#second time posting this lets hope it works this time

[vettelsvee]

THE MOMENT I KNEW | Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: After a few races where he didn't get the results he expected, Max decides to go out with some friends to disconnect from everything. Unluckily, one of those days when he arrives home after having some drinks, he finds out that he missed his girlfriend's birthday as soon as he sees the cake she ordered on the trash ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe something angsty?? Like maybe bro goes out with his friends and forgets readers bday until he sees the cake in the trash can and realizes bro screwed up

WORD COUNT: 2007

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of being drunk, angst

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: I've absolutely loved this one my God. With this fic, we mark a total of 6196 words written this week (not counting my uni essays and other several projects), so I'm quite proud about that! Also, thank you so much for the support all this week, hope you liked all the fics! I'll be uploading this upcoming week's posts tomorrow. Let me know in the comments or on the anon inbox your thoughts on this one! See you next week :) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Max stumbled into your apartment, fumbling with the keys and opening the door with trembling hands, his pounding headache reminding him that it wouldn’t be this bad if he’d listened to the bartender’s advice to stop after the last gin tonic.

As soon as he stepped inside, he froze in the doorway, scanning everything as if it were his first time entering the place, even though he had been living there for nearly five years, the last two with you. He took a few unsteady steps toward the small entryway counter, where he dropped his keys and realized the silence was far heavier than he had anticipated.

His laughter, faint and fueled by the false sense of security that alcohol had provided, quickly dissipated. Taking a cautious step further into the living room, he noticed there were no lights on, no plates or leftover food on the small coffee table in front of the TV, and most strikingly, you were neither sprawled out on the couch watching one of the romantic movies you adored nor curled up asleep with one of your cats.

Despite the glaring signs, Max didn’t panic, at least not as much as he should have, even though something inside him whispered that the situation didn’t sit right.

It wasn’t until he wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water and rounded the island that his foot stumbled slightly, nearly sending him sprawling to the floor. Puzzled, he looked down to see what had caused him to trip. His heart sank when his eyes landed on a discarded box, its lid broken as if it had been thrown to the floor, angrily, on purpose.

That’s when reality hit him like a freight train.

He turned his gaze to the left, where the trash can stood partially open. Inside, he saw an untouched cake, decorated with intricate floral designs and a message that read, “Happy Birthday, Y/N!” The sight struck him like a blow to the chest, the pressure so intense it made him want to vomit.

“No… No, it wasn’t today…” 

Desperately, and trying to figure out what to do, Max ran his hands through his hair, as if that might somehow help him calm down. His breathing grew more erratic with each passing second, his eyes glued to the cake. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how he had managed to forget such an important date… you, his girlfriend’s, birthday. Something so obvious had suddenly spiraled into a waking nightmare.

He noticed his phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Grabbing it quickly, he checked for any missed calls or messages from you, only to realize after several failed attempts to turn it on that it was dead. He blamed his drunkenness not only for not noticing he didn’t have his phone with him or that it was out of battery, but for forgetting such a meaningful day and breaking every promise he had made to you.

Deep down, though, he knew all the excuses were hollow. Any justification he tried to offer would be nothing but foolishness.

Setting the phone back on the counter, he decided not to waste any more time. He headed toward your bedroom. The door was ajar, and though the lights were off, he could make out your silhouette lying on the bed, your back turned to him. You gave no sign that you had noticed his arrival. The only sound in the room was your muffled, quiet sobs. As Max stepped closer, he saw you were clutching a pillow tightly, as if it were your only source of comfort.

That was the moment Max realized he couldn’t avoid facing the situation, no matter how impossible it felt to fix things right away.

“Y/N...” he said softly.

You didn’t answer, and your silence hurt more than a thousand words could have. Max knelt beside the bed, close enough to reach out, and gently began stroking your face. You didn’t resist his touch, but your indifference pierced him deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he fought to hold himself together. “I swear this wasn’t my intention… I wanted to come home earlier, but Lando insisted we stay a bit longer, and then I didn’t have my phone…”

“You forgot, Max,” you interrupted, your tone sharp but laced with pain, anger, and sadness. You still wouldn’t look at him. “Goddammit, Max, you forgot my fucking birthday ever since the moment the clock struck midnight.”

Max fell silent. Once again, reality hit him square in the face, forcing him to acknowledge that anything he said would likely be inadequate. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to find the words to explain himself calmly, to admit his mistakes while grappling with the weight of his guilt.  

“You know it wasn’t my intention,” he began, his voice low. “It’s just… with the shitty season I’ve been having and everything that comes with it, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just needed to step out of my comfort zone for a bit, to clear my head…”  

“And you thought doing that on my birthday, after promising me a dream day, was the most appropriate choice?” you cut him off, finally raising your head. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying. “I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I also know that until now, every promise you’ve made to me, you’ve kept. You didn’t just forget about me, Max. You left me here, alone, all day, like I didn’t matter at all.”  

Max searched desperately for a way to salvage the situation, to apologize, to do something, anything, to prove how deeply sorry he was. But when you turned on the light and sat up to face him, he realized he was out of options. He didn’t know how to continue without disappointing you further.  

“You know this has been really hard for me…”  

“Hard for you? Seriously?” you interrupted, leaning closer and pointing your finger at him. “And you think this has been easy for me? Watching you shut me out, never telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Not to mention your fans… They’re fully convinced that your shitty season is all my fault, that our relationship is ruining your career.”  

“Y/N, I know…”  

That was a lie. He didn’t know. Max had ignored the comments and criticism because, deep down, he believed you weren't to blame for his performance, especially when you rarely even went with him to the races anymore.  

“There’s nothing I can say to argue with you,” Max admitted. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I’m truly sorry. I love you, Y/N, more than you know…”  

“Are you sure you love me?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you love me, or your damn career? Because lately, it feels like your whole world revolves even more around cars, races, speed, adrenaline, and your constant need to be the best at everything.”  

“Hey…” Max tried, his voice faltering.  

“Every day, you show me more and more that we’re no longer a team… that I’m no longer a part of you. And I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”  

Your words hit him like a dagger, but he knew he deserved them.  

“It’s not just about you forgetting my birthday today, Max. It’s everything. You don’t listen to me… you don’t give me anything, not even a minute of your day, let alone affection or support. Why should I stay in a relationship that, instead of giving me life, is killing me inside?”  

Your words struck him like a bucket of ice water.  

“You don’t get it, do you?” you asked, frustration and sadness mingling in your tone as he stayed silent. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be afraid to show me who you are, flaws and all. But you’ve always done this, Max, keeping me at arm’s length, never letting me into your life.”  

“I don’t do that, Y/N, it’s just that…” he began, summoning his courage to explain, but you cut him off once again.  

“Damn it, Max, yes, of course you do!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you realize that even though I’ve been with you, I’ve been completely alone? Alone, Max, utterly alone! I’ve tried so many times to talk to you, to make you see that a few bad races aren’t the end of the world for someone like you, but…”  

You stopped yourself abruptly, your throat aching and your head pounding. You felt no remorse for the way you were speaking to him since he deserved every word, but you couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness. Sadness for the Max Verstappen you had once known. A man who had been so proud of himself and his achievements after years of hard work, now emotionally shattered and, worse, so determined to hide it from everyone, including you.  

