chair and hold your injured hand to your chest. No one responds. They leave the room without looking back, and the groan that’s ripped from your throat sounds a lot like a growl. “So, I’m good? Nothing’s broken?” The steel door doesn’t answer your question, but the awkward angle of your thumb certainly does. Evidently, they just need you in one place, not one piece. 

The doctor could be coming back, but you’re impatient by nature; sitting around doing nothing after years of running for your life does that to a person. Besides, you’ve done this before. There were no white coats and examination rooms in the Spring; there were only your hands and a stick to bite on. A broken thumb couldn’t be that different from a dislocated shoulder and a sprained ankle, right? 

There aren’t any sticks in the room, so your shirt will have to do. You bunch the hem into a thick wad and shove it between your molars so that you don’t chip a tooth—and then you pull on your thumb until a sickening pop fills the silence like a gunshot. Your eyes water, and the fabric of your tank top is soaked through by the time you’re certain that you won’t make any noise. You release the material from your mouth and examine your work; the digit is certainly straighter, but the color and swelling are decidedly nasty. 

The whoosh of a door sliding open distracts you from bluing skin, and, for the second time today, you see a stranger and feel an overwhelming wave of familiarity. This time, however, it’s warm. You stare at him and feel the strangest urge to ruffle his floppy hair and crush him into your arms so that he can’t slip away from you. Again. The foreign thought strikes you in the heart, and it hurts. 

He sits down next to you, limbs loose and lax, and his head crooks down like a swan to examine your bloated thumb, “That doesn’t look too good.” 

“I haven’t ever punched someone before,” you mumble and lift a shoulder, “guess my form isn’t the best.”

Humming, he cradles your injured hand in his palm like a baby bird and looks around the room, “All this tech, and they don’t have a single bandage.” 

Your teeth catch against your bottom lip, and the constant gnawing starts to hurt almost as badly as your thumb, “Or the good drugs.”

He smiles at you, lopsided and familiar, and you feel like you’re home. “Surely they have some ice somewhere.”

It finally registers that he sounds different than the rest. You suppose that’s probably the first thing most people notice about him, but it’s a distant thought for you. You sound different too, after all. Your cadence isn’t quite as thick as his. You probably sounded more like him before your strong-voweled, mush-mouthed friends infected your inflection. You wish, strangely, that they hadn’t now.  

The corner of your mouth ticks up, “And to think, I never wanted to see another speck of ice again.”

He looks equally confused and amused. 

“Our maze,” you wave your good hand in the air, pulling a face as the phantom frost creeps up your spine, “it snowed all the damn time. Hated it.”

He lets out a low whistle, “I suppose sweating is better than freezing in hindsight.”

You give him the same look, and his face twists in a grimace that rivals your own, “The Glade was sweltering. Dreadful really, almost worse than the Grievers.”

“I imagine.” You nod sagely, face solemn, “All those boys and such a limited supply of soap.”

The boy’s head cocks back with his laugh, and it’s so heart-wrenchingly familiar you could cry. You really could. At least, you can blame any bizarre behavior on your broken thumb. 

“So,” he tilts his head, “Tommy.”

Your face wrinkles in confusion, and he nods towards your injured hand. Ah. So, the black eye had a name. 

“Tommy,” you repeat, far more glumly.

He smiles a little crooked thing, “I know he can be a pesky little shank, but thirty seconds hardly seems like a fair shot.”

“I don’t know what happened,” you say quietly, keeping your eyes on your lap and the ballooned, bruised proof of your guilt. “I saw him, and then everything went red.”

He hums softly in his throat, “Think you knew each other?”

“I don’t know.” Your cheek takes the brunt of your teeth’s abuse this time, “I don’t think I want to.” 

“Whoever he was before, whatever he did…he’s not the same,” he catches your eye, and the flash of hickory feels like an echo, “none of us are.”

You swallow and nod stiffly. He’s right. You know he’s right, but there’s still a little irrational twinge of anger when burnt umber clouds the back of your lids. “Why are you here,” you finally say. Your voice is small, like a lost little girl, and his arm wraps around your shoulders in an easy, fluid motion. You sink into it, still feeling small, but it’s not so terrible now. He’s a comforting weight, a shield you turn into reflexively. “I socked your friend in the eye,” you mumble towards your lap, “think that entitles you to a little hostility.” 

He laughs again, and his chest rumbles with it, “I can’t quite blame you. I’ve wanted to do it a time or two before.”

“Hmm.” You’re unconvinced, and he tugs on your hair a little. 

“Come on, let’s get you that ice.”

You follow him, your hand in his, and feel a little dizzy. There’s a hazy scene layered over the present. A much smaller boy flickers over his long frame; they have the same sandy hair, the same sweet smile. The little boy tugs at your arm, pulling you down the dark hall of a different facility, just as cold. Just as scary. The concrete walls don't loom so largely in your peripherals when he clutches your hand. 

It feels like a fever dream, that place between consciousness and sleep, the lingering brightness when you squeeze your eyes shut—so real for something cloaked in so many shadows. 

There are two faces looking back at you when he turns over his shoulder, the soft cheeks of a child overlapping with the hard lines of a young man. “Newt.”

It’s an odd thing to say, seemingly unrelated to anything around you, but somehow you know that’s his name. You give your own without a moment of hesitation.

Newt looks at you, still and sure, “Had a feeling.”

**************

One bag of ice and lengthy lecture later, you figure you should find Thomas and apologize—for Newt’s sake, not his and certainly not WCKD’S. You eventually find him sitting on a bunk. His face is clean, and his hair is wet, curling at the nape of his neck and over his forehead. Without all the dirt and blood, the purple under his eyes is stark against his pale skin. He looks like he hasn’t slept since he was dropped in his maze, maybe even longer.

You feel a little guilty when you see his black eye.

His head tips up from his hands when you step into the room, and his shoulders immediately tense. You hold up your hands and lean against the opposite wall, as far away from him as you possibly can be in the same room. “I’m not gonna hit you. Promise.”

His shoulders don’t relax, but his fingers uncurl and fall flat against his thighs. His jaw is tight, and you can’t help but notice how it sharpens all the lines of his face. He looks like he’s made of granite, a sculpture from a different time, a time before all this ugliness. There isn’t a lot of room for art in this place, this world; beautiful things don’t last long in the Maze, the Scorch, a society rotten with the Flare—but he has. You hate to admit it, but Thomas is striking. The bruising just makes him look more like a Greek antiquity, a tragic hero with a pretty face.

Thomas looks restless, looking at a spot on the wall just left of your head, and you realize that you’ve been staring for too long. Gritting your teeth, you glance at him and then look down at your shoes, “I’m…I probably shouldn’t have hit you.”

Thomas blinks at you, eyes big and brown…and bruised. You wince a little and fold your arms over your chest, shrinking into the wall, “I definitely shouldn’t have. Sorry.” There’s a part of you, one you don’t understand, that thinks this is more than he deserves. Another part wonders how the hell that’s possible.

He lifts a shoulder and looks to your right now. You aren’t sure if that means he’s forgiven you. You aren’t even sure if he heard you. He looks like he’s in another dimension, a glaze of isolation. You wonder where he’s gone; if it’s nicer there than it is here, or if it’s a bad place. A night terror leaking through the cracks.

Thomas licks his lip and finally looks at you. His face is grim, somber, like you’re visiting your own wake. “I saw you,” his voice is scratchy when he speaks. You’re curious if it’s from disuse or too much use. You’re curious about a lot of things; what exactly is this boy like? This boy who introduced you to the sin of wrath. 

You lick over your teeth and push yourself off the wall, “I figured.” He watches you cautiously until you sit down on the bunk across from him. “Question is, can you still see me?” You hold up three fingers to his swollen eye and hum, “How many?” 

His face remains solemn, not even a hint of a smile, and you sigh, “So you saw me?”

He nods and digs his elbows into his thighs, “In a memory.”

That gets your attention. “You remember things?”

Thomas gestures to his purpling eye, “Don’t you?”

“Feelings,” you pull your knees to your chest tightly, nosing into your kneecap, “just feelings. Not all the time, but sometimes I get that annoying itch you get when you can’t think of the name of a book, but you know you know it.”

He nods, “I get those too; this was different.” He pauses, and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth like he’s waiting for the right words to roll onto the tip. He doesn’t look entirely content when he speaks again, but his struggle is valiant, “Griever venom...it made me see things—memories, like…a movie I’ve seen before, but I forgot the ending."

Your brow pinches, “Griever?”

Thomas hums a little, “WCKD’s cyborg guardspiders.”

Ah. You pick at some lint on your sweats, and a kittenish whine vibrates through your throat, “Lucky.” He tilts his head and studies you so seriously that a small grin slips through your stoic exterior, “Ours had wings.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Thomas’s face, and it’s nice enough you’re curious what a real one would look like. It fades once he starts talking again, “I know why you hit me. The mazes…they were mine—that’s what I saw. I watched so many of them…” His eyes fade, and you know he’s in the bad place. The place you go when you think about that day. The day half your friends were ripped apart by WCKD’s pets. 

Clearing your throat, you pull him back to the present with a quiet voice, "And then you saw me.”

He nods, and his throat bobs as he swallows, “And then I saw you.” 

The corner of your mouth tugs into a sad little smile, and his responds in kind. “I think I knew you.” Thomas chews on his lip and picks at his nails, doing his best to tear himself apart, “Not well…you were in a different group, but I knew you…because of Newt.”

Your eyes widen, “Newt?”

“I think…he was your brother—is, is your brother. You were close. Like twins.”

The fever dream is back. There’s sun-drenched flashes of a boy reading to you, pelting you with snowballs and laughing, eyes bright, nose pink. They’re too bright to see everything clearly, but it’s enough to wind you. 

Your eyes flutter open, and you see that Thomas is watching you carefully. Concerned. Odd, considering you broke your thumb against his face a few hours ago. “It could be a plant. Who knows what they put in our heads when they took everything away.”

Thomas tilts his head and then shakes it, “This is a good thing. WCKD doesn’t give us good things.”

Your eyes burn, and you aren’t quite sure why. “Is it?”

Thomas looks confused. It’s a common expression on the munies, confusion. Tends to happen when you don’t know who you are or where you came from. For some reason, it makes you sadder than it usually does.

“Come on,” you curl in on yourself, squeeze your shins tightly and peek at him over your knees, “why’d you tell me before you told your best friend?” 

Thomas looks down at his hands. Caught.  

You answer for him, “You and I both know the last thing that kid needs is one more person he’d die for.”

The solemn look is back on Thomas’s face, and you sigh, “You want me to trust you?”

He nods sharply.

“Don’t tell him. Don’t tell anyone.”

[ww2yaoi]

[In honour of Webgott Wednesday, here's the first scene of the other Webgott WIP I have on the go whose working title is too deranged to mention. Anyways, enjoy.]

Spring of 1952. San Francisco, California.

Joe and Web have a tradition.

In the middle of the week, every week, Joe closes up the shop for lunch and meets Web halfway to the Chronicle building in the park across from City Hall. Joe brings sandwiches he buys at the kosher deli next door and they eat and drink coffee and complain about work until their hour is up.

Today is no different. Joe finds Web in their usual spot on a wooden bench by one of the fountains, the afternoon sun beaming down and bathing the pavement in buttery light. Joe loves San Francisco in April. The air is warm and featherlight, the breeze comparatively cool with seaspray, and the soupy summer fog has yet to swallow the Bay whole. Everything feels new after winter’s damp and windy gloom, and Joe is briefly reminded of Austria, of its misty mountains and glass-like lakes. It had been a springtime of rebirth after a long, hard war.

Well, mostly.

Web is always a sight in his well-tailored suits, charcoal gray tweed today, his tie a deep maroon. He’s taken off his jacket and folded it across his knee, the sleeves of his starched white Oxford rolled up to reveal his hirsute forearms. This is his uniform now. The last time Joe saw him in ODs was probably when they disembarked in New York Harbour at the tail end of 1945. He thinks Web might have burned them.

“Hey,” Joe says.

Web beams like they didn’t just see each other this morning. “Hey.”

He hands Joe the cup of coffee that was resting on the bench beside him and Joe sits down in its place. He sets the bag of sandwiches by his feet and grabs Web’s usual order, a pastrami on rye with extra pickles.

“How was the cable car?” Joe asks like he does most weeks, passing Web his sandwich and grabbing his own, corned beef with lots of mustard.

“Swarming with tourists, as per usual,” Web says with a grimace, unwrapping the paper from his sandwich.

Joe smirks. “Y’know, some lifelong San Franciscans would consider you a tourist.”

“Ugh, don’t insult me,” Web says, shooting him a look. He takes a generous bite of his sandwich then talks out of the side of his mouth. “What do they want from me? I’ve lived here for five years.”

“Yeah, but everyone can tell you’re from New York.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you think you’re better than everyone else. The New York wafts off of you like the odour of a finely aged cheese.”

“You did not just compare me to stinky cheese.”

“Hey, I specified ‘finely aged.’ Didn’t I?”

Web rolls his eyes. “Just eat your fucking sandwich.”

Joe snickers, then takes a bite of it, chews and swallows. “How’s the paper?”

Web just shakes his head. “This election is going to be the death of me.”

“It’s seven months away,” Joe says, a pocket of corned beef in his cheek.

“That doesn’t mean the whole office isn’t worked up about it,” Web counters. “Journalists…” He trails off. “My editor is breathing down my goddamn neck.”

Joe wipes mustard from the corner of his mouth and licks it off his finger. “Well, that’s what happens when you miss deadlines, Schatz.”

“Astute observation, Lieb.” Web glowers, but Joe knows he’s just being difficult on purpose. Always the same song and dance with him. “The article isn’t right yet.”

“Which article is this again?” Joe takes a sip of his coffee. “The one about the, uh, the mayor’s daughter’s ballet recital?”

Web smacks Joe in the chest. Joe was expecting as much, and he grins at having gotten a rise out of him.

“Uh, no,” Web says insistently. “I’m writing about the steelworkers union.”

“Right, the steelworkers union.”

Joe takes another bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully. Web had probably told him about it at one point or another, probably after sex. Web has always been too talkative for his own good around Joe, but he’s especially rambly after an orgasm. Joe likely hadn’t been listening. It’s enough to keep up with the virility of a twentysomething in bed, he doesn’t need a fucking dissertation afterwards.

“How’s business at the shop?” Web asks, changing the subject.

“Slow.” Joe picks at his sandwich wrapper. “You’d think people’s hair had stopped growing.”

Web laughs. “Well, hopefully, that’s not the case. We’d probably get evicted. Maybe it’ll pick up this afternoon.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Is Sal still getting on your nerves?”

Joe makes a pft sound. “Does the day of the week end in Y?”

They finish their sandwiches and coffees in companionable silence, watching as people stroll through the park with their dogs or their children who aren’t old enough to be in school yet. A well-dressed housewife walks past them pushing an expensive-looking pram. A little boy in overalls, no older than two, toddles behind her, pulling a toy truck on a string. She smiles politely at them, her eyes shaded by a pair of cat eye sunglasses and her lips a rubious red. A scarf battens down her kempt blonde curls, tied around her head with a neat bow beneath her chin.

Mom, tot, and baby are making their way to the adjacent fountain when a baby blanket hanging out of the bassinet falls to the ground. A soft pink crumple, bleached by the sunlight against the gray pavement. The woman fails to notice and her little boy pays it no mind. They continue on their walk, unaware that anything is amiss.

Before Joe can even say anything, Web is getting up from the bench and jogging over to the abandoned blanket. He scoops it off the ground and approaches the woman, getting her attention by gently tapping her on the elbow. She turns and Web presents the blanket to her like some kind of fairytale fucking prince, eliciting a wide, white smile from the woman, her teeth square and straight like a row of Chiclets. She takes off her sunglasses and places them on top of her head, probably to get a better look at Web. Joe can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

The civilian world isn’t like the Army. In the Army, a pretty face like Web’s might get you relentlessly teased, or cause the men to take you less seriously until you prove otherwise. On the outside though, it’s all anyone seems to care about. People are always accosting Web, asking him for directions or chatting him up in line at the theater or next to him on the train. In the rare instances they go out to the Old Crow or the Black Cat, Joe has to keep a firm grip on him, in case some flit tries to take Web off his hands.