“I can’t keep giving you everything I have while you keep taking and taking, without giving anything back.”  

“I’m sorry…” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow.  

“A simple ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Max,” you replied, your voice quieter now but no less wounded. “I wish it were just about today, but like I said, I feel like you’re pushing me further out of your life with every passing day. You’re becoming a stranger to me, Max,” you admitted, trying not to let your voice waver. “You’ve been like this for months, and I don’t know what else to do to stop us from falling apart… though it feels like that’s exactly what you want.”  

“That’s not true,” he answered immediately, desperation in his voice. “Y/N, seriously, I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, tears welling up again. “Because I feel like you’re showing me the exact opposite.” Your voice trembled with the weight of her words. “Sometimes it feels like you love your career, the success you’ve achieved and the crowds chanting your name more than you love me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “You know I want to, but… I don’t know how to fix this anymore…”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some silent promise that would make you believe things between you could change. But Max’s words only made you realize that you had to stop thinking fantasies and start facing reality.

“Maybe you can’t fix it,” you confessed, the words breaking you from the inside. “I can’t keep going like this, Max… I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough… like I’m not good enough for you.”

“Seriously, there has to be a solution…” he pleaded, his voice full of regret. “I’ll do better from now on, I promise…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You turned to look at him, the pain evident in your expression. “Things won’t magically get better if you take me to dinner or buy me a million-dollar necklace to make up for today. That won’t fix anything, Max…”

“Y/N… Y/N, please… I need you…”

No matter how many times Max said those words, he knew that any promise he made now would be meaningless, especially considering how much he had already failed you.

Feeling that there were no more words left to say between them, you slowly got out of bed. You gathered the few belongings you had on the nightstand and, with a sense of finality, began to pack a bag, all the while feeling Max’s powerless gaze on you.

“I can’t keep waiting, Max,” you said, her voice steady despite the anguish inside. “Today, no matter how much I tried to turn a blind eye, let it go, and even put myself in your shoes… This… everything… after many tries… God, Max, all of this… That was the moment I knew.”

[bonus-links]

Ahem, if I may impose.... Directors commentary?? 😁😁

YEAHHH lots to say abt this one

i know rule number one is don't point out the flaws in ur own work but i have to confess. i forgot to add hair highlights to this entire update. i didn't realize until i had already queued up the posts and i could not bear re-exporting and color correcting every page again. so i just let it be. it only kills me a little bit. they rlly add something y'know

i haven't seen a whole lot of comments about this to the point i worry i didn't do a good job of conveying it so: Loft's dream at the beginning is about ganondorf.

Loft has, in fact, chewed his nails to bits.

i'm gonna be so real, part of the delay for this update was bc my brain got so stuck on the logistics of where that damn bookshelf would go

korok bookends :D

i like to think the story of the hero of time is actually mostly an oral tradition on Outset, or at least that's how Gran Gran first told Link and Aryll the stories when they were children.

i worry a little bit about these 'lore recap" updates, bc like. I'm assuming you've played the games, or at least know the gist. but I feel like there's a few stories it's important for us to see Loft's direct reactions to, and the conclusions he draws from them, because it'll be important to his actions later. I try to make up for it by at least making these sections visually interesting HAHA i think this is the last major one though

on that note: I hope this comes across on its own, but Loft finishes Gran Gran's story himself because he's just realized the flood was sent by the gods, and not some external force of evil. he's also realizing that this is not the first time the gods have been willing to wipe the slate clean in the absence of a hero, and that it's actually something of a pattern. it runs up against his idea of how Demise's curse is meant to work. this is one such mystery mouseketool we'll use later.

also on that note: regardless of ganondorf's actions, i find it significant that the gods chose to destroy a man whose people suffered in a droughted desert with,,,,a flood. that thought was the conceit for this update

Loft has seen this play out in his dreams, but obviously doesn't fully know the context. also I'm gonna refer to this version of zelda as Sheik. he uses he/him pronouns thank you :-)

just wanted to show some closeups of the stained glass bc. i worked hard on them HAHA + the grayscale wip

i was really hoping this chapter would be done. last year. it was meant to be a chance to slow down for a second before the plot speeds up 😅 but we're nearing the last few updates!! thank you all for bearing with me <3 life has been kind of insane and extremely discouraging irl, so getting to post these updates and seeing you all enjoy them has been a real bright spot <333 special thank you to my patreon supporters bc. seriously it has helped more than you know.

i think that's all ive got for now! see you next time, hopefully sooner than 4-5 business months

[buttercandy16]

Shadows from the Past

Sequel to "The Bully"

PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Your past will never let you go.

WARNING(s): Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Torture, and many more Dark Themes.

Years had passed, but the ghost of Agatha Harkness lingered in your life, her shadow creeping into every corner of your mind. No matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and her—geographically, mentally, emotionally—she always found a way to slip back in.

High school was behind you, yet the horrors endured in those dimly lit hallways clung to you like old scars that refused to fade. She had turned your formative years into an unrelenting nightmare. Your only solace had been leaving town the day after what happened in the cafeteria, promising yourself you’d rebuild from the rubble she’d left behind.

But escaping Agatha wasn’t as easy as leaving.

Life hadn’t been kind since your departure. You’d scraped by working dead-end jobs: waitressing, retail, data entry. Nothing lasted. Over time, you began to feel cursed. Managers would praise you one moment and fire you the next. Coworkers would smile at you but whisper behind your back. Each dismissal came with the same dismissive refrain: “It’s not a good fit.”

Each time, you wondered what you’d done wrong, what flaw they saw in you that made them push you out. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a feeling that settled deep in your gut: a cruel hand was behind all of this.

You stared at the eviction notice pinned to the cracked wall of your studio apartment. It mocked you, its red letters glaring against the yellowed wallpaper like a physical manifestation of failure.

Thirty days to vacate. Thirty days to figure out where you were going to sleep next. You couldn’t borrow money—you’d already alienated the few friends you had left by constantly asking for help. No family wanted to step in either; they’d given up hope long ago.

Slumping down onto the edge of your creaky bed, you stared at your phone screen, scrolling through endless job postings with no responses. You’d applied to over thirty positions in the past month. Nothing.

It felt personal. Too personal.

That’s when the email arrived.

The notification flashed across the screen, an unexpected break in the monotony. There was no subject line, and the sender’s name was unfamiliar. Normally, you would have deleted it without a second thought. But desperation pushed your fingers to open it.

The message was brief but chilling:

*Dearest [Your Name],

I’ve been watching. It seems life hasn’t been kind to you since our time together. But I can make all of your problems disappear. I can offer you comfort, stability, even a home. All you have to do is come back to me.

Meet me at 845 Blackthorne Drive tomorrow, 8 PM. Refuse, and… well, you know how persistent I can be.*

The blood drained from your face. You didn’t need to guess who had sent it. You knew. Of course, it was her. Agatha.

You closed the email immediately, your hands trembling, bile rising in your throat. You hadn’t heard her name—or dared speak it—in years. You had forced yourself to believe she was a distant nightmare.

But now, the past was staring you in the face, with claws sharpened and fangs bared.

The mansion loomed at the end of a long, winding road, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached toward the sky like skeletal hands. Blackthorne Drive was far enough from the rest of town that it felt completely cut off from reality. The house itself was imposing, its gothic architecture exuding an eerie dominance. The massive iron gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to let you pass.

Your car crawled up the driveway. The building grew larger and more menacing with each inch closer. Stone gargoyles leered down from the rooftop, their grotesque forms barely discernible against the stormy evening sky. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.

Agatha.

She looked exactly as you remembered, though years had polished her beauty into something sharper and more refined. The same piercing blue eyes, the same cruel smirk that had haunted you for so long. Her tailored suit clung to her form, exuding authority and control.

“Right on time,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy rain like a blade.

You clutched the strap of your bag tightly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

A smile curved her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ve always had a choice, sweetheart. You just never make the right one.”

Her words stirred old memories—memories you had fought to suppress. The cafeteria, the locker defacements, her voice whispering cruel truths in your ear. You had spent years trying to build a wall between you and those memories, and now it felt as if she was tearing it down with every step she took closer to you.

“Come inside. Let’s discuss the terms of your employment,” she purred.

The interior of the mansion was no less intimidating. It was darkly elegant, with rich mahogany floors, towering bookshelves, and ornate chandeliers. Yet there was a suffocating energy that weighed down the air, making it hard to breathe.

“Your duties will be simple,” Agatha said, circling you like a lion stalking its prey. “Clean. Serve. Obey.”

Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of menace in her words. She wanted you to remember who held the power now—if you’d ever had any to begin with.

You tried to protest. “Agatha, this isn’t—”

“Ms. Harkness,” she corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore, darling.”

Her smirk deepened as you faltered, biting back your words. She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You’ll find,” she said softly, “that resisting me has consequences.”

The first month in Agatha's mansion blurred into an endless cycle of humiliation and despair. Each morning, you woke to a rigid schedule outlined in excruciating detail. Agatha handed you the list herself, her fingers grazing yours as she delivered it with a sly smirk. It wasn’t just work—it was a gauntlet designed to test your limits.

The tasks were mundane in concept but laced with subtle malice. Polishing the marble floors until they reflected like glass was a daily occurrence, though she ensured new scuffs appeared overnight. Preparing her meals required precision to an absurd degree: the perfect temperature, perfect presentation, and even the placement of silverware had to match her exacting standards.

She monitored your every move, ensuring you were always within her grasp. Every task she gave you became a test of your endurance, every failure an opportunity for her to assert dominance.

One day, she ordered you to scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees. The task was grueling, the heat from the stove making the air heavy as you worked. Agatha leaned casually against the counter, sipping wine as she watched you struggle.

“You missed a spot,” she said idly, pointing to an invisible imperfection.

Your hands trembled as you scrubbed harder, the muscles in your arms burning with the effort.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, her voice low and mocking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You paused, your breath hitching as her words dug into your skin like needles.

“I see someone who was nothing before I came into her life,” she continued, her voice sharp. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is.”

Her words lit a spark of defiance in you, even as tears stung your eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. “What do you want from me?”

Agatha crouched beside you, her cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

“I want you to realize that you belong to me,” she said softly, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You always have. And you always will.”

Agatha began finding excuses to pull you away from your duties, insisting on long, tense dinners where she dissected every aspect of your life. She pried into your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, twisting them into weapons to control you.

“You’ve always been so weak,” she remarked one evening, her tone almost pitying. “Even back in high school, you needed someone to guide you. You’d have been eaten alive without me.”

Her words reopened old wounds, the memories of her torment flooding back with brutal clarity.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant. “I was fine until you came into my life.”

Agatha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her expression hardening.

“Fine?” she echoed, her voice icy. “Do you call this fine?” She gestured to the house, to the life she had engineered around you. “I gave you everything. Without me, you’d have nothing.”

Her words struck a painful chord, but you refused to let her see the effect they had.

“I’d rather have nothing than live like this,” you said, the defiance in your voice wavering but unbroken.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her control slipped for the briefest of moments.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Her cruelty wasn’t just about control—it was about possession. She wanted you to feel her presence in every corner of your mind, to know that no matter how far you ran, you would always belong to her.

Her games became more psychological. She’d arrange personal items in your room—things you’d never brought with you, things you’d left behind in high school. A worn notebook you’d written in during freshman year. A bracelet you hadn’t seen in years. Each item was a reminder that she had always been watching, always waiting.

One evening, she cornered you in the kitchen, her hands bracketing your body against the counter. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the oppressive tension.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are you unhappy here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Do you know why no one wants you? Why every door you’ve tried to open has been slammed in your face?”

Her smirk deepened as your silence stretched. “Because I made it so.”

Your heart sank, the weight of her confession crushing you. Of course, it had been her. Every rejection, every failure, every lost opportunity—it had all been orchestrated by her.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

She leaned in, her breath ghosting over your ear. “Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The second month in the mansion was worse. Agatha’s punishments became more invasive, more intimate. She began to invade your space with increasing frequency, her touch lingering longer than necessary—a hand brushing against your arm as she passed, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re mine,” she reminded you constantly, her voice a low purr that sent chills down your spine. “I’ve always loved you, you know. Even back then.”

Her twisted idea of love suffocated you. She wanted you to break, to surrender, to accept her as the center of your world.

And yet, there were moments of terrifying vulnerability in her eyes. Moments when she looked at you not with malice, but with a desperate longing that bordered on obsession.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered one night, her hand resting on your cheek. “I did all of this for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke, given the hell she had put you through.

What little humanity she offered was just as terrifying as her cruelty. Late one evening, you collapsed against the counter, your muscles aching from scrubbing floors for hours. Agatha appeared behind you, her presence announced by the familiar scent of lavender and something darker—whiskey, maybe.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it just enough to make you stiffen. “I can ease this for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft yet sharp as a knife. “All you have to do is surrender.”

You didn’t dare ask what she meant, but you could see it in her eyes. Agatha didn’t just want your service. She wanted every part of you: body, mind, and soul.

When you flinched away, she sighed in mock pity. “You’ll see eventually,” she murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re mine entirely.”

It was a game to her, an amusement at your expense. She thrived on your frustration, your exhaustion, the trembling in your hands as you tried—and inevitably failed—to meet her impossible demands.

Agatha ensured you were utterly dependent on her. The mansion was isolated, far from town, and the cell service was mysteriously spotty at best. Every attempt to reach out for help was met with failure—calls that wouldn’t connect, emails that bounced back.

One night, after weeks of relentless torment, Agatha pushed you too far. She had caught you crying in your room, curled up on the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. Instead of offering comfort, she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Look at you,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “So fragile. So weak. You need me, don’t you?”

When you didn’t respond, she stepped closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand reached out, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at her.

“You’ll see it one day,” she murmured. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”

Something inside you snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of suffering boiled over in a wave of anger and defiance.