Web and the woman are chatting now, glancing down every so often to look at the baby in the pram. They’re far enough away that Joe can only pick up fragments of their conversation above the rushing of the fountains. Joe catches the words ‘daughter’ and ‘paper’ and ‘sweet.’ He fishes for his cigarettes in the breast pocket of his button-up and lights one, just so he has something to do with his hands. The smoke churns in his chest and the back of his neck prickles.

The little boy is shyly clinging to his mother’s skirt. She bends over and picks him up, balancing him on her hip. Web is smiling even wider now than he was when Joe first greeted him this afternoon. He waves hello to the little boy. Joe takes another sharp drag of his cigarette as Web says his goodbyes and then walks back to the bench where Joe is still sitting.

“Nice family,” Web says, plopping himself down again.

Joe doesn’t say anything. He taps ash from his cigarette onto the ground and tries to look preoccupied. Web checks his watch. He gathers up their sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups and puts them into the paper bag to be thrown away. He’s still faintly smiling to himself as he does it. It’s just enough to make Joe’s anger boil over.

He scoffs. “Jesus, Web. Didn’t know you missed flirting with broads that much.”

Web’s head immediately snaps to the left so he can look at Joe. “What? I wasn’t flirting,” he insists. “I was just trying to be nice, and she was very clearly married.”

“Then what the hell are you smiling about?”

“Her kids! Her kids were cute,” Web says, raising his voice. He promptly lowers it as more parkgoers pass by them. “The little boy, Peter, and the baby, Judy. Christ, Joe. You know I like kids.”

Joe looks at Web. Web looks back at him. His eyes are so goddamn blue. Sometimes Joe thinks if Web were lying to him, he would be able to see it in his eyes, spot the untruth somewhere in that clear crystal blue, like a droplet of blood in water. Right now, however, all he sees is the person he loves most in this world, begging him not to be an asshole for once.

Joe’s jealousy fizzles out, mild embarrassment rushing in to take its place.

“Alright.” He shifts, letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders, and fiddles with his cigarette. “Y’know, I did hear something about you in Holland, depleting the company’s Hershey bar supply by giving chocolate to every sad Dutch kid you saw.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The corners of Web’s mouth turn up ever so slightly in a smirk, and Joe knows his attempt to break the tension has worked. “You know about that? Who told you?”

“I don’t know. Hoobler maybe.”

“Hoobler.” Web repeats the name thoughtfully, like he’s testing it out on his tongue after not saying it for a long time. “Well, in my defense, the Krauts were starving them.”

“Wow, my fuckin’ hero. Where’s your Silver Star, Web? Is it in your sock drawer with your Purple Hearts?”

“Shut up,” Web says, but there’s barely any bite to it. “How has this not come up in the last however many years?”

Joe shrugs. “Maybe we talked about it and forgot.”

The truth is, they don’t reminisce deeply about the war very often. It comes up every now and again. Sometimes they linger on the more lighthearted memories, like a particularly funny joke Luz told or the summer afternoons they spent swimming together in Lake Zell. Anything weightier than that spells trouble for the both of them. Web becomes unspeakably angry when he talks seriously about the war, while Joe feels like he could cry ten years worth of tears.

Half a decade ago, Web had given Joe a rough manuscript of his recollections to read. Joe had barely made it five pages into the thing. He’d quickly realized that if he knew the full extent of Web’s pain, he’d never be able to disentangle himself from his own. Since then, they’ve tried not to reopen the wound, although Joe supposes that implies it closed in the first place.

Web checks his watch again. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“Well, then, you better go.”

“Alright.”

Web squeezes Joe’s knee — about all the affection they can get away with in public — and gets to his feet, coolly draping his suit jacket over his right shoulder like he thinks he’s Frank Sinatra or something.

“Thanks for lunch, Joe.”

“You’re welcome, Dave.”

Web turns and smiles at him, walking backwards in the direction of Market Street to catch another cable car.

“Ich liebe dich,” he says in German, in case anyone is listening. “Du bist mein Leben, meine Familie, mein Lieber.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe waves him off. “All the same to you, kid.”

Web laughs, boisterous and beautiful, then finally turns his back to Joe. Joe watches him go, then heads off in the opposite direction.

[This fic is currently at 28k and hopefully I will finish it AT SOME POINT.]

[ateotd-izzy]

right where you left me - stiles stilinski x fem!reader

“did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?”

summary: you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to go on a date, considering your last was when your then boyfriend broke up with you. so imagine the surprise when you see him at the restaurant too.

“time went on for everybody else, she won’t know it”

notes: i feel like i write too many cute and happy fics on here so here’s a change of pace, sadness and angst.

“she’s still 23 inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be”

☾

you brushed the front of your dress as you exited your car. you could see the restaurant’s front door from the parking lot as you took deep breaths.

agreeing to meet up with a man you barely knew for a fancy dinner date was not something you had exactly expected when you moved to a new city, but it was happening.

a fresh start had been what you needed after everything that happened, but you still weren’t sure if a date with a work colleague was exactly the best idea.

you stepped into the restaurant, the building much warmer than the cold breeze that blew outdoors, and carefully fiddled with a few stray hairs until you were soon being escorted to the table where your date was sitting.

seeing you approach, he slowly stood up with a smile to greet you.

“hi,” you gave a small wave as a waiter pulled your chair out for you. you turned your head to look back at the waiter. “oh, thank you.”

you took your seat and your date, a young man named isaac, just wouldn’t stop smiling.

“what?” you asked, puzzled slightly as you scrunched your eyebrows.

“nothing. i’m just glad you’re here,” he looked down at the menu on the table in front of him, picking it up. “do you want to order?”

your eyes drifted around the restaurant as you answered. “yeah, sounds good.”

then your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a familiar face sitting at a table not too far away.

“stiles, this place is fancy,” you chuckled as the two of you were seated. “this is not our usual kind of restaurant.”

stiles didn’t say anything. he just adjusted his tie and put on a smile.

you and stiles had been together for five years, having began dating back when you were 18. and you were positive the two of you were meant to be.

you looked down at the menu, where some of the meals you could order were things you had never even heard of.

you then looked back up at your boyfriend, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of the empty wine glasses sitting on the table before you.

“you’re unusually quiet,” you spoke and he seemed to snap back to reality, meeting your eyes. “you okay?”

“yeah, i’m okay,” stiles then picked up his menu and started looking at the drinks.

soon the two of you had glasses of red wine in front of you and were waiting for your food to arrive.

stiles was still acting a little strange, giving mostly short, curt answers to your questions and seemingly zoning out every so often.

“so, what’s with the fancy restaurant, stilinski?” you asked curiously, a part of you hoping that he was going to propose to you that night.

stiles shrugged a little. “i just thought a change of pace would be nice.”

you reached out and put your hand on top of his. “well i think it’s great. we should do this more often.”

“uh, yeah,” stiles cleared his throat. “um… about that-”

before he could start talking, a waiter appeared beside your table.

“your meals.” two plates were placed down before you.

“so, what are you thinking about getting?” isaac asked you and you turned to look at him again, tearing your eyes away from the man just a few feet away.

“i’m not too sure,” you forced out a small, breathy laugh. “there’s a lot to chose from.”

“i’m thinking maybe steak,” isaac told you, still looking down at his menu, and your eyes flickered over to that other table again. “you can never go wrong with steak.”

“some of these pastas sound good,” you forced yourself to talk to isaac and not be distracted by him.

“oh, i love pasta,” isaac lowered his menu to look at you. “i can make great spaghetti and meatballs.”

you smiled and looked back to your menu when a waitress approached your table.

“hi,” she smiled brightly. “are the two of you ready to order anything? otherwise i can come back around.”

“oh, drinks would be great.” isaac nodded and turned his head to you. “uh, you good with red w-”

“i’ll just have water.” you cut in, before slinking back into your chair a little. “sorry. i don’t really drink wine.”

“oh, well, we have other drink options if you’d like,” the waitress spoke but you shook your head.

“no, thank you. water’s fine.”

“okay,” the waitress smiled after taking both your drink and food orders. “i’ll be back with your drinks in just a moment.”

“thank you,” isaac then looked back to you as the waitress headed in the direction of the kitchen. “oh, hey, did you hear about what happened with james yesterday?”

james was another coworker who isaac was friends with. you kept more to yourself and only really spoke with your best friend, kira.

“no, what happened?” you asked and isaac began to tell a story of some event the day before.

but you could keep your eyes on the man sitting in front of you, and instead kept looking at the man laughing with a red-haired woman just a few tables away.

looking so happy.

as you began to eat, stiles pushed his steak around with his fork.

“are you sure you’re okay, babe?” you asked as you finished your food and wiped your mouth. “you’ve barely said anything all night.”

stiles didn’t reply, or even meet your eyes. you had started to worry something was wrong.

“um, not quite,” stiles lowered his fork, sitting it next to his plate of mostly untouched food. “it’s just…”

you crossed one leg over the other as you brought your glass of wine to your lips. the dim lights reflected off of stiles’ still full glass of wine as he struggled to find the right words.

“stiles?” you spoke and he lifted his eyes to meet yours again.

“i don’t think…” stiles took a deep breath. “y/n, i think we need to break up.”

the entire moment seemed to stop as your wine glass slipped from your hand and dropped onto the table.

the glass shattered and red stained the white cloth on the table. the sudden loud noise drew a silence from the room, a number of heads turning to look.

but you paid no notice, your eyes trained on stiles, who was now struggling to keep eye contact with you.

“what?” you had to choke the word out and the silence that followed was almost deafening.

“we need to break up.” he repeated quietly and that’s when the tears began to brim in your eyes.

you didn’t get it. it had been five years. you loved him more than anything and everything had been seeming fine. what the hell changed?

“so, isaac, we barely know each other outside of work,” you started creating small talk after your food arrived. “what kind of stuff do you do for fun?”

“well, i like reading,” he told you. “books mostly, but i used to love reading, like, superhero comics when i was a kid, and i still do.”

“oh, i love comics too!” you smiled, but it quickly dropped when you heard his laugh from that table.

your head turned and you looked over again.

“something wrong?” isaac asked and you shook your head.

“no, no, don’t worry,” you waved it off and sipped your water. “so you like comics? what about movies?”

you did your best to keep the conversation going, and while some topics actually lasted a while, most conversations fizzled out after a short time.

it was like the two of you couldn’t really connect.

then you glanced back at stiles at his table.

what a coincidence that he would be here of all places. especially after you moved.

then you turned your focus to the woman with him. red-hair and a bright smile.

you could only really see the back of her head, just glimpses of her face when she would turn.

but as she pushed some of her hair back, it felt like a part of you died when something caught your eye.

your heart sunk in your chest at the sight of the shiny engagement ring on her finger.

it had only been two years since you and stiles broke up. two years. and yet she was the one with the ring.

you were with stiles for five whole years and as much as you wanted one, there was never a proposal.

“y/n, are you sure nothing’s bothering you?” isaac asked and that was the moment stiles noticed you.

he had been laughing at something his fiancé had said when his smile slowly dropped and his eyes connected with yours.

that solemn look on his face was enough to transport you back to that restaurant. but a part of you was always there.

“why?” your voice asked softly as the tears threatened to spill.

the wine had began to drip down from the table and onto the carpeted floor beside you.

stiles didn’t say a word, which just started to make you angry.

“stiles, why?” your voice was wavering and stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. he held his hands together in front of his mouth before sighing.

“i met this girl,” he started and you could physically feel your heart break in your chest, snapping into two.

“a different girl,” that’s when you started to cry, but you did your best to keep your voice as steady as possible. “did you cheat on me?”

“no! no, i would never,” stiles’ eyes went wide before his face sank. “i just… whenever i talk to her, ever since we first met, i get this feeling. and it…”

his voice trailed off.

“go on,” you sniffled, feeling the mascara run down your face.

“it was something i hadn’t felt with you in a while.”

you stared at him. you just sat and stared.

“and it’s not that i don’t… look, i love you, y/n,” stiles reached out to grab your hand, and you were too frozen to move. “but i don’t think i’m in love with you anymore.”

those words sent your entire world crashing down. all those plans and dreams you had felt like they were just fading away, the product of your heart being destroyed by the only person you had ever trusted with it.

after almost a minute of dead silence between not only the two of you, but majority of the restaurant, you managed to find your voice again.

“what’s her name?” you asked shakily. you didn’t want to know how they met, or when. you didn’t want to know how long it had been with him thinking about doing this. you just wanted a name.

“uh, her name’s lydia,” stiles mumbled and you forced a smile, your lips trembling.

“pretty name,” you nodded and looked down at the wine-stained tablecloth.

not a word was shared between the two of you until stiles inhaled deeply, slowly standing up.

then he went up to one of the waiters, paid the bill, and left you in the restaurant. alone.

eventually the restaurant fell back into its original chatter, though there were some whispers of “what a sad sight.”

your hands found their way to your face, your elbows sitting on the table as you cried.

you sat at that table until the restaurant closed.

after dessert and then paying, you and isaac started leaving the restaurant.

“i had a nice time tonight,” you told him, holding your bag close to your body. “no matter how distracted i seemed.”

the two of you had stopped on the footpath outside the door, so it wasn’t hard to notice stiles and his fiancé as they left the restaurant too.

you froze again, staring at stiles and his unreadable expression on his face.

“um,” isaac looked from your face, then followed your gaze to see stiles. “i’ll call you tomorrow. goodnight, y/n.”

“bye, isaac.”

as isaac walked away you looked down at your shoes as stiles’ fiancé kissed him.

“hey, lyd, why don’t you go to the car,” he handed her the keys. “i’ll catch up in a minute.”

“no problem,” she smiled, kissing his cheek before walking away, her high heels clicking as she went.

there was a silence as you looked up to watch her.

“hey,” stiles spoke to you, taking a few steps so he was standing beside you. it had been so long since he was this close.

“hi,” you mumbled before sighing. “so that’s lydia.”

“yeah,” stiles nodded. “that’s her.”

“she’s pretty,” you said softly. “really pretty.”

“yeah, she is,” a faint smile ghosted on stiles’ lips and you looked down.

“are you in love with her?” you asked and there was a quiet moment on stiles’ end.

“yeah, i am,” he answered and it was like you were in that restaurant all over again, sitting beneath the dim lights and feeling your heart breaking in your chest.

all those emotions had come back a second time and realizing he would never be able to love you like that made you want to cry.

“congratulations, by the way,” you told him. “when’s the wedding?”

“a few months,” he replied, his hands slipping into the pockets of his pants.

there was a silence between the two of you for a moment.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” stiles spoke and you shrugged.

you were still in that restaurant, the moment constantly played over in your head. the exact moment he told you that after five years, he didn’t want to be with you anymore.

he wasn’t in love with you anymore.

a part of you wished he would take everything back. decide he didn’t actually want to be with lydia. that he would come back to you, and you would gladly fall in love with him all over again, because you never really fell out of love.

then, once again, stiles left you alone at a restaurant.

you watched as he walked down to the parking lot and climbed into the driver’s seat of a car, kissing lydia after he closed the door.

of course in your mind, that was you he was kissing. the two of you were still happily together, the way things were supposed to be.

in your fantasy, stiles had proposed to you that night at the restaurant and the two of you got married, and there was only happiness and love between the two of you.

but as you watched the car pull out of the parking lot, reality hit you in the face again and you were ripped from your delusions as the car disappeared around the corner.

so you took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other, finally walking to your car.

a/n: just wrote this whole thing in one sitting in 3 hours (it’s currently 3:38 am)

tags: @brvceyamada

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Springtrap x Reader | Summary: Your uncle has asked you to keep watch over his new investment, Fazbear Frights, and the vintage artifacts his attraction contains. When you begrudgingly accept his offer, things take a turn for the weirder. An encounter in your dreams with a yellow rabbit changes you…for better, or worse?

Heads up: This fic is not for everybody, and that’s okay! It’s a fucked-up fever dream and if the summary intrigues you, come along for the ride. If not, that’s okay too. Things get heavy here. There’s monsterfucking, dream sex, vaginal penetration, some choking, fear, lust, disgust, basically a whole grab bag of fuckery, so if that’s your thing, read on, dear deviant 🫵♥️ PS the end is kind of fire, I love a good twist!!!

To be honest, you thought the idea of opening a theme park ‘attraction,’ based on the mysterious disappearances of children was fucked up. But your uncle was convinced there was a market for such a sick endeavor, that an audience existed whose search for thrills and chills would have them willing to shed money for a chance at experiencing horrific local nostalgia.