“Love?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

For a moment, Agatha’s mask slipped. Her eyes darkened, her expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed, her grip bruising. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

Her voice cracked with something raw, something vulnerable, but it only fueled your defiance.

“You don’t own me,” you said, the words trembling but firm.

Agatha’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing. “I already do.”

You should’ve left. Walked out the front door that very first day and refused to let Agatha Harkness tighten her grip on your life. But desperation binds people, ties them to their torment in cruel, unyielding knots. You were broke, friendless, and hopeless. Agatha knew this. She had engineered this.

One day, driven by an overwhelming need for freedom, you slipped out of the mansion while Agatha was occupied in her study. You didn’t have a destination, only an overwhelming desire to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by her presence.

But you didn’t get far.

A black car pulled up beside you within minutes. The windows rolled down, revealing Agatha’s ice-cold gaze.

“Tsk, tsk, darling,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. “Running away without saying goodbye?”

Her driver opened the back door, and Agatha stepped out, stalking toward you with the predatory elegance you had come to fear.

“I warned you,” she whispered, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. “There’s no escaping me.”

The ride back to the mansion was silent. Her grip never left your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. When you arrived, she led you inside with a calm, almost detached demeanor.

“I thought I was being kind,” she said once you were inside, closing the door with a resounding click. “Letting you work for me instead of keeping you locked away. But it seems you need to learn your place.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened as she pulled you closer, the dangerous gleam in her eyes making your heart race with equal parts fear and anger. She exuded control, towering over you not just physically but emotionally, the years of torment heavy between you like an anchor.

“You say I don’t own you, but here you are.” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words dripped with venom. “You came to me, desperate, broken… and I welcomed you. I gave you purpose. Don’t you see?” She leaned in, her lips just brushing your ear. “You were always meant to be mine.”

The suffocating weight of her words threatened to overwhelm you. Agatha had taken everything from you—your independence, your sense of self, and now, even your will to fight. You stood there, frozen, as her fingers brushed along your jawline, a twisted facsimile of tenderness.

But there was no love in her touch. Only possession.

“You owe me,” she whispered, her face inches from yours. “You owe me everything. And you’re not going anywhere.”

That night, Agatha removed every shred of freedom you had left. No phone. No access to the outside world. You weren’t her maid anymore. You were her prisoner.

The days that followed were a blur of torment and submission. Agatha’s control tightened around you like a noose, her presence suffocating every moment of your existence.

One evening, as you lay in the cold, sterile confines of your room, a realization washed over you: there was no escape. Agatha had trapped you in her web, her obsession consuming you completely.

And in the depths of your despair, a horrifying truth began to take root.

You had fought so hard to resist her, to maintain your independence, but the constant push and pull of her control had worn you down. You were no longer the person you had been, no longer the girl who had dreamed of freedom and a fresh start.

You were hers.

And she knew it.

Agatha stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

“You’re finally starting to understand,” she said, her voice soft but triumphant.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at her, your defiance crumbling under the weight of her control.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha stepped into the room, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Because,” she said, her voice tender and possessive, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And now, you’re mine.”

The moment your defiance crumbled, it felt like death. The person you had fought to hold onto, the fragments of your former self that Agatha hadn’t destroyed, slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. What replaced them was something darker—a hollow version of you, shaped by her control and your desperation to survive.

Agatha stood over you, a predator basking in her triumph, her blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the tears streak your face. Her hand cupped your cheek, the possessiveness in her touch both suffocating and strangely comforting.

"That's it," she whispered, her voice soft as velvet. "No more fighting. No more pretending you're anything other than mine."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your body sink into the bed, limp and resigned, as she leaned in, brushing her lips against your temple. The gesture was almost gentle, but it only served as a reminder of the power she held over you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken truths, with the undeniable reality of what you had become. You hated yourself for it—for the small, treacherous part of you that found solace in her touch, that craved the twisted sense of stability she provided. Agatha had broken you down to the point where even her cruelty felt like love.

And that was what terrified you the most.

Agatha’s dominance over your life grew even stronger after that night. She no longer needed to coerce or threaten you—your surrender had made that unnecessary. Instead, she began to blur the lines between control and affection, lacing her cruelty with moments of twisted kindness that left you reeling.

She bought you expensive clothes, dressing you in fabrics that felt like cages. “You look stunning,” she would say, her tone dripping with approval. “Perfect for me.”

She demanded your presence during her late-night dinners, insisting that you sit beside her as she drank her wine and recounted the day’s events. Sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, her grip firm but not painful, a constant reminder of her claim over you.

Other times, she would pull you into her lap, her arms wrapped around you like steel bands. “Tell me you belong to me,” she would whisper, her breath hot against your ear. And every time, you would nod, your voice trembling as you gave her the answer she wanted.

“I belong to you.”

Over time, the resentment that had once burned brightly within you began to dim, replaced by a numb acceptance of your new reality. Agatha’s world became your world, her needs and desires shaping every aspect of your existence.

She began to soften in subtle ways, her sharp edges smoothing out as she reveled in her victory. She would brush your hair before bed, her fingers gentle as they combed through the strands. She would trace the scars on your wrists from past despair, her lips pressing against them as she murmured, “You’re safe with me now.”

It was a cruel irony, the way she twisted the concept of safety to mean submission. But in your fractured mind, her words began to hold a strange kind of truth. Agatha had stripped you of everything—your independence, your identity, your dreams—but she had also filled the void she had created. Her presence, as suffocating as it was, had become the only constant in your life.

One night, as you lay beside her in bed, her arms wrapped around you like a cage, you found yourself leaning into her touch. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest—you no longer hated her as fiercely as you once had.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. But the tears that slid down your cheeks betrayed the lie in your words.

Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she tightened her hold on you. “No, you don’t,” she murmured, her voice filled with twisted affection. “You just hate how much you need me.”

And in that moment, you knew she was right.

Your days bled into weeks, then months, until time became meaningless. The life you had once imagined for yourself—a life of freedom, of love untainted by pain—faded into the background, a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of your existence with Agatha.

She had transformed you into exactly what she wanted: a creature entirely dependent on her, bound to her by a dark and unshakable connection. And as much as you despised what you had become, a part of you—small and desperate—began to find comfort in the life she had built for you.

Agatha, for her part, seemed utterly satisfied. She no longer needed to assert her dominance with cruelty; your surrender had solidified her victory. Instead, she began to lavish you with affection, her gestures laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl and your heart ache.

“You’re mine forever,” she would say, her lips brushing against your temple as she held you close. And every time, you would nod, the words leaving your lips like a prayer.

“I’m yours.”

But deep down, a tiny spark of defiance still flickered within you, buried beneath the layers of submission and survival. It was a fragile thing, easily snuffed out by Agatha’s overwhelming presence, but it remained—a reminder that, no matter how deeply she had claimed you, a part of you still longed for freedom.

And as you lay in her arms, her breath warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder: would that spark ever be enough to set you free? Or were you destined to remain trapped in her web, a willing prisoner of her dark and twisted love?

Agatha’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but commanding. “Say it,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitated, the weight of her command pressing down on you like a vice. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you gave her what she wanted.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tasting like ashes on your tongue.