Because really, who wouldn’t want to relive the tragedy of multiple kids going missing? You were being sarcastic, of course. But part of that sarcasm stemmed from genuine bewilderment. What was your uncle thinking when he formed the concept of Fazbear Frights? He’d always been into horror as a genre, but as far as you’d understood, his interest was confined to books and film, not true crime. And if the subject matter of the Freddy’s story had involved the tragic disappearance of local adults, maybe Fazbear Frights wouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. But kids had gone missing, lives had been upended, and your uncle was about to make a profit off of their heartache.

The worst part of all? You’d accepted his offer to work there. The cost of life after college was kicking your ass; you could barely afford your rent as it was, working two part-time jobs. Money was more than tight; you needed extra cash wherever you could find it. And besides, the Fazbear Frights gig would only last a couple of weeks, just until the attraction opened. Your uncle’s job offer had been to monitor the security of the place overnight, with generous pay promised. You couldn’t understand why he’d be willing to pay someone to guard a bunch of creepy old relics from an abandoned pizza parlor, or why additional security was necessary when the theme park itself already had an overnight guard? Your uncle maintained that additional security was needed, and that he only trusted family with the responsibility of protecting such an important investment as his precious, twisted attraction…

Entering Fazbear Frights, your first impression is that it’s really fucking ugly. Granted, it’s supposed to look old fashioned, and maybe the building’s creepiness is simply proof of good set design. However, a sense of unease lingers in your stomach, and you’re almost positive it’s caused by something beyond the decor. The attraction is fully furnished, but won’t open for a couple more weeks while the finishing touches on lighting and sound are tweaked. Those changes are made during the day, when at least a little sunlight can be seen filtering in through the windows, reminding you there’s life outside. For your part, working the night shift, the dark building makes you feel secluded and more than a little creeped out.

You have a flashlight, and mostly functional electricity running through the building. But there’s still much to be desired in the way of making the attraction feel…not haunted. And it occurs to you that that’s the word which describes how you’re feeling: haunted. The hairs on your skin are standing at attention, a cold sweat clinging to the back of your neck, but why? Obviously the setting is creepy, but it’s meant to be. You’re usually comfortable around spooky decor. It’s not as if you’re a scared kid wandering the halls of a haunted house alone…but that’s how you this place makes you feel…

It’s getting late. An outdated digital clock (probably a relic from the late eighties itself) on the desk in front of you reads 3 AM. You shiver as yet another cold breeze whispers past your shoulders. You look around, studying the vintage posters on the wall, wondering how much money your uncle threw away in order to call these scraps his own. The figures staring back at you look menacing, despite their wide smiles. They’re called animatronics, you remember. That’s how your uncle had referred to them. You also recall his mentioning one animatronic in particular, a Freddy’s original he’d managed to get his hands on and would be bringing to Fazbear Frights. You haven’t seen it yet, and to be totally honest, you’re not sure you want to. If the animatronic your uncle purchased looks anything like the ones in the posters you’re staring at, you’d prefer to never encounter such a creature…

Re-entering the theme park feels like walking through the gates of Hell. You’d rather be anywhere else than here. Another night of spending six hours alone in the gloomy replica of a literal crime scene has your stomach twisting. And you didn’t sleep well, either. Your dreams had been too vivid to allow you rest. You’d dreamed of a monster, or something that could certainly be called one…a massive, towering figure with patchy, mustard-yellow fur clinging to its skeletal frame. It resembled a rabbit, or had, at some point long ago. While still maintaining the general shape of a rabbit, its appearance had decayed, warping its cuddly features into something ugly. Its eyes were cold gray orbs that rested deep in its oversized, vacant skull, tendons and ligaments intertwined with wires that wrapped its skeleton, which you later realized, was comprised of metal rather than bone.

Your senses had been particularly keen in the dream. The rabbit’s scent was stale, yet comfortingly nostalgic. It reminded you of an old quilt your grandmother had once given you from the bottom of her dresser drawer, which smelled of love and other ancient, homemade things. She’d wrapped you up inside it, with kisses and promises that the chilly winter night wouldn’t be as cold now, that the quilt had been waiting there in the dresser for years, waiting for someone who needed it…

The rabbit’s fur was coarse, your skin a soft contrast when you wrapped your arms around its waist. It felt like the outdoor carpet that had lined your parents’ back porch, which your feet and rain had pelted countless Summer nights. The rabbit’s fur was cool to the touch, moist with something bittersweet, a musky blend of old books with yellowed pages, their corners turned down and words lined in pencil…

And against your lips, that was also his taste, his tongue the flavor of nostalgia, his large, unbearably strong hands crushing your body against his like he intended to make love to and ruin you all at once. Whether or not he consisted of machine or animal, he was more human than anything else, fully formed with the parts needed to bring you to a state of rapture. He held you suspended, your legs around his waist, fucking up into you with more vigor than his decayed appearance would suggest him capable of. You clutched his back, and then his ears, locking your fingers around them and bracing for impact as each of his mechanical, brutal thrusts punched inside you with a machine’s precision…

You’d woke up in a state of climax, your body drenched with sweat. The sheet beneath you had been ripped from the mattress, balled into tight fists. Your chest heaved, your bare breasts glistening with perspiration. Your cunt was pulsing, fluttering with the aftershocks of a powerful orgasm. Arousal dripped down your quivering thighs, onto the mattress which was soaking wet beneath you.

A shower and breakfast had done little to calm the questions racing through your mind. What the hell was that? Your dreams were rarely as vivid, as visceral, as the one about the rabbit. And as for the sex…it had been the best sex you’d had in a dream, ever. And it had been with what must surely have been a monster…

You hope your six hours at Fazbear Frights will go quickly tonight, partially because you’re still a little unsteady and aroused from your dream this morning. Additionally, you’re looking forward to sleep, because maybe the rabbit will be waiting for you when you close your eyes, again?

Unexpectedly, your uncle meets you at the staff entrance of Fazbear Frights. He seems excited about something, and you’re grateful for a distraction from your thoughts of the rabbit. “Hey kid,” your uncle greets you with a friendly wave. “How’d it go last night?”

“Alright,” you reply. “It’s a little creepy in there, but that’s the point, isn’t it?”

You don’t miss the subtle gleam in your uncle’s eyes, revealing how pleased he is that his attraction is having its desired effect. “That’s right,” he says cheerfully. “Gotta give the people what they want. And what they want-.” He turns his key in the lock and pulls the door open for the two of you. “-Is the authentic Freddy Fazbear experience. Which is why I’m here tonight.” He lets you step past him into the building, and locks the door behind you both. “-To show you the part of my collection that’ll really have people talking. We just brought him in today-you’ve got to see him…”

You grimace visibly. “It’s the fucking animatronic, isn’t it?” you groan, and your uncle rolls his eyes.

“Yes it is, sourpuss,” he teases. “And trust me when I tell you, it’s gonna make this place really feel like Freddy’s, like you’re stepping inside a time capsule or something.”

Your uncle led you down a hallway to one of the doors marked STAFF ONLY . “He’s showing his years of course,” your uncle continued, searching his ring for a different key. “I mean, this animatronic sat abandoned for thirty years; of course he’s gonna look a little rough around the edges.”

Your uncle finds the appropriate key and jiggles it inside the lock. “But just knowing that we, Fazbear Frights, have our hands on the one and only Spring Bonnie-.” He sighs proudly. “-It reminds me how much all of this was worth it, y’know? Now that he’s here, back in his element. Where he belongs.”

Your eyebrow lifts in curiosity; you resist the urge to laugh in your uncle’s face. “You do realize you sound just a little bit crazy, right?” you question him. “Talking about this thing like it’s a real person or something. Don’t tell me-.” You lean in, whispering. “-You talk to it sometimes, don’t you?”

Your uncle pauses before whispering back, “yeah, but, the only time I really feel crazy is when he responds…”

You giggle at that, watching while your uncle pulls the door open wide. “Here he is, (Y/N),” your uncle declares, beaming in the doorway. “The yellow rabbit himself. Spring Bonnie in the flesh-err, I mean, fur…”

For a moment, you assume you must be dreaming. Because you find yourself looking at the exact same rabbit from your dream this morning. He looks different, sat on the floor, leaning against the far wall; but it’s unmistakably him. Your uncle watches your expression, slightly confused. “Is he really that scary?” he asks, his voice hopeful.

You take a step forward, curiosity overriding your apprehension. The rabbit is large, just as large as he was in your dream. Even seated on the floor, you can tell his height is substantial. Tentatively, you reach for the rabbit’s face, stroking his musty-scented fur tenderly.

“D-be careful!” your uncle frets behind you, adding, “that thing was very expensive-be gentle with him-,” but his concerns aren’t necessary. You know this rabbit…intimately well. And once you’re alone with him again, you’ll make sure to take excellent care not to damage him in your…exertion…

“What did you say his name was?” you ask, gazing into the rabbit’s steely eyes. Your uncle clears his throat, obviously perplexed by the care you seem to feel for a decaying animatronic you had no interest in seeing only moments ago. “Uh, Bonnie,” he replies. “Spring Bonnie.”

“Bonnie,” you repeat, allowing the word to sink over your tongue. “That means beautiful, doesn’t it?”

Your uncle nods, still confused, and glances at his watch. “Well, it’s just about midnight,” he says. “Time for me to head out. Come walk me to the door, will ya?” He pretends to shiver. “This place gives even me the creeps at night, to be totally honest.”

You choose to leave the rabbit (for now). “I’ll be back,” you whisper against his ear, quietly enough that your uncle doesn’t hear. He’s waiting for you in the doorway, a warm smile on his face, your fascination with the yellow rabbit a fleeting curiosity to him, and nothing more. Once you’re sure your uncle is gone, you exhale a sigh of relief. Locking the door behind you feels like sealing the world away completely; and in contrast to yesterday, that kind of isolation is now exactly what you want. Your heart thuds against your chest like a horse’s hooves, skipping beats as you turn for the hall.

You’ve bunched your skirt around your waist, your shoes clicking loudly in the empty hall. Heavy rain pelts the tin roof as you round the corner that leads to him. In the doorway, a tall, familiar figure stands. His gray eyes flash cold as steel, locking you in place at the opposite end of the hallway.

Thunder growls outside. The building’s electricity spits in and out, crackling around you like fireflies caught in a jar. Your heart’s in your throat, lips spreading into a wide smile. The hall goes dark, lit only by the steely gaze of the yellow rabbit...

…until suddenly, even his eyes disappear, and you’re left engulfed by an all-consuming darkness.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the hand reaching for you. Robotic, aluminum fingers draped with rotting yellow fur close around your throat, silencing the scream beneath them. The rabbit lifts you by the throat till you’re completely suspended, feet dangling limp and useless beneath you. His sour breath reeks of rotten meat and dried blood, the kind of smell that instinctively alerts you to danger. Your eyes roll back, surrender sinking over you as you accept your fate.

But as quickly as he seized you, the rabbit yields. You feel the cold, filthy tile meet your cheek as you land against it. Through gauzy vision, you make out the metallic feet of the rabbit standing before you, his endoskeleton clearly visible. He takes hold of your hair, and tugs you upright, holding you in place as your trembling legs cannot sustain you. His eyes bore deeply into yours, chortled breath leaving his mechanical chest in a slow, grotesque pant. When he speaks, your whole body shivers.

“You…” the rabbit murmurs, his wide jaw cracking, fleshy tendons stretching. The curdled timbre of his voice betrays the smile on his lips; the rabbit is glad to see you.

“How…long…” he snarls. “…has it been…?” He drags a thick, soiled finger across your cheek, the gesture unexpectedly tender. “…Since anyone desired me…?”

Your chest is heaving, conflicting emotions of every kind overwhelming you. A sick cocktail of fear and arousal throbs in your belly, keeping time with your pounding heart.

“P-please,” you stutter, tears bleeding down your cheeks. “Don’t h-hurt me…”

The rabbit tilts his head to the side, thinking. His hooded eyes wash over you, this tiny little creature in his hands, pleading mercy from him.

“Mmm,” the rabbit hums, his skeletal chest vibrating like a lion’s purr. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?”

You gasp as his touch glides from your face to your chest, his big paw closing over your breasts. He groans at the feeling of your heartbeat thundering against his palm. “I’d forgotten,” he says. “How a woman’s pulse feels…the proof of her life, beating in the palm of my hand…”

With his other paw, the rabbit clutches the back of your head and draws you closer. The stench of rot, of horror and decay, cannot repulse you anymore…not when his tongue has breached the barrier of your lips, the thick, sinewy muscle undulating against your tongue in a wet bed of perversion. His bulky fingers lodge between your thighs. Immediately, you begin to grind against the textured fur, wetting his mechanical digits with your arousal.

Seized by a sudden courage, you lift your hips in a way that has you poised atop one of the rabbit’s fingertips, his damp appendage resting against your entrance. He obliges your silent request, allowing you to sink over his thick finger, taking him as far as you can.

The thunder inside you eclipses the storm outside. You moan filthy, disgusting praises as he pleasures you, all sense of fear long-abandoned in exchange for the fulfillment of your most hedonistic desires. His fat, coarse digit strokes you like it was made for you to ride, reaching places inside you no part of any man ever has. You’re going dumb on top of him, so dumb you don’t even notice when the rabbit gently eases you onto the ground.

He’s under you now, his back pressed against the wall, his paw of a hand still clutching your cunt, letting you use his fingers to get yourself off. A dark, satisfied chuckle rumbles up from his bony chest. “Just look at you,” he murmurs, his steely eyes heavy with lust. “Bouncing on my lap like a slutty little rabbit, aren’t you?”

His lewd words and husky tone send you over the edge. Your body convulses on top of him, the muscles at your core clenching around the rabbit’s touch, sucking his fat appendage rhythmically as you ride out your high…

“Fucking Christ!” A man’s voice bleats through the hallway like a frightened animal. You whip your head to see him, blinded instantly by the beam of his flashlight. He’s wearing a shirt that identifies him as the theme park’s security, and as your eyes follow up to his face, you’re met with the wide-eyed gaze of unfiltered horror staring back at you. His flashlight shakes wildly in his hand, catching the rabbit’s skeletal leg in its beam. Confusion sets over you…followed by shame. Because the rabbit is now as he was when you arrived there tonight…sat against a wall, unmoving and limp, no more than a broken machine overcome by decay. But unlike earlier, you’re now sat straddling the broken machine, your cum dripping down its tattered fur…your hands locked around one of the animatronic’s arms, lodging his hand between your thighs…one of his fingers buried deep inside your cunt…

The guard clears his throat; you force yourself to meet his eyes. “Th-there was a c-.” He clears his throat again, blinking to focus. “-County-wide power outage, miss…I knew you were um, keepin’ watch over the place for your uncle, and uh-.” He swallows, forcing his eyes from dropping to the place where your body and the animatronic are joined. “-I th-thought you might be spooked in here, alone-.” He glances at the rabbit, then back to you. “-in the dark…”

Frustrated tears burn at the corners of your eyes, your cheeks hot with humiliation. Carefully, you ease the rabbit’s finger out of your cunt, wincing as the metal scratches your skin. Somehow, it didn’t hurt before. You smooth your skirt down, concealing your nakedness but none of your shame.

Standing in the beam of the guard’s flashlight, you summon every bit of the (minimal) pride you have left to tell him, “thank you. That was very kind of you, to come check on me.”

He licks his lips nervously, eyes darting between you and the animatronic propped against the wall. His flashlight illuminates the perverse scene, revealing your cum still glistening on the rabbit’s fur. The fear in the guard’s expression has softened to a pitying disgust.

“I think it’s time for you to go home, miss,” he says. You wipe a tear from your cheek, glancing back at the animatronic one last time, before leaving Fazbear Frights (and your rabbit) behind, forever…

[xxkiller-muffinxx]

I'll always be there for you

Clay x inventor! reader

Summary: You are an inventor from Putt Putt Village. Using the golf course for building things that can aid the trolls. You were the best! Until you moved to Pop village, where you have to impress all of the trolls to make a good first impression. Then with the help of Clay’s affirmations you wind up doing just that

Words: 1009

Warnings: All of this is fluff

A/N: I admit it, I hated trying to figure out Clays character without having to watch the movie again. I have watched so many videos just trying to get it right and it's been likean earworm, tearing me apart from the inside out. That's why at some point it feels a little more headcanony than other parts. (we dont get enough of Clay honestly.) Anyway this was fun to write, I can't wait for you all to read it! Happy New year everyone!

❉❊❉

You groaned as you came out from under the machine. It’s a machine that doubles glitter. It was just to be a little in spirit of returning to troll society, but it’s turning out to be the hardest machine you’ve ever worked on.

You dust glitter off your arms and adjust your clothing. A part of you feels embarrassed to be working on a glitter machine like this. You have so many other projects and your working on this to be cool to other trolls? You’re close to giving up when-

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you! I asked around town and- What. Is. That.” Clay stopped in his tracks as he pointed to the large (but not too large) glitter-covered machine. You sigh and brush yourself off, inherently spreading more glitter.

You cover your face in embarrassment. “No, it’s nothing, just a thing I’ve been working on.” You say, not expecting Clay of all people to show up suddenly and notice your big “surprise.” Your cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

Before you could protest, Clay was already inspecting the machine.

“Clay-”

“It’s a party machine!”

“Clay, don't do this.”

“Or it’s a…sun bathing machine.”

“You’re not serious please just-”

“Ooooor it’s a Glitter doubler machine that doubles one piece of glitter into hundreds more.” Clay look at you as if he was correct and you groaned in embarrassment. He walked over to you and stood next to you. “Can’t hide anything from me, you know this. What’s wrong?”

You frown, crossing your arms. “I feel like I’m doing too much to impress these new Trolls, I mean glitter machine? Someone has to have already made that.” You say as you nervously bite your nails. Clay’s arm wraps around your neck and pulls you into his shoulder.

You lean into him, grumbling your grumbles that he loves so much. Clay shrugs slightly. “Well, if you’re doing too much than…they’d want you to do more.” Clay sends you a serious look and you instantly recoil, he can’t be serious. Clay interjects your thoughts “I know it sounds crazy but have you met Viva’s sister? She’s crazy when it comes to going big or going home. She never goes home.”

You snorted at the sentiment, but looked at your invention and frowned. “But what if it explodes when showing off? That defeats the purpose! Everyone will hate me for sure.” You we’re becoming a nervous wreck the more you thought about it,

Clay’s hand went over your temples, beginning to rub gently at them to stop any sights of an inventor's headache. “Okay okay, bring it back down. There you are.” He said, nipping your chin with his thumb and index finger. You laughed, mostly because your neck was ticklish, but also because you blush hard ever time he does it.

Clay looked you in the eyes and crossed his arms. “Let’s think about disasters; after you build it huh?” He offered, you rolled your eyes and he clicked his tongue at you. “That’s my girl, now let’s get to work!”

✩✪✩✪✩

Now, you stood next to clay for your first test. When suddenly, glitter sputtered out the sides and the top. You groaned. Clay then pointed out that it's doing one thing they wanted, but not another. “Okay, we're doing something right and something wrong.” You look at the machine and feel a sense a pride in it now.

“Okay, well, obviously it's something on the sides. I have to cover those up somehow.” You'd deduce and giggle when Clay made a mock surprised face. “Alright let's do it!”

✩✪✩✪✩

You laid on the ground stomach full after Viva brought you French fries and meat circles. You were halfway to a food coma when Clay asked “This isn't just about the machine right, the change is hitting you too?” he asked, looking at you with worried eyes.

You just nodded. “I understand change is hard, but this? This is crazy. Moving entirely out of Putt Putt Village for this? It's enough to make your skin crawl.”

“Well just so you know your are not the only one, every other troll is in some kind of tiff about it too. I mean I had to give up my admin house.”

“You hated living in that thing.”

“Quite the contrary, it was actually delectable beyond reasoning.”

“You always do the voice when I'm right. Just admit it alright?”

“Nothing to admit.”

“I sometimes hate that I love you.”

✩✪✩✪✩

Finally, the moment had come, everything fell into place. You decided the go big or go home approach would be best. So now you had a small glitter volcano, it's small, adorable, and simple. However its just big enough to where you can't go home.

Surprise surprise, everyone adored it. Glitter trolls have already been caught bathing in it, but you only build the machines, you don't monitor them. You are in Poppy’s pod getting a mouthful about how great that glitter-cano is. Then when you came out you got more compliments! It wasn't until you and Floyd were eating lunch together that Clay even asked. “So, did everyone like the-”

“YES! They loved It! They all loved it so much that they told me they liked it and I've never felt greater!” You squealed as you looked at the pin Poppy had given you. It wasn't much, it just said “You did it!” even then you still were pretty stoked.

Clay smiled. Leaning on his hand as he looked at you. “That's awesome! I'm so proud of you.” he reached across the table to offer a high five, and you smirked and took his hand. He was confused until you pulled him to meet you in the middle to accept a kiss on the forehead.

He slapped a hand onto his forehead and you laughed softly. “Thank you for being my number one Clay.” Clay admittedly blushed, but he'd never say that he did. He waved a hand.

“It's nothing, you know I'll always be here for you.”

[arkhamsrevenge]

hey! i’m so glad to finally find someone that writes for insomniac harry osborn :,3 i’m not sure if you do headcanons but if you could you make dating ones? up until he turns into venom? if not it’s totally fine <3 thanks!

I hope I did ok!

Harry Osborn Dating Headcanons 

- Man’s rolling in money so you’re going to get spoiled, be prepared, this is not a warning, this is a threat

 - DO NOT look at something to long or he will buy it for you

- Even if you say not to, he's still going to buy you everything you looked at

- Expect random singing outburst (dude was in Glee Club in highschool) and lots of duets between you and him

- Expect overly romantic nicknames based on things he loves about you like “Songbird” cause he loves your voice or “Tulip” cause he thinks that's what your lips look like. 

- 100% make sure you are always taken care of

- If he sees you budgeting out your money he’s going to ask why as he never experienced that.

- “Hey Songbird? What is that?”

- “Uh, my budget for this month? Gotta make sure I have enough to pay rent and get groceries, things like that.” You say. He then points out a note to yourself that you set aside a little money each month to make sure you can buy him Holiday and Birthday gifts. You smile and tell him of course you would do that because he’s special to you. The next day, strangely your building manager handed back your rent for the month and said a generous donor paid your rent until the next year. Your mouth dropped to the ground and immediately called Harry knowing he did it. Though he would continuously deny it to this day. 

- CUDDLES 

- Get ready to cuddle because Harry is not letting you go once you guys are in a comfortable position. 

- Have to pee? Hold it. (Don’t really though, you’ll possibly get a UTI)

- If it’s a bad pain day he’ll be more inclined to cuddle. He swears you take the pain away immediately. On those days you make him anything he wants, puts on calming music, make him tea, make sure he takes his meds and gets him anything else he needs for the pain. 

- He continuously apologizes when he’s not feeling good and you always make sure he knows you're always going to be there for him. (Dude needs a lot of reassurance)

- “What’s the line? Through sickness and in health?” You say one day. 

- “Are we married now?” Harry asks, huffing out a weakened laugh.

- “You know what I mean.”

- His father wouldn’t trust you at first thinking you were just someone who wants his son’s money, not him. But he isn’t a problem after he catches Harry asleep on you one day when it’s a bad pain day. You both were sitting on the couch watching the News, Harry’s head was in your lap and before you knew it he was asleep. His father walked in shortly after and saw you running your fingers through his son’s hair as he slept. As he stood there he noticed that every 10 minutes or so you’d grab his wrist at this pulse point and clock it with your watch and for the first time in his life, Norman Osborn was speechless. He was never bothered by you after that. 

- Harry noticed the sudden change and asked about it. His father took a little bit to wear down but once he spilled what he had seen, Harry pulled you into a huge hug when you saw eachother again. 

- “You ok?” You asked, laughing. 

- “Yeah. I’m good.” Harry mumbled. You never ask why he sometimes gives you extra hugs or kisses but this one felt different. 

- Sleeping together is quite an experience. Harry is a bed hog and mostly stays attached to you all night as if you're going to disappear.

- He says you mumbled in your sleep but you never believed him until he recorded you one night. Your face turned red when you saw he asked you if he was the hottest guy you’ve been with and your response was, “I haven’t been with anyone I’m a virgin.” 

-“That’s something I never knew about you.” He smirked

[blooming-violets]

Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card - Dragging themselves along the ground

Bring Your Kids to Work Day

[tasm!peter x fem!reader]

TW: effects of fire and smoke inhalation, descriptions of a dead body, injury of a child, it's a fic about being trapped in a burning building with a child so you'll be reading grim descriptions of that

A/N: I started this bingo card almost exactly one year ago and I've only finished five fics from it since. Slow and steady, baby!

Bring Your Kids To Work Day. Of course, it would happen today, of all days. 

Your office building was nothing special. Four stories and a basement. It paled in comparison to the surrounding towering skyscrapers. The newspaper company you worked for was located on the top floor. A local, independent newspaper that tried to focus on uncovering the truths the Daily Bugle would fabricate. Your company was barely staying afloat as it were. People enjoyed the gossip more than the truth. The struggling business thought today would be a wonderful time to allow their children to come and witness what their parents did each day. There were only about twenty employees total and, over half of you didn’t have children, so there weren’t that many kids in attendance. It was adorable at first. You got to meet your coworkers' kids and even got to snuggle with a five month old. You thought about texting Peter that you were coming down with a terrible case of baby fever but chose to wait until you saw him in person to spring the news on him. 

It was supposed to be a good day. 

Until it wasn’t.

“Hey,” your desk mate, Jenny, tapped you on the shoulder. She had her two twins in tow, Ollie and Ellie, the cutest set of four year olds you think you’d ever witnessed. “Would you mind watching these two while I run down to my car? I left my purse there. I’m parked in the garage just across the street. I shouldn’t be too long. It will take me ten times longer to drag them along with me.” 

You beamed, more than happy to oblige and help fuel your growing need for your own kids, “I would love to!” You turned your attention to the twins and gave them a wink. “I even have a secret stash of lollipops hidden in my desk. I was hoping to find someone to share them with.” 

Both their eyes lit up at the prospect of the sugary treats. 

Ellie squealed, “You can share with us! We’re good at sharing! Right, Ollie?” She elbowed her brother and he happily nodded in agreement. 

Jenny clasped her hands together in thanks, “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll be right back. You two be on your best behavior.” She ruffled the tops of their blonde heads before turning to hurry out of the office. 

You pulled open your desk drawer to show them the pile of lollipops hidden in there. Your inherent sweet tooth was worth any potential cavities. The sugar helped you get through your days of uncertainty, never knowing if the paper would go under or not. You rolled your chair out of the way to let the kids grab what flavor they wanted. 

Soon, the three of you stood around, lollipops sticking out of your mouths, while you waited for their mother to return. 

“Did you guys have fun today?” You asked. 

The twins both hopped into your chair, squished side by side, while you slowly spun them around. 

Ellie nodded, “Yeah. Mommy let us watch Moana on her phone.” 

That wasn’t exactly the answer you were looking for but a room full of introverted writers and stacks of newspapers everywhere wasn’t going to be the most fun for a young child. 

“I love Moana,” you sighed happily. “Maybe I’ll watch that when I go home tonight.” 

“I like Maui,” Ellie replied. “He’s funny. Will your mommy let you watch it on her phone?” 

You were starting to get the sense that Ellie was the dominant one of the twins. Ollie mostly grinned up at you, staying silent, with big, round eyes and cherry red staining his lips from the lollipop. He was adorable and you wanted nothing more than to eat him up. You really needed a baby of your own…

“I don’t live with my mom anymore,” you answered.

“You live alone?” She gasped, looking sad for your wellbeing, as if living alone was the worst thing her little mind could ever think of.  

You laughed, “No. I live with my boyfriend.”

Ellie made a long “ooooo” sound, followed by a fit of giggles, “A boyfriend! Is he handsome? Is he a prince?” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself, knowing Peter would get a kick out of this conversation, “Yes, I think he is very handsome and, no, he’s not a prince. Not in the royal sense, at least.” 

“I think Aladdin is handsome. I’m going to marry him,” Ellie paused to listen to what Ollie was now whispering in her ear. A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Ollie says he’s going to marry you when he grows up!” 

They both burst into high pitched giggles. 

“He thinks you’re pretty like Moana,” Ellie laughed. 

“I would be honored to marry Ollie,” you smirked, growing fonder of these two the more time you spent with them. Jenny had tried to get you to babysit for them before. You think it might be time to accept that offer. Peter and you could play house for a night. “I think he’s as sweet as a lollipop.” 

Ollie’s shoulders rose up to his ears as he shrunk into himself with a bashful smile, “I’m going to be Spider-Man when I turn 5. The real one. Not a pretend one.” His voice was hardly above a whisper and you had to lean forward to catch what he was saying. 

“You mean I’ll get to marry Spider-Man?” You widen your eyes in feign shock. Peter would absolutely love this conversation. You knew he would be just as smitten as you. “That sounds like a dream come true.” 

Ellie nudged his shoulder with hers, “He always says he loves Spider-Man because we saw him in real life one time. He swung above us when we were driving home from preschool. He waved at Ollie. It was so cool. We never saw a real live superhero before that. Mommy made us Spidey masks. I can tell her to make you one, too. Then we can all match.” 

“That sounds amazing. I think Ollie would make a wonderful Spider-Man some day.” 

“Are you guys talking about Spidey?” Harrison, the office college intern, strode up behind you with a coffee mug in hand. “He saved me one time. Some bad guys shoved me into an alley with guns to try and mug me. They were going to shoot me if I didn’t give them everything in my pockets.”

You shot him a death glare for talking about gun violence in front of the young children but he ignored you. He could tell he had them hooked with his story and was enjoying their attention. You rolled your eyes at the young man. You’d heard this tale about a hundred times before. He brought it up whenever he could. He finally had new and excited ears to listen to him. 

“Were you scared?” Ollie asked, his eyes wide . “I never sawed a real gun before.” 

“Yeah, I was so scared, but then something amazing happened.” Harrison knelt down to better hold their attention. “Spider-Man jumped down behind the bad guys. He was as silent as a cat. The bad guys didn’t even know he was there until he started talking.” 

“What did he say?” Ellie whispered, leaning in closer to catch every word. 

“He said, ‘Hey, assho- uh, I mean- hey, buttheads! You mind if I join in the fun?’ and then he started shooting his webs at them until they were all tangled up. He hung them off a street light like some human pinatas for the police to get. Then he came back with my wallet and phone in hand, tossed them over to me, patted me on the top of my head, and told me to enjoy my night.” Harrison ended his story with a satisfied sigh. 

You had asked Peter about the validity of the interns story once. He claimed he couldn’t remember the exact insistence but that it sounded like something he would do. Then he started bragging about how shocked Harrison would be if he knew you were sleeping with the “world famous” Spider-Man. That was when you had shut him up with a kiss before his boasting became too much. 

“I gotta go potty,” Ollie huffed, like it was such a shame to leave a conversation when they were discussing superheroes. You would have to get Peter to meet the kids some day in his suit. They would lose their minds. Actually, you should have him meet Harrison some time too, just to watch the young man fangirl. 

“It’s down the hall,” You pointed him in the right direction. There was only a single bathroom on the floor that the entire office had to share. 

Ollie jumped off the chair and made his way to the bathroom, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder at you. 

“That’s the one!” You called to him. “You found it! Yell if you need any help.”

He smiled and disappeared inside. 

“Did you get Spidey’s autograph?” Ellie asked Harison. 

He shook his head, “Sorry, kiddo. Not that time. I was too shaken up. If I ever meet him again, I’ll make sure to snag one for ya.” 

He tipped an invisible hat to the little girl and made his way back to his desk. Being the youngest in the office, he got stuck with the one directly next to the bathroom, in the spot no one else wanted. You watched him plop down into his rickety wooden chair and smile happily to himself. He was a good kid. Talented, with a lot of potential to be a future investigator and reporter. 

You finished your lollipop and tossed the stick in the trash, “What else did you like doing while you were here besides watching Moana and talking about Spider-Man?” 

Ellie shrugged, “Mommy let us color on some newspapers. I drew a cat farting out rainbows. We wanted to make a fort out of all the stacks of papers but she said it was too dangerous and might fall. She didn’t want us to get crushed. Can we look out the window to see if we can see her? I want to wave to her.” 