Agatha’s smile was triumphant as she pulled you closer, her arms tightening around you in a suffocating embrace. “Good girl,” she purred. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

And in that moment, you realized the horrifying truth: you didn’t want her to.

[captainkirkk]

Thank you to everyone who responded to this!!! I promised I would reblog this post eventually with these recs so I'm here to deliver.

Please free to add on more fics if you know any that aren't on here

In Utter Hones-tea by agooseinhiding

The Jasmine Dragon has been formally invited to join the Earth King's retinue as he takes the monumental first step onto Fire Nation soil since the start of the Hundred-Year War! Truly, an honor.

Unfortunately, "The Jasmine Dragon" includes Li, the owner's grumpy nephew with an outrageously bad haircut and a wardrobe that's solely green, who knows way too much about the Avatar and his teachers, and who swears on his honor that he's totally, definitely not the Fire Lord.

Somehow, the other tea servers don't believe him. But they've never gotten a chance to prove it (or disprove it, in some cases) until now.

The Jasmine Dragon is going to the Fire Nation, and Hua Ming is going to show once and for all that shop-famous enigma Li is Lord Zuko himself, or she's going to die trying.

(She is going to die on this trip.)

Ft.: General Iroh playing the biggest prank in Fire Nation history, a five thousand yuan bet, and the Jasmine Dragon tea servers.

The Customer is King by Sabretoothgooselion

Two absolute monarchs meet accidentally in a tea shop, and end up coming to an understanding.

(Or: two perspectives on taking a break.)

Eye to Eye by ApoplecticAtPeace

When working in the Fire Lord's private garden, Chaishu is knocked over by someone who doesn't seem to understand the danger of loitering in such a place. The stranger, Lee, seems nice enough, if a little detached from reality, but after bumping into each other a few more times, Chaishu is surprised to find himself looking at a genuine friendship unfolding.

Well, perhaps not 'looking'. After all, Chaishu is blind.

Taking a Break (In) by Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R)

After a few agonizingly slow seconds of exhausted, confused pondering, Zuko decided there was only one logical conclusion. “You’re right," he told the assassins, "I’m here to help you kill the Fire Lord.” Like a genius.

Caldera City is holding a festival to celebrate finally having enough funds to hold a festival! Although Zuko originally deemed himself too busy to go, Sokka managed to cajol him into attending his own party, in a knock-off Blue Spirit disguise for security purposes. Zuko sneaks back into the palace right in time to catch a group of assassins sneaking out. They failed to find the Fire Lord and assume he's reinforcements.

Zuko needs to find who ordered a strike on him before they do something stupid, like order a second one. Obviously, the most reasonable thing to do is join the assassins and hope they don’t figure out who he actually is. Obviously. There’s literally no other option.

Feat. Zuko's only two coping mechanisms (mortal peril and improv theater), the world's most incompetent hit team, and another knock-off Blue Spirit who's determined to prove this "Li" isn't who he says he is.

Ready to throw Hands by shipping_ruined_my_life

Part 1 of The Fire Lord's Favourite Restaurant

Zuko dines in a restaurant and interferes with a difficult customer.

Love is in the Hair by Erisenyo

The Fire Lord needs a new hairdresser, a grueling process of vetting and testing and background checking. Sokka might know just the person, though--if only he can find her in the city. And if only he can figure out how to make sure Zuko likes her without revealing the whole, you know. Fire Lord thing.

Or: Sokka takes Zuko on a date in the city that does not go at all how Zuko expects it to. (At least not at first)

All I Need Is To Be Struck (By Your Electric Love) by Erisenyo

[“Vitok couldn’t think his way out of a circle in the snow,” Zuko says, tart, and Sokka lets out a surprised laugh at the unexpected, mostly correct saying. Zuko must be writing Bato again.

“Not like the head of the Southern delegation, of course,” Sokka says, grinning at the dry look that earns him. “Why, I’ve heard he’s so dashing and handsome and intelligent and—”

“Humble,” Zuko puts in, tugging lightly on the long fall of Sokka’s wolf tail. “So very, very humble.”

Sokka bats his eyelashes. “It’s his best feature, probably.”

Zuko hums, giving him a blatant, thorough once over. “Depends on who you ask.”]

--

Sokka doesn’t know how Zuko managed to swing an entire day off during a week of trade negotiations—he does, actually, it was yelling—but he isn’t going to waste the opportunity now that it’s in his lap.

Eating. Shopping. Relaxing. Exploring Gaoling. Testing the limits of trying on clothes as a form of foreplay.

With a whole day in front of them, there’s no need to rush. But with Zuko looking so good outside of the usual layers of his Fire Lord robes, there’s no reason for Sokka not to have some fun along the way.

Fire Lord Zuko Goes To School by BookLoverL

It's a few months after Zuko took the throne, and, now that things are settling down in the palace, and the retreat from the colonies is going well, Zuko decides it's time to take a look at the Fire Nation's education policy. The best way to do this? It's clearly to disguise himself as a normal student and enrol himself in a school for a few weeks.

What will he learn about the state of the Fire Nation? And will he get through the few weeks without blowing his cover?

I have a sudden urge for "undercover post-canon Zuko" fics (because the "hidden king" trope is one of my favourites). I'm going to go hunting on ao3, but please send me your recs for this trope if you have any 🙏🙏

[orelicia]

"You get periods?!" By MC <3

Xeijun's Letters: My first post, I guess? Anyways, thank you so much to @tsukii0002 for inspo for these scenarios. Hope you like them. I added a bit to them for my own personal headcanon.

Warnings: kidnapping, cannibalism, gouging out eye, petty, obnoxious, vanitious Lucifer, personal headcanons. Almost fem! coded reader? Because I'm fem...so. A bit OCC due to hormonal imbalance in our bois.

Lucifer

Walking around, you pulled out yet another feather from your hair..Searching for Lucifer on his periods was dire work, you could have become an investigator. EASILY! With him and his nest revolving around the hidden rooms which move around House of Lamentation, it's like 'Where's Waldo', but with Lucifer to comfort him.

Having almost beaten Beel in eating just a few days ago, with chewing something every few seconds; chips, cup ramen, dinner left-overs, five tiffins packed for RAD, demonus frozen into cubes for him to chew on, some demon who pissed him off?...And now, he's nowhere to be seen, not touched a single morsel of food..How great.

Huffing you pushed the brick in the hallway which was a doorway, hoping it'll lead to where you need to go and thankfully it did...except it looked like, well...a Rapunzel's tower, without the Rapunzel or the beauty of it and made from whatever, as you huffed,

"Lucifer! You here?!" you called, as Lucifer's head popped, upside down. On his periods, he definitely had more confidence, more vanity, cared less on what others thought and was so much more obnoxious..kind of disgusting if not for you almost finding it hot,

"Oh, missing me already?" he asked, smirking, "How darling of you to do that~" his wings ruffling, the barely light coming from this brick wall room putting light on his horns and wings, both of glowing softly iridescent a baby blue almost.

You sighed, as the moment he ruffled his wings a few more feathers got off, it's like having a cat, if you were honest. His wings spread over the width of the room, almost 10 feet, as he smiled and jumped down from his upside down position from the edge of his nest.

How lovely it was when his eyes fell on a strand of white which he plucked off, his nails decorated red with skulls from Asmo a few days ago when Lucifer had been admiring himself in a mirror, as he looked at it, his white scleras almost fading like ink in water to become black,

"Hanging out with Solomon, were you?" he asked, hissing as you sighed, groaning, of-course he figured it out. His senses were out of this world, everything was out of sight, but nothing out of eyes or mind, it seemed.

A guttural noise rumbled in his throat, which almost shook the ground, it felt like as he scoffed, like a petulant child and within a blink of an eye, had got over the edge of his nest, back into the depths of comfort. Mad at you for hanging out with that shady sorcerer.

As you sighed, "come on, peacock boy. Pull me into your nest, I went to him for help. I promise, he didn't do anything.." you said, looking for an opening, which ou did with Belphie's head stuck through and mouth taped, as you hitched back.

"Lucifer...What's Belphie doing here?" you asked, as his hand pushed out a large hoodie which you were sure belonged to Beel from the smell of curry on it, as his head poked out a bit, though his horns got stuck,

"He was sleeping in the hallway, I think he was cold. My little brother" he said, pouting almost..Oh how he changes during periods, gross.

As you sighed, pushing Belphie in as you poked in through the hole despite Lucifer's protest, as he placed Belphie through the opening again to block it up as you rolled your eyes.

You almost felt compelled to pull him into a hug like usual, but didn't because the last time you did...Let's just say, you ended up a scar across your face and an eye gouged out on accident, thought it was easily fixed by one of Solomon's potions and frankly, you didn't want a repeat of it as you shove some cotton into Belphie's ears and made place and sat down on the ground.

Lucifer's wings ruffled a bit, as one of his wings gently stroked you as you smiled, "I just went to Solomon to get my scar fixed" you assured him with a smile, as he grudgingly shifted from his sitting position to look back, his scleras black as he glared at you, though you could see them soften.

"Fine.." he scoffed, as he extended one hand and you crawled closer, shifting to snuggle again him as he huffed, pulling you to fall back against the pillows in his nest. Oh my Diavolo...Lucifer was burning and freezing, almost too high or too cold...You couldn't tell if you were to shiver or remove your shirt.

And he sat there, patiently as if waiting for something, his wings ruffling every few minutes as he waited intently, while you were busy coughing out feather plumes and feather strands blowing them away from your face.

As his face contorted into a frown when you were taking so long and didn't even look like it as he shifted his wings back, crossing his arms over the loose black shirt he had been wearing, feeling weird feeling of insecurity and sadness pool in his gut as he waited and waited and waited, as you seemingly didn't notice.

Lucifer ruffled his wings again, hoping you'll get the hint...you didn't.

His moments of no sleep, eating too much and hormones over the place led to anxiety and slight paranoia. As he almost feel bugs on his skin, before he adamantly spoke. How dare his favourite human not appreciate him? Almost the perfect being in all realms,

"What? Why are you not complimenting me?" he asked, words laced with venom as you looked up.

Oh...Poor Lucifer. You almost had to laugh as you snuggled against him more, removing your jacket,

"Your wings..They look nice Lucifer. So shiny and colourful!" you smiled, admiring your the way the baby blue shined different shades as he proudly smugly grinned, as he hugged you, almost purring softly, thankfully Belphie woke up somewhere and teleported out or something, cause there was an opening.

"You're not leaving. Ever" he whispered smugly, as if he read your thoughts about leaving, "we can buy cervical pillows then, hm?" you suggested as he nodded, purring just slightly louder.. As you smiled, leaning back against him as he wrapped his wings around your,

"So...Can I leave? I think I'm gonna pee my pants.."

"No."

Mammon

You sighed, groaning and putting aside your plate of some human world fruit Barbatos was so nice to bring to you, as you were stuck on the second floor of Mammon's room, above the car, but also in the high walled nest of his, for some reason.

He got too protective yesterday when you weren't there when he came home ince you were in the toilet and he went into a literal panic attack and the house had caught FIRE...somewhere, don't ask..

So you were stuck, cleaning the place up a bit, lights of his dimmed like Levi's usually was, but without the glowing tank..only soft golden fairy lights you'd convince him to put up for you to live in and not go insane.

The past few days Mammon had somehow put too much attention on everything and yet no attention at all, he got 6/100 in maths, which i weird cause he got the best marks in maths of-course with a test which said grimm everywhere.

And so, you thought you'd have time until you learnt the day his period came, so you were stuck in Mammon's room.

You had already stepped on a little snow glove, a shiny golden painted lego, screamed your lungs almost when stepping on a foil ball and even a necklace clasp which was a bit too shiny.

You sighed in relief, when Mammon did come home, his eyes glowing golden bright and pupils round and covering his irises as he lunged at you, jumping onto you and kissing your lips roughly.

"loveyouloveyouloveyou!—I got human a little shiny thing!" he said brightly, after pulling away and digging into his large pockets to pull out a tiny little D, possibly a low level one and an Envy one, so the poor thing was nervous and almost thee size of your palm

"Now ya won't be hu'gry" Mammon said proudly with a bright smile, showing off his fangs as you smiled awkwardly, taking the little D in your hands and setting him free when Mammon wasn't looking as he was ready to be showered in praise as you took a step back, stepping on a little jewel and wincing as you groaned

You seriously needed to clean this nest...

Until then, you held the jewel in your hand and decided to present it to Mammon, as you smiled to him, holding out your open palm with the jewel resting in it and you swear you saw angels singing for you in his eyes with his pupils becoming hearts and eyes almost tear up!

Mammon jumped onto you, his leathery wings fluttering behind him like little fly's wings in excitement as he peppered kisses, like all others. He got too open to show feelings during his period, as you gently pulled off a few wings you knew were itchy with the way they got stuck in the spikes on his wings and threw them off somewhere...

He let out a soft whistle, almost a squawk like noise from his throat. It was high pitched and yet gentle, like crows during a rainy night as he snuggled against you, looking at you as if asking "Did ya miss The Great Mammon while he away?" as his eyes looked at you expectantly as you smiled, gently tapping on his back and wings as they ruffled,

"I missed the Great Mammon SOOO MUCH while he away!" you said, hugging him tightly as he snuggled into you as if trying to bury himself into your skin.

Another thing was, Mammon refused to be in his normal form, walking around in his demon form, scaring the shit out of most, since he was mostly in demon form when angry and everyone assumed he was livid.

So his hands hastily worked on the buckles of his jacket in his demon form, for one. still snuggling his head under your jacket, though his hands clumsily worked, barely doing anything as he almost growled in annoyance and desperation.

Seeing your boyfriend, Mammon's fruitless efforts, you smiled and sighed, lifting your loose shirt you were wearing a bit, one of his, as he immediately wrapped his arms around you and while one hand ran through his hair while his hands held onto you under your shirt, the other worked to gently unbuckle the straps of his leather jacket.