“Sure. Come on,” You took her tiny hand and helped her hop down from the chair. 

The best features of the old building were its large windows. They ran from the floor to the ceiling and had a beautiful arch at the top. They were the kind of windows you could happily stare out of for hours. 

Ellie pressed her nose up against the pane, her breath fogging up the glass, “I don’t see her yet.” 

You looked down, searching the sidewalks for Jenny, and shook your head, “Me either. I’m sure she’ll be back any moment. Keep an eye out for her.”

Your voice trailed off as something caught your attention. Two people were sprinting down the street, a look of sheer terror plastered on their face. Even from four floors up you could easily see how scared they were. The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly sprung to life as you watched more people round the corner. All running. All terrified. You couldn’t hear the screams behind the thick glass but you could see the way their faces contorted. 

They were screaming for their lives. 

You felt a strange disconnect between the people on the ground and yourself. Like watching a movie inside of a dream. They felt like they were in a different reality from your own. Behind the crowd appeared a giant ball of moving fire. It took a few seconds for your brain to process what you were seeing. The closer it got, the more you realized it wasn’t just fire. It was a man encased in the flames. At first you thought maybe he was on fire but then you realized he was the fire. He was controlling it and bending it to his will. He was what the people were running from. He was the danger they feared. 

He tossed fistfulls of balled up flames towards the running people and haphazardly shot them off into the windows of every building he passed. He was creating a flaming destruction in his wake. A villain who wanted to watch the city burn. 

And your building was next in line. 

Your hand immediately went to grab onto the back of Ellie’s shirt as your own reality finally caught up to crash with the people below. You dragged her down onto the floor just in time for the big window to explode into shards of flying glass and rain down over the tops of your heads as a ball of fire burst to life against the back wall. The wood paneling went up in flames in a matter of seconds. People were screaming as chaos broke out. They were grabbing their children and sprinting towards the nearest exit. Loose pieces of newspaper floated down around you, some igniting on fire mid flight, and sizzling to soot before they hit the ground. Glass fell from your hair to trickle down under your collar and rolled down your back as you pushed yourself onto your elbows. Ellie was whimpering beside you, tears filling her eyes, and she reached a shaky hand out to hold onto yours. You gripped it tightly, noting that she had a small, bloody cut across her cheek from where the glass hit her. 

“It’s okay,” you shouted to her. The wailing sounds of the fire alarm bursting to life deafened your words. You weren’t even sure Ellie could hear you but you were speaking more for yourself anyway. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We have to get up quickly and get out of here.” 

Tears brimmed in her eyes and you read her lips form the words, “You’re bleeding…” She pointed a fearful finger near your forehead. 

You reached up and felt a large, jagged piece of glass sticking out from over your eyebrow. You gripped onto the shard and pulled it from your skin. A rush of warm blood waterfalled down over your cheek, blurring into your eyes. You didn’t feel any pain. 

“We have to get up,” you shouted to her again. 

Ellie grabbed onto your hand as you both scrambled to your feet. 

An old, wooden building and a floor covered in newspapers were no match for the ravenous fire. It was rapidly engulfing everything it could devour. In the short amount of time you spent on the ground, half your office was gone. Between the blinding, red hot glow of the flames and the white flashing lights of the fire alarm, mixed with the deafening sounds, you were overwhelmed and disoriented. 

“Stairs…” You mumbled to yourself, trying to focus your panicked thoughts. “We have to get to the stairs.” 

Thick black smoke was already starting to fill the small space. Whatever limited vision you had seconds ago was quickly dissipating. You caught a glimpse of your boss ushering out the last few remaining employees out of the door. His arm motioned for you before a wall of smoke blocked him from view. At least you had the right direction. 

You tried your best to duck down low as you dragged Ellie behind you, keeping a death grip on her tiny hand, as you forged towards the direction of the stairs. She kept planting her heels into the ground and tugging against you. She was screaming something that couldn’t be heard over the wailing alarm. 

You yanked her by the arm up to your side and wrapped her in a tight embrace, “Stop fighting me! It’s okay! I’m going to get us out!” 

“Ollie!” She cried. “We have to get Ollie!” 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. She was right. 

Ollie was still in the bathroom. 

Your eyes scanned the room. You couldn’t see more than two feet in front of you. The smoke was starting to irritate your eyes. They burned and watered, the tears falling freely down your cheeks. 

You scooped Ellie up into your arms and sprinted as fast as you could towards the exit. Your thigh crashed into the corner of a flaming desk, sending your body jerking in the opposite direction, but you ignored the sharp pain and did your best to blindly correct your course. If you could just pass Ellie off to your boss then at least you wouldn’t have to worry about her safety while you tried to find Ollie. 

You stumbled to the exit, nearly slamming into the wall, only to find your boss already gone. You tried to pull open the door but reeled back when you felt white hot, searing pain burn into your palm. You couldn't hold back the scream of shock that burst out of you. The metal handle was impossible to hold onto with your bare skin. Thinking fast, you tried to wrap the bottom of your shirt around the handle to pull open the door. The pain still burned through the thin cotton but you managed to open it just enough to stick your foot through. You kicked the door open the rest of the way and shoved Ellie into the stairwell.

“Go down the stairs and out the door!” You shouted at her. “I’ll be right back!” 

The stairwell was pitch black apart from the flashing white light of the fire alarm. It made it difficult for your eyes to gain their bearings, making you feel off balance, like walking through a funhouse at a carnival. Ellie stood frozen in place. Her entire body was shaking with fear. Black soot was staining her skin. Her eyes were watering, either from crying or the smoke, as they illuminated with each flash of the light. Her pant leg was soaked through with urine pooling by her feet. At some point she had lost a shoe. You knew she was too petrified to move. 

“Ellie, go!” You tried to give her a small shove, knowing how important timing was to get to safety, but she didn’t budge.  

“Ollie’s scared!” She cried. “He’s scared. We have to get him. Don’t leave us! I want mommy. I want mommy. Where’s my mommy?” 

There was no time to think. No time to argue with her. No time to convince her. You were afraid that if you left her there, she wouldn’t move, or get lost, or trapped. You knew children’s instincts in fires were often to hide instead of run. You didn’t trust this 4 year old to make it out on her own. She would get lost in the crowds below. Swept away in a sea of people. You couldn’t leave her. The risk was too high. She had to come with you. 

You lunged for her hand, forcing the two of you down to your knees to army crawl under the smoke. It was getting harder to even see your two hands in front of your face. Sweat dripped down your back. Your lungs were starting to ache as they filled with toxic gas. Both you and Ellie kept coughing but you dragged her along beside you, refusing to let her out of your grasp. You knew if you let go, you wouldn’t be able to find her again. 

The wooden floors were heating up. Fire raged above you. It was on the ceiling now. Eating everything in its path. You prayed that Ollie was still inside the bathroom and that he was unharmed. You couldn’t see, struggled to breath, and your body was reaching unhealthy temperatures. 

Down the hall. 

That’s all you had to get to. Down the hall and first door on the right. 

A charred, wooden beam fell from the ceiling and landed directly against your right arm. The flames licked at your exposed skin as the wood splintered and cracked. You flinched away from the pain, nearly crawling on top of Ellie to get away from the heat. Fire was on nearly every side of you now. The left, the right, and above all glowed orange in the darkness. Orange every way you looked. It seared your retinas until all you could see was the blinding light. The heat was forcing you down as low as your body could manage, pressed tightly against the floor. 

You had no idea where in the office you were now. You didn’t know if you had traveled one foot or twenty. You just kept inching forward. You knew if you reached the back wall, you would have gone too far. 

This was a mistake. You should have gotten Ellie out first. You were leading her straight to her death. The flames would eat you both alive. 

The noise all faded into a constant loud roaring in your ears until it dulled into nothing like your ears decided to stop working. Instead, you felt the rumbling noise in your chest. Your brain was vibrating in your skull. Smoke blocked out the orange the further you crawled into the fire. It snuffed out everything in its wake. All you could see was black and all you could hear was your own blood pounding in your ears. It was like being in a terrible nightmare. If you closed your eyes, maybe you would wake up somewhere else. You felt like you were floating. Drifting. It was getting hard to breathe. You’d forgotten what fresh air felt like. Ellie was getting slower, too. You were having to drag her more. She was smaller than you. She would die first, you thought. 

A canary in the coal mine. 

You had to get to Ollie. And then what? You could hardly drag Ellie this far. There was no way you would be able to pull along two terrified children all the way back to the exit. There was no guarantee it would even still be accessible. This side of the building had no fire escapes. You’d get to the bathroom and then you’d be stuck. The three of you would be trapped inside. The fire was spreading too fast. You weren’t able to outrun it. 

Your hands bumped into something on the floor. The bump was enough to recenter your attention. You felt around with your free hand wondering if you had gone too far and hit the back wall. You fumbled around you with touch being your only working sense. This was no wall. It was something soft. Fleshy. Your hand found fingers. You traced up their arm and over their shoulder until you found a face. You dragged your body closer and tried to see through blurry, smoke filled eyes who it was. It was only when you were centimeters from their face, your noses touching, that you could make out any features. 

Harrison was staring back up at you. His bright blue eyes were unblinking. His face still. You shook his shoulder but his eyes showed no signs of life. Half of his face was bright red and outlined in charred black from where the fire had devoured his flesh. It had eaten him nearly down the skull. There was no breath in his lungs. No life in his eyes. He was gone. 

Dead. 

He had just turned 20 last month. 

Harrison’s desk was right next to the bathroom. 

That was the only thought you allowed yourself to think. Your emotions had disappeared along with your hearing. Your mind was set on a single track. 

Get to the bathroom. 

That was it. 

That was the goal. 

You crawled over Harrison’s body. Your knees sunk into his chest, feeling the crack of his ribs underneath you, as you pushed your weight off him to propel yourself forward. Ellie was like a dead weight, a ball and chain, attached to your arm that you had to drag along with you. Her head was lolling limply back and forth as you pulled her over the body after you. She wasn’t moving on her own anymore. Maybe she was dead, too. Maybe you were dragging the corpse of a child around. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You just had to get the two of you to the bathroom. Dead or alive.

You used your hand to feel along the wall for the bathroom door. The old wallpaper bubbled under your skin. A part of your brain was telling you that what you were touching was extremely hot and burning your flesh but, since you no longer felt anything, you didn’t stop until your fingers brushed over a hinge. 

You scrambled around for the handle, gripping it tightly, and yanked open the door. Heavy black smoke immediately flooded into the tiny room. You quickly pulled Ellie and you onto the tiled floor and slammed the door closed with your foot. You lay staring up at the white ceiling being clouded with rising smoke. Your lungs sucked in the cleaner air. The fire hadn’t touched this room yet. Besides the smoke that you let in when you opened the door, it was relatively untouched. 

An oasis amongst the desert sands. 

You slowly let your eyes wander into the corner where Ollie sat huddled. His legs were pulled tight against his chest and his arms were clinging onto them. He stared at you with wide eyes, glancing tearfully between your soot covered face and his motionless sister. 

A surprised laugh fell from your lips which quickly turned into another coughing fit. You rolled onto your side, hacking up black saliva over the white floor. 

“You’re alive,” you croaked out to the scared little boy. 

You forced yourself to sit up. Wads of wet paper towels were lined up on the ground. You realized Ollie had stuffed them under the door to stop the smoke. Smart kid. They have been pushed to the side when you opened the door. You quickly bent down to shove them back into the cracks, keeping the smoke at bay, and then turned to find Ellie. 

She looked so small face down on the floor. Her pink t-shirt and blonde hair were now completely black. You rolled her onto her back in a daze. It was hard to think. Hard to move. You felt like your limbs were full of wet cement. You stumbled onto your feet, your head spinning with a pounding headache, and grabbed some brown paper towels from the dispenser. You tried to run them under the sink but the faucet wasn’t working so you dunked them into the toilet water instead. Then you turned to Ellie and began wiping the soot from her mouth and her blocked nostrils. Her chest rose with short, labored breaths. Her eyes were caked close from the greasy smoke residue so you tried your best to wipe them clean too. She was still alive but she wouldn’t be for much longer if she didn’t get out of here. There was no way you’d be able to carry her body back through those horrors with Ollie in tow. You were too weak. Too sick. The three of you were trapped. This would be your fiery coffin. 

“Spider-Man will save us.” 

Ollie’s tiny whisper hardly reached your broken ears. You gazed through half closed lids over your shoulder to look at the boy. You were starting to forget who he was or what his name was. His words felt foreign to you. All your thoughts were moving at a sluggish pace. 

Spider-Man. 

Save us. 

Yes…yes…Peter. 

You fumbled to grab your phone out of your pocket. Of course, Peter would save you. There was still hope. 

The black grime coating your fingers wouldn’t let you use the touch screen and you let out a frustrated cry.

“Siri!” You whined, the desperation heavy in your tone. “Call Peter Parker.” 

“Calling Peter Parker,” her pleasant, robotic tones echoed back to you. It was a stark contrast to the nightmare you were currently living through. 

You sunk against the wall, slumping into yourself, feeling like the world was spinning. Peter would know about the man with the fire. He would know he was on your street. He would know it was your building. He would have been searching for you right now. You’d just have to stay awake long enough for him to find you.

It rang twice before his panicked voice answered, “Where are you? Tell me you're safe.” He sounded breathless and far away to you, like listening to an echo bouncing off an underpass. Your body was starting to shut down. 

“Bathroom. Trapped.” It was all you could say before what little vision you had left started to fade. You didn't have much time left. The oxygen in the room was running out. 

A small hand wrapped over your wrist as the boy snuggled up to your side. 

Ollie. His name was Ollie. 

Ollie and Ellie. The cutest set of twins you had ever seen. 

It was supposed to be a good day. 

“Spider-Man is on the phone,” you mumbled to the frightened child. “Talk to him. He’ll keep…keep…keep you safe…he’ll find you…” 

Ollie picked up the phone. He was speaking into it but you couldn’t make out anything he was saying. You were floating away to wherever Ellie’s mind was currently being held. Someplace away from here. Away from the flames. Someplace without smoke. Somewhere you could breathe again. 

You were going to close your eyes. Just for a minute…one, little, short minute…

A crashing rumble of bricks being smashed startled you back to life. You tried to take in what was happening but your brain was stuck in a haze. One of your hands was clutched onto the front of Ellie’s shirt and the other was holding onto Ollie. Someone else was in the room with you. It was smokier than it had been when you had closed your eyes. Time had passed, that much you knew, though you were unsure how much. Something was breaking a wall. Bricks were flying. It was filling the room with white smoke to compete with the black and blocking out whatever sunlight was attempting to push through the holes being created. 

“It’s okay,” Ollie spoke into your ear as he curled up next to your side, noticing that you were awake again. “Spider-Man is here. He’s saving us just like you said.” 

Peter. 

Your sweet, beautiful Peter. You had no idea when he got here or how but he was here and he was breaking apart the side of the building with his bare hands so they could escape. 

You tried to focus your attention on Ellie. Her eyes were open now and she was curled onto her side. She was weak but somehow she was still alive.

The masked face of Spider-Man appeared in your line of sight. His hands were on either side of your cheeks as he cradled your face in his palms. 

“Stay with me. Don’t you drift off again. I’m getting you out of here.” 

There was a steadfast determination in his voice. Many months ago he once told you that he refused to ever let you die. You had laughed at him then, telling him that was impossible, not even Peter Parker could control death. He had told you it didn’t matter. He would fight Death himself with nothing but his two fists if it meant getting to hold onto you for another day. 

He had meant it then and he was proving it now. 

“Get the kids first,” you croaked. “Get Ellie to an ambulance.” 

“I can hold all of you at the same time!” He bent down to scoop Ellie into his arms. She offered no resistance but was too weak to hold onto him herself. Her head flopped against his shoulder and her eyes closed. Ollie leapt up into his other arm and clung tightly around his neck. 

He couldn’t hold all of you and manage his webs at the same time. He was lying to himself and to you. 

“Can you get on my back?” He tried to fight the reality he was being faced with. He didn’t want to leave you behind but you both knew the children needed to be evacuated first. As stubborn as he was, not even Peter would choose you over them. Children came first. Always. That was the life and sacrifice of a hero. 

“Peter,” you ordered, forcing what little energy you had into your words. “Take the kids. Hurry. You’re wasting time.” 

The fire was at the door. You could feel its heat on your back as you leaned against the wall. The smoke was pushing through the cracks. The wet paper towels had long since failed their duty at keeping it at bay. Time was slipping through your fingers.  

“I’ll be right back!” He shouted. “Stay alive or I’m going to kill you.” 

Then he was gone. 

The smoke was becoming too much. The heat was getting too strong. It forced you to drag yourself across the floor towards the hole in the wall. You let your head hang outside, gulping at the fresh air as the black smoke rose above you. The smell of singed, burning hair hit your nose. You could see the ends sizzling orange from your peripheral vision. You were starting to feel pain again as some of your senses slowly returned. You looked down at the pavement four stories below you. It was getting too hot to bear. Your skin was screaming. A part of you wanted to keep dragging your body into the fresh air even if it meant you’d fall. For that one second of falling, you��d be free from the oppressive heat. Behind you meant death. In front of you meant death. 

All that you had left was Peter. 

At least the kids were out. If you were able to accomplish anything today, it was that. 

Even if Peter did most of the work. You were able to start what he could finish. 

Your lids felt heavy. Your breath was weezing. Your chest ached and your right fist was clenched close from the pain. The skin on your palm was black and peeling from where you had gripped onto the burning door handle. You wanted it all to be over. 

The pavement never looked so enticing. 

It was supposed to be a good day. 

You dragged yourself further out the hole so your entire chest was now hanging over the edge. Your body was craving the clean air. It desperately wanted to escape the heat. You pulled yourself a little further. Inch by inch. Flirting with the idea of death. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” 

The scruff of your shirt was balled into a fist as you were lifted upright into the safety of Peter’s arms. You were swinging through the air. The wind in your face never felt so delicious as it slid down your shriveled lungs. He was holding you tightly to his chest and using one arm to swing you away from the burning building. 

Tears sprung into your irritated, red eyes. 

You were out. Free from the fire. Free from the smoke. Alive. 

“I got you, baby,” he chirped against your ear. “I got you. I’m not letting you go anywhere I can’t follow.” 

He landed softly on a rooftop a few blocks from the chaos. There were people who still needed his help. A villain to be fought. Damage control be done. 

But he didn’t care about any of that. 

Peter placed you delicately onto your bottom on the roof and he knelt down in front of you, tugging off his mask to get a proper look. 

“I’m going to bring you straight to the hospital but I need to see you first,” he whispered. “I just need to look at you…make sure you’re still here with me.” 

He slipped his hands free from his gloves to push back your singed hair from your face. He grabbed his mask to carefully wipe away some of the soot from your eyes. 

“You look like you clawed your way straight outta hell,” he smiled down at you but his eyes held his real feelings of worry behind them. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. You both knew how close to losing you he had come today. 

You cracked a half hearted smile of your own, “I think I did.” Your voice was unrecognizable to your own ears and a constant, high pitched shrieking sound kept ringing in your head. 

“You’re okay,” he asked. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant as a question for you to answer or a statement he was speaking to help ease his anxious heart. 

“I’m okay,” you replied. “I’m alive, at least.” 

The further away you got from the fire, the more pain you started to feel. It wasn’t just your hand that was hurting now, the pain was shooting all the way down your back, and your right arm felt stiff and unable to move.

“I told you I wouldn’t ever let you die. That’s not allowed. We’re going to die together, hand in hand, snuggled up in bed like The Notebook.” Peter leaned his forehead against your own and took a deep breath. 

“Okay,” you mumbled, lost in the moment of softness, until the thought of Ellie and Ollie crashed to the surface. You gasped and jerked away, horror etched onto your face. “The twins!” 

He tugged you to him, kissing your temple, “They’re safe. I send them off in an ambulance. I think the little boy will be fine. The girl looked like she was suffering from serious smoke inhalation. I had to give her CPR when I showed up. She wasn’t breathing. I got her to wake up. She’ll be seen right away. Speaking of which-” He stood back up, pulling his gloves and mask back on. “The hospital is exactly where we need to get you.” 

Peter scooped you back into his arms and hopped onto the ledge of the roof, “You ready?” 

“I’m ready.” 

[saltylandland]

🦇Every Good Girl Needs a Creepy Vamp🦇

Warnings: overstimulation, sex while high, noncon/dubcon, corruption kink (kinda), going off my nsfw headcanons that Paul likes to be degraded for being a creep, reader is in high school but she’s still 18, fem!reader, reader’s not a virgin, uses the term “mama” but reader isn’t pregnant/nor will she become pregnant, I guess this my as well count as yandere, stalking, an obscene amount of cum, I’m talking about A LOT, Paul can make phantom sensations as one of his vampy powers bc why not. Do you ever write something that makes you go ‘oml what the hell did I just write?’, no editing man, I like my men bloody, slutty, and pathetic.

Walking down the sidewalk you turn onto the residential neighbourhood where your family’s home resides. Out of the corner of your eye you spot the same guy. You’ve met him quite a few times on the boardwalk, smoked a joint with him almost every time as well, despite how unnerving you found him at times. But you really couldn’t blame yourself really, having been viewed as a good girl most of your life. Approaching the kids who would be able to get you it was a no go, not only attracting attention by interacting with them in general, you’d have nowhere safe to smoke it without getting caught.

So when you went looking for a possible summer job alone on the boardwalk, your chance came up to you on a golden platter. This new ‘friend’ seems to preen at your attention, not at all frustrated or wary of your shy prude-ness. And not at all aware or at least acknowledging how you only seem to come to him to smoke the devils lettuce.

But who were you to blame really? Upon first meeting you, he’d offer the joint unprompted and in return you’d hang with him until the boardwalk closes. That was your trade as far as you were aware.

As if sensing your eyes on him, he locks eyes with you and takes it as the signal to approach. You lock up a bit, remembering how… close you two have progressed on the boardwalk.

To be truthful you had been avoiding him for just a little bit now, which was easy considering you’d have no reason to go on the boardwalk besides your once in a blue moon shift at a carnival stand. But Paul seemed to have noticed your avoidance, finding him places you’d never expected too, each time a little closer to home.

But it was too late to run now without making it obvious, as Paul meets you with his characteristic non boundaries, practically draping himself across you as greeting.

Before you could think of a backup plan, you had reached your door, luckily you had accidentally left the lights on before you left. Making it seem like your parents were home despite them being a couple states away for work.

You try to think of a way to politely excuse yourself when Paul asks to borrow a lighter, offering to share a joint or two. As tempting as that was, you didn’t want to let him inside, nor did you want the possible smell lingering inside your home and get in trouble, you tell him the latter reason as you inch towards the door.

Paul offers the backyard as an alternative with a glowing smile, mentioning that your parents will know you're there, but you’ll sit away enough that you won’t get caught, and that’s when you give in. Walking into the house to fetch a lighter and ’telling’ your parents about hanging out in the backyard for awhile.

Paul gets settled quickly on the grassy path, pouting slightly when you sit beside him as opposed to on his lap as he eagerly beckons you too. Lighting up quickly he passes the joint to you and you’re quite proud of yourself and how you didn’t cough as you exhaled, welcoming that familiar warmth in your chest and fuzzy feeling crawling in from the back of your head.

Soon enough, Paul was back to his old tricks, hogging the joint and letting you crawl over him to try and get it back. Demanding some sort of reward for each hit you take, mostly little kisses. He’d prefer them on his lips, but he’s patient enough to let you build up to it, going on his forehead, cheek, and chin. Until he captures your chin and plants a kiss on your lips. Next holding you close and dizzying you with the quick succession of kisses.

Ah, this is what he does. His lack of boundaries upping to an eleven and his boldness holds no bounds as he gets high. Using your need for his weed to squeeze as much affection out of you as much as he could. Everytime it was you who stopped before things went too far, but gradually your resolve weakens as you start to crave more. The only thing holding you back was your perceived prudence. You were already pushing past the line with smoking weed, much less with a stranger, but having sex, all of those at once? It was too overwhelming.

Still that ache that often comes with the high, starts pooling in your tummy, letting Paul pull you into his lap despite your better judgement.

Yes, this is exactly what he does. It almost completely mirrors that night on the boardwalk before you started to avoid him.

Goading you on to his lap, holding your lips hostage as he winds you up. So worked up you don’t notice your hips moving, rubbing against his own. Fingers start to trace your body, seemingly seeping through your clothes to touch your skin, despite Paul's actual hands against your waist.

You jumped a bit, looking around to find no one else, the hands remained on your body, trailing against your sensitive breasts and thighs, constantly moving and overlapping with each other.

You had cum on his lap that night, and he tore off your panties just before you had managed to pull away, not seeming to mind the lack of underwear as Paul gave no chase.

In the morning you had woken and after realising you were sans panties, decided to keep your distance from both the boardwalk and him.

The reminder of your stolen panties comes to the forefront of your mind as you flush. And with the weed clouding your normal reserve you ask what happened to them, the grin Paul gives you almost regret your words. “Oh I think you already know huh?” You do know, you know exactly what a boy like him would do with stolen panties but you push anyway. Playing chicken with answers you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle. “Should I? I don’t have a dirty mind like you, you creep.”

You go to move off of him, but he pulls you back with a renewed vigour. “A creep really? Then you’re my good girl right?” Curling his hips upwards, you feel his chubbed up cock against your clothes. Once again you’re wearing a skirt without shorts underneath. You can feel the heat against your core.

“You’re the one I obsess over huh? The one that I climb into trees to get a glimpse of your bare skin? The one that I just can’t help but steal her panties, sniffing her panties so I can come over and over. Still craving her wet pussy all the while?” Smelling your hair makes him groan, his hips stuttering as he bounces you against him as he grinds up to you. “You’re my good girl huh? The one who’ll tease me to get what she needs? The one who’ll rub one out on her bed with her curtains open on the third floor, After getting the fix she needs and running away just as fast?”

Your eyes widen with fear as he reveals more and more intimate details. The more he talks the more it sounds like a confession, and with all the details he provided, you don’t doubt him. Shakily mentioning that you should go back inside, your parents might worry about how late it is. Paul only smiles with that same lazy smile and says oh so casually “I’m sure that won’t be a problem huh? We’ll be quiet enough as to not wake up the next state over.”

Before you start to thrash in his hold, Paul preemptively rolls you over, trapping you in his embrace, grabbing your panties and ripping them off again, this time unashamedly groaning against them as he huffs.

Dragging his hips back and forwards, Paul cums with a moan, his hips digging deeper into your own as he climbs back down, whining into your neck as he overstimulates himself, his pants dampening from his cum as he continues to rock his hips.

Climbing over, straddling your stomach, he pulls out his still hard cock, preening at your attention. He fondles himself as he speaks, cumming over your chest quickly. “I can’t even be satisfied with my hand anymore, can’t even cum with nobody else, I just need you pretty mama.”

With a shuddering moan, he pulls your shoulders down with unnatural ease. He now straddles your chest, as he continues to pump his dick with gross sounding ‘Schlick Schlick Schlick’s. With your panties still pressed up against his nose between words he whines loudly. “Don’t you feel bad for me? That shit you’ve put me through? If you wanted me so bad that you placed a spell on me, all you had to do was -fuck-ing ask”

His tip was an angry red as his hips jerk forward, his voice cracking between pleads and demands. “Uhhhhg fuck just kiss it won’t you? Open your mouth for me baby, you can do it for me, sugar, I know you can.”

Whether intentionally or not (most likely the latter) Paul’s hands snake up from the back of your nape and that makes you gasp lightly. Coincidentally, that is exactly when Paul rocks his hips forward, nearly gagging you on his girth as he slips forward with a guttural cry. “Fuck-fuck me sugar, like that, yea just… like that.”

Bowing over you, Paul keeps you in that position as he humps your mouth with very small movements, trying to stop his orgasm just yet. Only to cum in the back of your throat as he thrust in fully. His cries getting pitchier as he seems to overstimulate himself more, dragging himself on your tongue as you struggle not to choke on his cum.

Completely overwhelmed by the situation at hand, but your body seems to decide for you, that familiar ache of need that follows you whenever you get high has hit full force. Not being able to do anything about it has you squirming.

Pulling you away by your hair, he taunts you with misplaced smugness. “Fuck that’s so hot, you’re a natural you know that? Look how hard you make me” grabbing at your shirt he shreds it down the middle, grabbing at your tits like a tween boy. “There’s those beautiful tits.”

Familiarly, what feels like multiple hands start to grab at your body tenderly, looking around only shows nothing but the feeling is still there. Pawing at your neglected pussy, a hand gently spreads open your lips to the cold air, another teases at your clit and another starts to prep you open. The hands seem to work in tandem, so close together that they should be overlapping but that does nothing to deter their work.

Squishing your tits around his dick, he slides his dick between them as he watches your facial expressions knowingly. He quickly cums again, bending over to lick your face where his cum had covered as he continued to hump.

Pulling back by your hair he directs you back to his still throbbing erection. “Last time was cute, but suck like you really mean it this time yea? Don’t make me do all the work.” Giving you little time to even process that demand he goes to fuck your mouth again, a bit harder and with a lot less grace. Moaning around his dick, the hand prepping you slides in with two fingers. This time he seems to last longer, with a voice slowly becoming less human sounding he moans unabashedly “you’re doing so well for me, mama, fuck.” Pulling out suddenly, he cums on your chest, just as you were about to cum on the fingers, his seed catching on your open mouth as you pant.

The hands didn’t stop, nor did Paul as he tapped his still hard dick against your tongue. Very slowly moving down your body, he watches your body clench around nothing as if he knew what was going down.

“Stop looking you fucking creEP AH” another finger slips in as more hands cup your tits, toying with the sensitive nips as Paul kisses down your body with a gutteral hum. “Perfect mama, keep calling me that, sayin’ it like that. I’ll show you just how much I crave it.”

His dick slides against your clit, as the hand continues harshly. Rubbing gently at first but then a bit harder, a bit faster, watching you keen.

Pulling your legs over his shoulders as he keeps your thighs closed, Paul once again chases another climax with your thighs as you cum again against this invisible force.

Put still, nothing stops, not until Paul comes on your chest, licking up his cum and chasing down your mouth as he tongue fucks your own.

Kissing slowly down as he crawls in between your thighs, he gives a slow lick to your gushing cunt as you squeal. The warm, wet, and slimy tongue savouring your cum as if it was the best thing to eat. He lets the hands do most of the work, choosing to either watch from above you he makes an even bigger mess of himself, wiping your wet pussy with your panties to sniff. Or he licks you slowly, nursing on your clit with a patience you didn’t think he possessed.

But he was determined to make you cum more than he did, which was a feat in itself. Slowly, the invisible hands around your sensitive pussy faded away, leaving you gasping for breath and tired as hell. But Paul makes himself still very much apparent as he uses his palm to smack on your cunt a few times. Embarrassingly, soaking it as he did so.

Gathering your weak limbs, Paul slipped in easily, convincing himself that you were obviously made for him, not acknowledging how he made you this way. Instead preferring his delusions that you were perfect, just for him, as soon as he saw you on the boardwalk.

Wasting no time at all, Paul starts a punishing pace, meanly pinching at your teased nipples and smacking against your clit as you gush around him.

With weak arms you push at his chest, but he easily bats those away as he curls over you, giving you sweet little kisses as he rearranges your guts. Contrasted with the downright disgusting noises he makes as he moans unabashedly, his hips making loud clapping and squelching noises.

You cum around his cock but just as you were expecting he would, he pushes past your orgasm to chase the next one, making you outwardly cry from the overstimulation, barely making any noise as you pant from exhaustion. Paul only kisses up your tears, further silencing your moans as he tongue fucks your mouth.

After quickening up his pace you knew he’d be cumming soon, squirming under him, you really didn’t want to pay for plan b, but he isn’t moved so easily, pulling you back by your hips as he gasps, his forehead resting on your sternum. Just as you had predicted, his cum gushed into your spent cunt and you prayed that he would tucker himself out finally, but apparently god was determined to get your back broken, and so was Paul.

Hiking up your thighs over his own, your pelvis now elevated as your head still rests on the dirty ground, Paul starts to fuck you slower, but harder then before. Pushing up your shirt and bunching up your skirt at your waist, Paul all but salvates over them, laughing as he watches you try to cover them up embarrassed. Holding on to your forearms he uses them as leverage to fuck you deeper, making you cry out lewdly.