Gently undoing it, it fell off as he snuggled into you, burying his face in your tummy while his hands held you tightly, feeling the skin-to-skin, as he gently as he growled and whistled gently as if telling you about his day as he rubbed his wrists or his neck gently on your wrists or neck, as if spreading his scent and presence to you.

While you gently preened Mammon's wings, pulling of wings which were growing weird and sticking to his wings to make it hard for him while fixing others which were growing correctly,

"Oh, how in Diavolo's name did you preen your wings before?" you asked, grinning softly while you gently fed him slices of the fruit while he fed you, though it was a bit sour for him while it was sweet to you.

The Great Mammon was just so happy to be with his human, purring like a little corvid rumbled in happiness at times. Like right before they cawed, it sounded like that, his eyes round and glowing, like a baby crow's...Oh how lovely!~

Leviathan

You sighed, feeling the humidity already stick to you as you entered Leviathan's room. Levi seemingly buried under piles of blankets and clothes in his bathtub which was spilling water, in-fact the entire floor was covered in water, his PC and everything wrekept on loft stands with water resistance spells, so those were safe..

But it did feel like Levi's aquarium had spilled overwater, as you walked past the watering some slippers, which did little since water touched your feet anyway, you gently whistled and called,

"Levi? Levi! You here?" you softly asked, digging into the tub, as your hands brushed similar scales of Levi's tail, before it slipped out of your hands far deeper than what the tub's actual depth was..

You figured he was down there, in the underwater caves which his tu was enchanted to lead him to as you pushed off the blankets a bit, turning off thee humidifier and applied a underwater breathing spell, just in-case.

As you called to him, as softly was possibly, as gently as possibly, having not seen him and only heard his hisses and hums and grunts, you'd gotten well to understand him non-verbally, but you hadn't seen him in a long while, sometimes asleep or sometimes not even in the tub.

"Levi?~ Sweetheart, come on up.." you gently called, when you saw the tub, inky navy blue show the glow of a gently snake-like swish in it, as you sighed in relief. Levi's tail..

"Sweetheart? Darling?..Come on up, I wanna see ya" you whispered gently, as Levi's head gently poked out, his hair was a bit disheveled and almost cut short. His eyes glowing gentle iridescent purple-orange with his scleras black, as he softly hissed.

His tongue softly came out, almost forked like a snake's as his horn also glowed gently, his scales on his neck, throat and cheeks glowed in the almost dimmed out lights of his room, no light on, the aquarium's dim glow enough to give him a headache at times.

"There you are, Levi.." you softly cooed as he let out a soft hiss, almost shifting back, as if saying "You're only pitying me by being here, aren't you?"

His skin was feverish, as if he'd not been intaking enough nutrients, which he probably was since Lucifer did tell you Levi'd be so insecure, he'd refuse to do basic things.

But you ignored his hiss and gently shifted closer, extending your hand and letting him snuggled his face against it very hesitantly, cupping his face and snuggling against it while you were placing a moist towel on his head to cool him down.

It was so nice to see your boyfriend was okay at-least, thank Diavolo..

His horns branched out, almost majestically large, like ones you'd expect from Levi as his title of "Devildom's Navy Commander" and he glowed, his fingers long and pointed with glowing webbed skin in between it, as he softly hissed, almost debating if to snuggle further or pull away because you HAD to be lying!

Why would ya like him? But you refuse to let go, so he chose the former option, gently humming and squeaking against your cheek, your skin wetting gently more the water on him, but never mind.

Levi gently hummed, pulling you close, his nails gently stroking your wrist as he pulled you into the tub, not caring if your clothes got wet, before he suddenly got shy due to his bold action that he dipped inside the tub to hide somewhere. Of-course Levi made sure you couldn't follow him, but you were nothing if not persistent.

Using spells and powers to track him down, you got underwater too. Thank god for that earlier underwater breathing spell, no? As you gently looked around, finding Levi hidden in some very deep cave, almost hard for you to breathe, as you poked your head up, the cave having the tiniest bit space to let you breathe which was above water.

Levi gently hissed, his eyes teary as he moved to show this glowing scales on his tail, his skin, his arms and his glowing horns, as you softly smiled, "There you are, pretty boy" you smiled as he hissed as if denying it, his black scleras somehow making his eyes stand out and cuter.

"Now now, lt's not self-hate. I promise on my head you're very cute" you said, as Levi hissed, his tail wrapping around your waist for warmth as you giggled from hos cold his tail and his hands were as he hissed, very gently with a smile.

You didn't mention to bother the slightly dulled-out scales, but he gently extended his hand to you with his little crystals, almost usual as he smiled, thanking him.

Levi put his hands gently on your hips, looking u at you from under the water's surface, while your face was just above, right under the crystalline, rocky caves of the ink waters, very softly purring as he smiled gently, gently scratching his shoulder.

Levi wasn't wearing a shirt, only his pants from his demon form, eeing as he scratched and tore the shirt off due to being so itchy, so you hoped he wouldn't do the same to you, because you had no scales to protect your nips like his.

You softly stroked his scales, very gently, hoping nothing was being too itchy, incase you lose a finger with how sharp his nails were currently, as you smiled,

"How pretty!~" you whispered, cooign to him as he let out a hiss to disagree, "I am not saying it out of pity..ut if you do think they're ugly..well" you paused, giggling as he poked his head to stare at your eyes above the water level,

"You're going to start eating protein and not Hana Ruri-chan ramen" you said as he almost gasped, letting out a hiss of disbelief as you grinned. Oh Levi..

© orelicia. I do not give permission to modify, translate, copy or repost ANY of my works. Reblogs are very much beloved!

[zerocoded]

summary: the view of linkon city from above is really different than what you're accostumed to, but you can't help but love every second of it when caleb is by your side.

authors note: can't believe i'm posting a caleb work here on this account before a sylus one LOL, anyways i'll treat our dragon fine later, now this colonel has been eating my brain the past two days and i need to get this out. this is pretty lame honestly, just trying to figure out what caleb i want to write among ALL of the ideas his one minute trailer gave me geez. i hope you like his soft side here because i plan to write a more obsessive caleb next time hehe. (GUYS I CAN'T FIND THE AUTHOR OF THIS BEAUTIFUL DRAWING I FOUND ON PINTEREST HELP).

warnings: soft!caleb lol he is just our boynextdoor here • idk where this would fit in the og story so just enjoy the reading and pretend it makes sense pls • sfw content

word count: 0.6k

the neon glow of skyhaven's artificial skyline reflected off the polished surfaces of the floating colony, bathing everything in shades of blue and violet. caleb leaned casually against his fighter jet, the sharp angles of the aircraft framing his silhouette. his black jacket, emblazoned with the deepspace aviation administration emblem, caught the faint light, making him seem larger than life.

“thought you’d chicken out,” caleb said, his voice laced with mock disappointment as you approached. “figured you’d be too scared to race the great colonel caleb.”