Time passes as Paul stays attached to you like a leech, and you start to wonder if he’ll ever let up. Swapping to different positions, trying to find the one he likes the best, but he just can’t seem to make up his mind as he fucks you over and over. Your only peace comes and you barely miss it but as a voice calls out, Paul slows down just enough. Dazed as all hell, you watch as Paul turns his head to regard the newcomers casually, not bothering to cover either of you up nor stop his menstrations.

You can barely understand the conversation but it seems to upset Paul, as he tightens his grip and growls, he fucking growls. And even more embarrassingly, the growl sends vibrations against you, making you mewl loudly. And that was met with whistles and chuckles, as Paul turns back to you to look at you adoringly.

The one who was mainly talking clears his throat, saying one last comment and despite the fact you expected Paul to pull away, instead he turns around and goes back to fucking you, turning your body sideways to where the three boys now stood. With one leg on his shoulder, he throws comments to the boys that you can’t process. It took two shuddering almost painful orgasms of yours until Paul came again. With no signs of stopping the two boys who kept quiet had to wrestle Paul off of you.

He growled, hissed, and made spitting noises like a cornered cat. But he eventually regained himself enough where they let him go. Allowing him to say goodbye, he crawls up to you again, using your panties to wipe both of your frothed up cum that spread onto your legs and abdomen, pocketing them and carrying you into your room through your open window.

Kissing you slowly he searches your room, for a keepsake or two as he looks for a pen. Grabbing your arm gently, he writes on your arm instructions before he kisses you again, tucks you into bed, locks up the window he just broke into, and lets himself out through the front door. Picklocking it closed behind him.

‘When you can move again, meet me at the boardwalk or I’ll come to you ❤️’ -Paul

[rebelliousstories]

Over and Under

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Child!Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 707

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Part One: Out and About //Part Two: Safe and Sound

Summary: A ghoul, a child, a vault-dweller, and a dog meet up, by chance, in the Wasteland…

“You comin’?” Cooper did not spare another glance to the woman as he left the building. His boots kept marching down the dirt paths until he finally made his was into a mausoleum. Hearing the softer fall of boots behind him, he stopped Lucy before he opened the door.

“Put that gun away. Don’t want you scarin’ ‘er.” Confused, the vault dweller did what he said and watched as he opened the door. She was confused but followed him inside. The only light around was that of the moon, which meant that she could not see very well into the room.

Howard whistled low and steady as he continued to walk inside. A second later, a dog came trotting up to him. Briefly, the man rubbed the pup’s head with his gloved hand. He stood back up to his full height and made his way deeper inside, and let out another whistle. The sound of little footsteps greeted their ears, and Cooper knelt back down. He opened his arms, and Lucy was utterly confused as to what was happening. But just a second later, a little girl came out from the shadows and wrapped her little arms around his neck.

“Daddy! You’re back. DogMeat and I had a good time playing hide and seek while we waited for you.” She exclaimed gleefully.

“Oh that sounds wonderful, sugar. Come on now. We’re gonna go for a walk.” He began to lead the little girl out by her hand as they left the mausoleum. Lucy, confused, followed after and braced herself for the new journey she was about to embark on. DogMeat left first, then Cooper with his girl in tow, and finally Lucy as she looked around her environment.

“Daddy, who’s that?” Her little voice tried to whisper but it came out louder than intended. Following to where her finger was pointing, The Ghoul felt unsure of how to introduce the woman to her. But, ever the leader, the Vault dweller came over and crouched down, and held out her hand.

“Hi. I’m Lucy, Lucy MacLean. Is it alright if I travel with you?” Lucy’s voice was soft and sweet as she watched the little girl in Cooper’s arms. After a minute of consideration, the little girl shook the woman’s hand before offering up her own name.

“Well, I think we’re going to have a good time together. Okie dokie?” Giggles erupted from the child which confused everyone.

“Say it again.” With furrowed brows, Lucy tried to rack her brain with what she could have said that would trigger such a response from the girl.

“Okie dokie?” She offered hesitantly. It only served to send the girl into another fit of giggles that left her doubled over. As Cooper wanted to get walking as soon as possible, he scooped up the girl and made his way off without looking behind him. Lucy took a couple of big steps that made her catch up to the duo, and she also caught a little of their conversation.

“Alright, little killer. Gotta get ‘em up and move ‘em out now.”

“But Daddy, it’s funny. Okie dokie.” More laughter.

“You gotta calm down now, sugar. Ain’t gonna want anythin’ comin’ after us, now would ya?”

“Say it, Daddy! Please!”

There was a long pause, and Lucy tried to keep her eyes averted from the tender moment ahead.

“Okie dokie.” This sent the girl into a horrible fit of laughter that was mostly silent as her breath and voice could not catch up with each other.

“Alright now, let’s calm down. Else I’m puttin’ you down and you can walk.” While she tried not to think about the two words, she did let out the occasional chuckle or giggle as she remembered how it sounded coming from Cooper’s voice.

Lucy was not sure just when the man had changed, but she would be forever grateful for that little girl. Maybe he had always been like this, but had been weathered and worn down by the years in the Wasteland. In any regard, it seemed that the presence of this child was just enough to take a bit of the edge off of the man that she had come to both fear and respect.

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ [1, 3] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 13k for parts 1+2 a/n: two weeks of brainrot later

L.A ended up as sun-kissed and vibrant as rumored, teeming with that felt like three times the people as New York. The plane ride went over smoothly, despite your nerves, although you can’t help criticizing Tony for his carbon footprint. You’re fortunate that the planning aspect is entirely in his hands, from the flight to the hotel. You knew what time to get ready and your destination, and that kept miles of stress away. 

Upon reaching the hotel, a grand stone structure adorned with decorative pillars, the potential arrangements for sleeping arrangements loomed over you. The forgotten vulnerability returned, and you walked beside Tony with uneasy legs, hoping your worry was unnecessary. 

To your relief, your accommodations are separate. You’re given peace of mind, chastising yourself for thinking the worst as you make the ascent in the elevator. Tony passes you cursory looks, reassuring you and assuming your nerves were travel-related.

In the hallway, Tony excuses himself to attend to some last-minute problems, apologizing and disappearing into his room. You followed suit, groaning against your wooden door as it creaked shut.

No matter how happy you were with Tony, the same thoughts resurfaced time and time again. The whispers in your head that told you the facade would melt away- warning of impending implosion. The memories of the look on his face weeks ago that brought you nearly to tears. To spare yourself the rabbit hole thinking about it would send you in, you decided to sleep it away. The event wasn’t until tomorrow anyway, and your body ached for rest.

You don’t wake till the sun’s long gone, hearing Tony’s knock at your door. A sleepy greeting slips from lips, clad in pajama shorts and tank top. Time and exhaustion fast-tracked your comfort around him, to the point that you don’t think to change when you answer. 

Even though you know he’s spent the night running computations and phone calls or whatever it is he does, he looks as refreshed as ever. His three piece suit diminished to just one in that time, leaving him in just a dark button-up and pants—the most unpolished version of Tony you've witnessed you’ve seen, an amusing sight that you commit to memory.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. What do you say to dinner?” His gaze seems to fall anywhere on your petite form but your face for a moment, leaning against the door frame.

“I think everything’s closed by now.” You yawn, already thinking about crawling back into bed. The rumble in your stomach could wait, right? 

Behind Tony’s back emerges a shiny bottle of whiskey accompanied by a plastic take-out bag.

“Good thing Cafe Stark is open 24 hours.” 

Eventually, you’ll have to build your resolve against his infectious smile, but when combined with the mouth-watering aroma wafting from the bag, the game feels rigged from the start.

You and Tony share a relatively silent meal for once, the small rosewood table in the corner of your room serving as a makeshift dining spot. Mostly because a thousand-year nap still sounded beneficial, speaking through heavy-lidded eyes. Tony, abnormally preoccupied, seldom sets his phone down for more than five minutes at a time. As usual, you don’t truly mind it. Without fail, though, that incessant voice comes back, telling you all sorts of theories. 

At some point as you're gathering the empty boxes to toss in the trash, Tony hums in approval before abandoning his phone on the dresser. Before you can ask, the whiskey is brandished by Tony. 

You can see past the sunny smile for a moment, catching a glint of worry on his face. 

“Everything okay?” The short glasses you bring over make a sharp clink on the aged wood.

Dark amber liquid fills his glass, sliding down his throat in one go. He chuckles at your question, finding it your concern sweet. 

“Don’t start worrying about me.” He halts the protest forming on your lips with a kiss, leaning across the table and taking your hands in his. 

It’s a potent amnestic, and you forget about all the alarm bells ringing in your ears. 

Drunken stories and laughter fill the room for the rest of the night. You both remark here and there that sleep would be wise, yet the hours tick on. 

A lull of silence falls between you after Tony finishes roaring at a joke you make about your roommate’s parents. In the hotel’s dim glow, Tony’s eyes look golden. You get lost in them for a time, lying beside him on the cotton sheets. 

A few strands of perfectly coiffed hair have fallen out of place, matching his recently wrinkled button-up. There’s never a time you aren’t totally smitten with him, but the whiskey twists into want easily. 

“Mind if I ask you something?” Tony looks down at you, leaning back against the headboard with warm and amused eyes. 

“Sure, shoot.” 

Anything to keep him looking at you like that. 

“Your parents, you never talk about them, why?” 

Anything but that. 

Truthfully, Tony already knew the answer. The first night after he ended up in the bar, he might have done a bit of a background check on you, mostly for his own safety. But also to see what leads a girl like you to a job like that. He wanted to hear it from you, though, and knew by now that nudging you in the right direction worked well enough.

“Not much to talk about really.” The bedsheet drags against your skin when you shift awkwardly. You’re used to this question, and the hate for it only grows with each recurrence.

“Is that so?” He mutters absently, reaching down to twist a strand of your hair between his fingers.

“They died when I was young. Car accident, not much of a story.” You break away from his heated gaze, choosing instead to lay your head against the pillows. At this point, you expect the usual pitiful platitudes people say, something along the lines of I’m so sorry or that’s awful . 

“I get it. Mine too. Not that young, though.” Tony adds sympathetically, sliding down onto his side next to you. He’s close enough that you smell the whiskey on his breath, tickling your nose.

“How old were you?” You can’t stop yourself from asking, as Tony seldom shared details about his family. You knew the business he ran was his father’s, and his mother’s name, and that was pretty much it. Most things he seemed to keep private, but you hoped the whiskey would help get you somewhere.

“Twenty-one, while I was in college.” There doesn’t seem to be any hesitancy in his answer, so you feel confident enough to push your luck.

“What were they like?”

“Eh, my father was kind-of an ass, wasn’t much of a loss to the world.” He says it too nonchalantly, throwing you off. You attribute it to the empty bottle.

“I don’t know if I should say sorry or congrats.” 

”Either works for me.” Tony laughs, resting an arm on your side. His thumb finds the small patch of exposed skin from your shirt riding up, grazing absentmindedly. It’s distracting as ever, pulling you away from the conversation to focus on his touch. 

“At least I had other people, sounds like you’ve just been alone.” He breaks you out of the daydreams you're lost in.

“Wasn’t terrible.” you respond gently, fiddling with a button on his shirt. 

“Still, you deserve better.” He watches your eyes drift to the small button, searching for his own resolve. It drove him nearly mad to see you in the exorbitant dresses he buys, but lately something about you dressed down, relaxed, nearly killed him. You look angelic next to him, staring through heavy eyes, clearly in your own little world.

“‘Think I’m doing just fine.” you laugh. 

“Hm, maybe.” 

He doesn’t disagree completely, but knew you were built for bigger things. A good chunk of his attraction came from knowing how hard you’d worked, a quality he recognized and respected.

Contrary to what news articles say, his intellect and success didn’t come naturally. It was deliberate, hard work to do what he did. Countless hours of studying, research, testing— all to try to mimic a fraction of what his father could do. Since he was a child, Tony was dead set on proving to his father that he could run Stark Industries. 

Yet, Howard was never persuaded, and planned on leaving the corporation to one of his lead engineers.

In the end, it didn’t matter anyways. He died before he could sign the paperwork.

Tony saw that same drive and ambition in you, you just needed a little help. And he would make sure it was his.

“Maybe?” you feign offense. The warm hand gracing your side loops to the small of your back.

“Think you just need someone to take care of you.” 

“I might be a little too old for that.”

“Not what I meant.” 

That pulls you away from his shirt for a moment, meeting his eyes with raised eyebrows. 

“What do you mean then?”

The meaning takes too long to dawn on you, and Tony’s resolve feels weaker than ever. Instead of answering you, he goes to kiss you, pulling you close with the hand on your back.

There’s no doubt in his mind that he shouldn’t do this, fearing an inability to be satisfied with just that. That voice is too quiet to pay any attention to, turning the kiss long and passionate. His teeth scrape against your lip, sighing into you when he feels your body relax. 

For the first time, he doesn’t wait for your reaction, pushing you onto your back. You feel his hand tighten around your thigh, wrapping your leg to his waist. You’re a worked up mess beneath him soon enough, grabbing at his side to pull him closer. His large biceps rests on either side of your head, fingers entangled in your hair. 

Shaky hands reach for the belt on his waist, only to cause Tony to pull away from you completely. He holds both your hands in his, equally dazed and panting. He appears lost in thought for a moment, and you start to worry you made the wrong move. 

You don’t have to worry for long, as Tony moves to the end of the bed, pulling you with him and kneeling before you quickly. Hungry lips on your bare thighs leave your head light, fingers already hooked around your shorts. 

“Tony, what are you-”

“Taking care of you.” he murmurs as they slip past your ankles. 

The hungry gaze washes over your center, catching your breath in your throat. You don’t get the chance to respond—a heavy tongue gracing your folds. Tony moans at the taste of you, reverberating up your spine. He hates that he made himself wait for this—every sound from your mouth worsening the strain in his pants. 

Your tensing legs are tossed haphazardly over his shoulders. You expected the same tenderness he always granted to you, but this is entirely different. He grips your hips rigidly, wrapping his lips around your clit and pulling you as close as he could. 

His ears focus on each moan, how the pitch in your whines heightened when he sucks hard on the aching bundle of nerves. A large, flat hand across your stomach gets you to lie back,  hands flying to the dark locks tickling your thighs. 

He’s obviously making up for a perceived loss of time, increasing intensity with every swipe of his tongue, your arousal coating his mouth. It sends your body into overdrive, hands reaching for him, searching for any kind of reprieve. 

Tony knows he’ll never get enough when your breath turns low and stuttery, fingers digging into the back of his nape and the hand bruising your hip. You lose sense of what sounds are coming from Tony and which are coming from the mess between your thighs, mixing into a symphony of ecstasy in your ears.

He unlocks a new melody, the addictive sound of your broken, pleading cries calling out his name. He wants to tell you how fucking incredible you sound, but that would require stopping and there’s no chance he was doing that. 

You try to tell him to slow down, the arousal in your stomach building faster than you have time to process. It’s a wasted effort, having any attempts at forming full sentences ruined by the tongue lapping at your entrance.

You feel an approving moan shake through your core, thighs growing stickier. He could feel how close you were, hips shuddering in his grasp. He only grips harder in response, holding you still as you jerk against his tongue. Without warning, the tight bundle in your gut reaches its crest, and Tony gets lost in the river of filth that leaves your mouth. 

You’re foolish for thinking he’d stop there, but instead his lips return to suck gently on your clit, moaning into you. Just when you think you might pass out from the overstimulation, he pulls away to grace your inner thigh with light kisses. 

Tony reclines, captivated by the dazed look on your face and the soft panting of your lips. 

You sit up to face him on unsteady arms, your hazy eyes revealing that there's only one thought on your mind— him , just how he needed it.

The earlier worries become ironically useless, as you sleep beside Tony that night. 

The next evening’s celebration unfolds on a quiet street, a hidden gem thankfully only hosting around twenty or thirty people. The ambient lights of the quaint club aren’t dim enough for you to ignore how underdressed you are. Envisioning a more formal dinner, you dressed simply in flowy olive dress, while other attendees exuded glamor in fancy suits. Tony of course being no exception, donning a dark gray suit and black shirt. Tony seemed unphased by the music and dancing, walking in and greeting people without pause. 

On this particular night, Tony has a singular mission — to keep you in his sight at all times. More accurately, to prevent you from engaging conversation with a select few individuals without his presence. It's not just about showcasing you; it's mostly protective, an attempt to mitigate the risks involved in intertwining you with this side of his life. 

Nearly anything seemed worth having you by his side. It’s a good weakness to have, he thinks. He swears it’s because you make him a better person, and though you always laugh it off and tell him he was already great, it’s another thing that gnaws at the back of your mind.

You're introduced to several of the guests, some names vaguely familiar, others entirely new. Natasha Romanoff stands out, her presence seeming to be the most grounded in reality. It becomes apparent that she is another member in this new endeavor of Tony’s. When you ask what she does for a living, she responds with business, and nothing more. Worse, when you ask about the other members, Natasha shoots a cautionary glance at Tony and smoothly redirects the conversation, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. 

For the most part afterwards, Tony’s mission is a success. He does his best to stay tethered to you, dodging boring conversation after boring conversation. Despite his vigilance, the forces of nature are ineffable, leading you to the bathroom after a few champagne shoots. 

He’d only looked away for one second , he swears, but all it took was a moment to lose track of you.

Upon your exit from the restroom, you decide to get ahead of your hangover. You catch the bartender’s attention at the bar instead of finding Tony. As you wait for the glass of water, your eyes scan the room to find him. Instead, a tall rugged blonde man takes over your view, sliding into the seat next to you. You pay him little mind, still scanning for Tony. Piercing blue eyes won’t leave you though, even as you thank the bartender and continue to search for the billionaire. 

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing with an old bastard like Stark?” 

His words stop you in place, turning on your heel. 

“I’m sorry?”

The smirk on his face is cold, unnerving. You don’t recall meeting him earlier in the night, and you're certain you wouldn’t have forgotten. He shifts in the barstool, facing you as he sips from his glass before laughing dryly.

“Forgive me, you just don’t like the kind of girl Tony normally parades around. Unless merchants of death are your kind of thing. And you’re definitely not the escort type.” 

“Excuse me?” 

This only humors the man more, and worsens your thoughts.

“What,” he continues once he’s done laughing at the look on your face. “It’s a compliment, really. Tony’s girls normally overdo it with the makeup, it’s a dead giveaway—”

“No, what do you mean ‘merchant of death’?”

“Oh, come on, you—” he responds patronizingly, “Shoot, is this your first night? He might not have told you yet—”

“Told me what ?” You don’t have the energy to explain to this guy that you aren’t getting an hourly pay for this. 

There’s too much fun in it for him to drag this out, even though he knows his time alone with you is both costly and limited. He makes the decision to laugh again and down the rest of his glass before answering you. 

“Don’t tell me he picked a dumb one. At least Pepper had a brain between her ears?”

“Who’s Pepper?” 

The stars are aligning perfectly for him.

“His wife?” he fakes a puzzled expression, making you feel oblivious for not knowing. 

As you stand there shocked and confused, your eyes catch Tony walking steadfast towards the bar. 

“See, they do this thing, ‘fight, cheat, threaten divorce, make up, repeat’ cycle. It’s amusing most of the time, just shocked to see someone like you in it.” 

Across the room, Tony’s blood starts to boil. 

He’d caught the look you gave him, a confusion-ridden disgust that he couldn’t place until he saw who you were with. He left whatever suit was yapping his ear off, pushing through the small, crowded space. He can’t do anything but curse himself for being so careless—unfortunately, he’s not fast enough, watching Steve’s mouth open like a floodgate. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Rogers.” He speaks through gritted teeth, fists balled at his sides. He takes over the small space between you two, and over his shoulder you see the blonde man lean back in apparent satisfaction. There’s no point in asking what was said, Tony can guess well enough. 

“ What ?” Steve responds, a dramatic shrug of the shoulders follows.

Steve's cold smirk adds insult to injury, leaving Tony torn between the desire to break Steve's jaw and the fear of you never seeing him the same. 

The carefully, thoughtful plan he had for you is in disarray, thanks to Steve. You weren’t supposed to know about Pepper for another month, maximum. He planned on taking you to the gallery and telling you, but that chance was robbed from him.

It felt entirely unfair to him, having his dirty laundry thrown at you without any context. To prevent creating a bigger hole, though, he turns back to you. You’d spent the last minute wrapping your head around everything said. You felt almost physically sick, but mostly stupid for ignoring everything sooner. All that security you felt last night? Gone in a flash.

“You have to let me explain this—”

“I want to leave.”

Tony sighs, figuring it wasn’t the worst you could have said, but hates hearing the tone in your voice nonetheless. So, stubbornly and more than pissed, he leads you away from Rogers to the exit, and tries not to think about how you recoil away when his hand graces your back. 

He tries speaking to you in the car, to no avail. You're too busy beating yourself up for being so stupid. You had fallen for it, the charm, the gifts, the mystery— it worked brilliantly and earned you nothing but hurt in the end. Just like you feared it would. 

A second attempt in the elevator wins him no prizes either. 

There’s a third attempt brewing when you reach your floor. You had barely looked at him, and each time it felt like being stabbed. You didn’t see a point in talking about anything, making a beeline for your door. You imagined yourself packing, leaving in the morning and never seeing him again. Go back to the life you were supposed to be living, not this fantasy with him.

It’s not a plan of action you accept happily, and either way you don’t get the chance. The expectant sound of your hotel room door shutting behind you never comes, stopped by Tony’s leather shoe in the wooden frame. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting you shut him out. He could read your face the entire way back, seeing your full intent to leave without another word. 

“Just go away.” You want to sound angrier, but defeat is the only emotion you muster.

“You’re overreacting.” He declares, voice bouncing in the empty hall. 

“Really? Am I?” 

You’re shocked when the door is pushed open fully. The space you try to take back by stepping away is overtaken. Tony shuts the door behind him, harsh enough to make you jump a bit. 

“You are.” Tony’s hands disappear into his gray suit pockets, looking down at your alarmed frame.

“And you’re married.” Another step back, only for Tony to step forward again.

“Do you see a ring on my finger, hm?”

“That’s not the fucking point.” One more step back, in vain. The feeling of being trapped screams at you, but doesn’t move your body. “What else have you lied about?”

“I have never lied to you.” 

That seemed more believable than anything else. The small breadth of space you gain is taken once more. You don’t move again, knowing the wall wasn’t far behind you. It pissed you off even more to see his jaw clenched, staring at you as if you were having some tantrum and not rightfully upset. 

“Then who’s Pepper? How many other women are you toying with like little playthings? You’re an arrogant, asshole, liar -” you spat, letting your anger surpass his own. 

Tony moves closer, and you end up against the wall regardless of your efforts. You start to tell him off again, a rant cut short by a hand grasping your face, and another pining your wrist to the wall. Your heart quickens, squirming against him. 

“You’re starting to offend me, honey.” he says lowly, the warmth of his breath spreading across your face. His dark eyes don’t leave you, and you have a sense this is worse than throwing a drink in someone’s face. He was growing tired of this recurrent debate from you. Many adjectives could be used to describe him—arrogant, hot-headed, selfish, but disloyal wasn’t one— and he considered it a disrespectful thing to insinuate. 

“You,” he trails off, thumb shifting down to your throat. “—are the only one. Pepper and I have been done for a long time. Steve knows that.”

“Did she leave after she got tired of you sleeping around?”

‘ Did Steve care to mention how Pepper cheated first? How she threatened to sell me out if I left her? Of course not ’, Tony thinks.

More panicked, harsh words of doubt and inquiry leave you, but they’re quickly shushed by Tony. You know you shouldn’t but you feel a familiar guilt for the disapproval clouding his face. You don’t have the foresight to see that you were right for making them.

“You wanna call me a liar? What exactly have I been dishonest about, huh?” The question is clearly extremely rhetorical. 

“If you were just some ‘ plaything ’  to me,” he mocks, the hands on the side of your face tightening, electrifying your skin—not enough to hurt, just enough to keep your eyes on him.  “We wouldn’t be here, you should know that.”

“Then why keep it from me?” 

You don’t even know how to ask what Steve meant by ‘merchant of death’, and honestly, you don’t think it’s worth making things worse.  You hate that it’s this easy for him, hate the conflicting feelings—his touch melting your anger. It’s no help that you didn’t want any of it to be true anyway. 

“If I decide you don’t need to know something, you don’t. Simple as that.” 

In Tony’s mind, this was for your benefit in the long run, and he doesn’t see a need to explain that. You should just trust him, or atleast you did before Rogers’ opened his big fucking mouth. His anger is mostly placed with the blonde man, but he still expects better from you. He couldn’t have you believing others over him. You’d already expressed doubts about his loyalty before, and he spent a lot of time repairing that. 

Leave it to Blondie to ruin it all. 

To his dismay, you remain silent. He pictures the inner-workings of your mind, doubting everything he’s done to win your trust. The hand against your throat and arm keeping you in place might not be helping his case, but still they remain. He can’t fathom letting go, not if there’s even a slightest chance you’ll leave. 

“That’s applied to almost everything in your life so far.” There’s fear in poking the proverbial bear, yet you do it anyway. There’s too many thoughts battling in your mind, causing the words to nearly catch in your throat. 

“What is it you need to believe me—to know that you’re mine?” His voice shifts, remaining stern but turning heavier. He releases your arm, moving to grasp the green fabric at your side. 

There was obvious disdain between Tony and the man at the bar, giving you deniability to add to his claims. You started to think it was more likely he knew which buttons to push, to put you at odds with each other. Maybe you were getting entangled in corporate politics you didn’t understand without Tony. This was your mistake, just like before.

The words overheat in your mind, warming your skin and wreaking havoc on your thoughts.  Some tell you nothing would change it, that you wanted to give up on this. Others, louder, tell you anything would win you over, that you were looking for any reason not to. The mental gymnastics start anew, but end with the same conclusion. 

You want to chastise yourself for how willfully you fell back into his eyes, angry and want-ridden. The confidence you had earlier about leaving becomes a difficult feat to manage, overtaken by every screaming aspect of you that urges you to stay. Tony didn’t know it then, but he got what he wanted regardless of the wrench thrown by Steve— you, right in the palm of his hand. 

He expects a genuine answer, one you don’t have. So, in typical fashion, he decides for you. 

Tony considers it your fault for what he’s about to do, staring back at him with doe-eyes and flushed skin. Plans are built to be changed anyways—and he clearly needed to send a stronger message.

Without warning, you’re pulled by shoulder the short distance from the wall to the nearby chaise, resting in front of a high mirror.  You question Tony, to no reprieve, pushed forward onto your knees. In the reflection, you watch his arm snake around your body, returning a rough hand to your throat, bringing your back flush with his chest- his other hand tight on your hip.

“ Relax ,” he whispers against your ear, and chills run up your spine. 

“Tony-” you start, trying to twist in your position to look back at him. It’s a useless effort, large arms easily keeping you place.

“Eyes up,” he instructs, and your attention is directed forwards, meeting his eyes in the reflection. 

The olive dress is bunched to your waist, witnessing his hand teasingly graze along your thigh before disappearing under the cascading fabric. It stops there a moment, fingers dancing at the hem of your panties. Desire stirs in you with little prompting, Tony’s lips trailing down your neck nipping gently. 

“Don’t you see what I see—how pretty you look, doll?” he stays locked onto you, holding you steady when you jerk against his hand folding behind your underwear. Soft fingers draw slow circles on your clit, pulling a gasp from your mouth. “—why would I need anyone else.”

It’s pure filth, watching your own body react to every movement in the shadowy room, every bite against your heated neck. Tony’s quiet declarations only dampen your mind.

“You’re perfect, ” His voice drops lower, increasing his pace as the hand on your neck grows firm. “—just for me.” 

There’s static in the air, surrounding your limbs. The obscene picture in front of him sets every nerve on fire, watching your hands reach for his arm, watching you try so hard to not fall into the obscenity in your ear. 

Gravity is indiscriminate, so you fall nonetheless. The heavy fingers tease your wet entrance, only to retract and circle your clit before returning for more. It’s all soft and light, barely as much as you need. You turn desperate before you know it, focused on the flex of his bicep in the mirror with every stroke.

Unfortunately for you, this wasn’t really about pleasure. This was about trust. He needed that, for you to know how consumed he was by you. He’s certain you can feel his hard member pressing into the back of your thighs, a heated, heavy reminder that you were all he wanted. You must know— based on the wetness pooling in his hand and your eyes centered on him. 

“All mine .”

You cry out when a finger surpasses your entrance. You watch it be cut off by the hand at your throat, gripping harder to keep your noises at a minimum. There’s no resistance, wet and desperate enough to suck him in completely. The hand bruising your hip rocks you back onto his fingers. 

All those questions you had, about Pepper, his work, Steve—they’re gone. Disintegrated in the same heat that coils your stomach. Moving away from Tony’s sickeningly slow ministrations isn’t an option, trapped between his body and his tight hold. 

“I should put that rude little mouth to better use.” Tony whispers, free of any reason to hold himself back. You felt undervalued, fine. He’d see to it that’d never happen again. He’d let you hear just how badly he wanted you. He needed that same look in your eye from last night. The one that shined for him and only him.

He doesn’t take the stutter of your frame as a reason to slow down, only a reason to push you over the edge. The finger inside you is joined by a second, curving into you. The lace of panties is soaked through, a dark patch spreading to your thighs. You can’t focus on the mirror any longer, shutting your eyes tightly as you reach your peak—softly rushing through you as Tony’s praises flood into your ear. 

He doesn’t let go—large arms wrapping around you until your breath returns to normal. You open your eyes to meet Tony’s lustful eyes reflected back to you.

“Still having doubts?”

Tony’s patience was completely run through, the short fuse sparked to unrepairable levels. Again, he thinks it’s mostly your fault. He had no issue treating you like gold, but he only thought it right that you at least trusted him. 

You give a quick shake of the head, panting and watching the hands around you leave. You turn and sit in the chaise facing him, his jaw still clenched.

“Good.” he responds slowly. Eyes rake over you beneath him, with Tony imagining a hundred more ways to have you moaning his name. He finds the willpower not to act on them, instead turning for the door.

“You should rest.” He says before you can find the right words to say, door shutting behind him. 

Sleeping proves difficult—thoughts overwhelmed with Tony being a room away. There’s also Pepper and Steve floating around your mind, though never for long. Before you can give way to thinking about it, you inevitably end up catching a glimpse of the mirror in the corner—and everything Tony said plays in vivid sound. Then, an unbearable warmth pools in between your thighs, causing your thoughts to be consumed by him again. 

The frustrating cycle repeats for hours.

Finally, you decide you’ve had enough, leaving your suite and winding up in front of Tony’s door. He answers on the third tap of your fingers, clad in tight black briefs. You have enough clarity to keep your eyes from focusing on that, or the exposed sculpted chest. 

“Can I come in?” You feel pathetic for the way you ask, but it’s worth it, because he steps aside for you to enter.

You walk across the large room, sitting on the end of the unmade bed. Tony stays in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of his body, waiting.

“You said I don’t need to know everything but,” you start, only growing more anxious when Tony raises an impatient eyebrow. “Pepper, what happened there? Why have I never heard of her before? At least tell me that.”

Tony sighs, contemplating if the distrust in your eye is worth possibly pushing you away for good. You’d see through any bullshit he tried to sell, not that he would make something up anyway. But, it’s for that reason that he knows he won’t get away with telling a half truth. He decides to take it as a sign that you’re still here, in his room, and that you still didn’t leave. 

“We were married, she cheated.” He decides to omit his own revenge cheating. He considered their relationship done at that point anyway, just took him too long to realize. 

“So, you’re divorced?”

“Not exactly, it’s complicated.” He sighs again. “But we are not together—in any capacity.”

You want to ask what exactly is complicated about signing a piece of paper, but you leave well enough alone. 

“Then why not tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d stay if you knew. Couldn’t risk it.” It’s mostly true.

It comes out soft and heartfelt enough for you to believe it. Besides, so many parts of you didn’t want to be upset with him, for any reason. You didn’t have the will to end things, and you didn’t want to find it either. You stare at the floor, trying to process this new aspect of him. His shadow moves across the floor, coming before you to caress your face.

“You don’t need to worry, doll. “ Tony murmurs, trying to get that last little drop of doubt out of your mind. “You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always take care of you.”

part three