“scared? of you?” you shot back, folding your arms. “last i checked, you scraped the hull of your jet in the last drill. hardly inspiring confidence, colonel.”

he chuckled, the sound low and warm, and pushed off the jet with an easy grace. “ouch. remind me to never let you near the observation deck again. you’ve got a real knack for holding grudges, don’t you?”

your banter was familiar, a shield against the weight of the world outside skyhaven. but tonight, there was a strange tension in the air, unspoken yet undeniable.

caleb stepped closer, his usual teasing smirk softening into something more genuine. “you know,” he began, his tone quieter now, “all jokes aside, it’s good to see you up here. the city looks... different from above. easier to pretend it’s not falling apart for a while.”

you glanced past him, your gaze settling on the twinkling lights of linkon city far below. “it’s not falling apart,” you said firmly. “not while we’re still here to fight for it.”

“always the optimist,” caleb murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you make it sound so easy.”

“it’s not. but what’s the alternative?”

silence stretched between you two, broken only by the hum of distant machinery. caleb looked at you, his purple eyes searching yours for something unspoken. when he spoke again, his voice was softer, rawer.

“do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t lived through the chronorift?” he asked. “if we’d just... had normal lives? no wanderers, no aether cores, no missions?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. caleb rarely let his guard down, always the jokester, always the soldier.

“sometimes,” you admitted. “but then i remember how much we’ve done—how much we’ve survived. i wouldn’t trade that. not if it means losing you.”

his gaze sharpened, and for a moment, caleb seemed to forget the world around them. he took a step closer, the space between you shrinking.

“Y/N,” he said, your name heavy with meaning. “you know i’d do anything to keep you safe, right? even if it means...” he trailed off, looking away, his jaw tightening.

“even if it means what?” you pressed gently.

he exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. “even if it means putting the whole world in danger. you’re the one thing I can’t lose.”

for once, you didn’t have a comeback. instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing his. “you won’t lose me, caleb. not as long as you don’t give up on yourself.”

the tension between you softened, replaced by something warmer, quieter. caleb’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with something deeper this time.

“guess i’ll have to stick around then,” he said, his voice lighter now. “wouldn’t want to miss out on you finally admitting i’m the better pilot.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “keep dreaming, colonel.”

and as the two stood there, beneath the artificial stars of skyhaven, it felt, for a moment, like the weight of their world was a little easier to bear.

author's note: look how sweet we can be, see? anyways next time i'll be writing about how he fucks probably, xx. CHECK OUT MY NEW POST ABOUT CALEB. send me a request • my masterpost

[shysuccubusstuff]

Boyfriend! Caleb:

Content: SFW headcanons; jealousy

Note: Thanks for this one fanart of Caleb falling for MC's tactics just cause he loves her too much. Have you all noticed that I'm now turning to more SFW content? I feel as if I'm turning from a crow into a dove--. Btw, thanks for all those who like, comment and reblog my content, it makes me feel very happy!! Hope everyone is having a great week.

Caleb, who suddenly returns after his apparent death, face just as handsome as the one you saw every night in your dreams. He returns to you just as suddenly as you both met, and as you go rushing to hug him, you notice something strange in his demeanor. His face is smiling, yet it is apparent that there is something else in his gaze... some kind of hunger, something primal that he had been trying to lock away.

Caleb, who starts to act cold towards you, trying to run away from every little physical contact you tried to do, his mind still conflicted as he was now aware of what had truly brought the two of you together. It wasn't Josephine's love for the two, but something much more obscure... something that he was trying to keep hidden from you as long as he could try, at least.

Caleb, who starts to warm up to you. He starts to allow your touches, even if these are just minimal, but what starts with light brushes between each other's fingertips, soon turns into the both of you holding hands, with you creating excuses such as: "being afraid of getting separated in the middle of the Glint Photoboot" or "needing some comfort as you have grown scared of the darkness". Despite Caleb's head moves in disagreement, he does as you ask him, taking your hand and enveloping your whole hand with his as he lets a whisper escape his lips: "You never change...".

Caleb, who starts to go back to his old ways. Caleb's hands are always there for you, reaching out in case you trip while walking. Other times, his hands are held out for you while the two of you share a little treat together, his hands playing with yours as he listens to you speak about how today's work was much more difficult than usual, or how you really wanted to check that new place that had recently opened in the city center.

Caleb, who almost falls to his knees the moment he hears your confession. The two of you were drinking some tea at your place while watching some corny old soap opera, when you suddenly spoke those words: "I wouldn't mind us becoming a couple." He looks at you for a few seconds, his shock being apparent as his hands start to shake a bit, he moves closer to you, just enough for him to see your full face. "...What... what do you mean by that?" Caleb's purple orbes lock with yours, face slightly flushed as he tries his best not to burn his hand with the recently boiled water that he was carring inside the teacups. "I love you, Caleb, wasn't I clear enough during all these months?" Caleb's face becomes even redder, his hands start to shake even more, quickly leaving the cups in case he would actually spill them. "I... I just thought you were still thinking about our childhood--- I never imagined that you would actually--..." Caleb's words start to blend with each other, his mind rushing as he tried to understand everything that was going on at that moment. Irritated, you suddenly approached him, your hands locking behind his neck just so you could pull him closer, your lips crashing against his in a fast kiss.

B! Caleb, who finally surrenders to your approaches, allowing himself to become more and more starved. His hands start to move from your hands to your hips, his thumbs making small circles over it as he waited for you to stop talking with that grey haired man that lived nextdoor. Caleb standing behind you as he keeps glaring at him with an unamused look, his arms wrapping around your waist as a less threatening way of showing his closer position as not only your childhood friend, but your boyfriend.

B! Caleb who loves posting things with you. He is the kind of guy who loves having a private yet public relationship, the one that loves posting photos of the two of you, always avoiding showing your face in case someone of his work tried to get a bit too close to you. he just can't help it you know? Having a pretty girlfriend is so hard when he has to keep restraining himself from trying to get you as attached to him as possible.

B! Caleb who loves sharing the bed with you, his hands wrapping around you as he nuzzles against the crook of your neck, his hair tickling you as he starts to doze off, his breath slowly steading as he is finally able to rest. After twisting and turning for over ten minutes, you were about to get up, but just as you were about to do so, Caleb started to grunt, his nose scrunching as he started to hug you with more strength as you kept trying to get him to release you. "...Don't go... I love you." Caleb's grip only tightens, one of his legs suddenly wrapping around yours as if he was some kind of trap. "Just sleep... shhh." In the end, you have to surrender, moving a bit just so you could hide your face on the curve of his neck, his comforting scent making you feel at ease and slowly making you drift to sleep.

[darkwitchoferie]

Train Ride - Chapter 2, Jeongin

A/N: Apologies, this is later than originally intended. During my proofreading, I realized I kept flipping tenses, which – annoying. But that meant I had to do a little more heavy editing than I intended. Do you ever just look at a word while proofreading and think ‘that’s not a real word’, but it totally is and is in fact the correct word you meant to use? Yeah, happened a few times. Please lmk if you want to be added to the taglist.

To my new followers – hello, welcome. My fic ideas are few and, sometimes, far between. But I hope you continue to enjoy this one. Oh, that said, don’t think I won’t finish this one. This one is already more than half finished and the half that isn’t written is outlined.

Cw/tw for this chapter: vaginal fingering, nipple play unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), “accidental” exhibitionism, threesome

wc: 2675

Chapter One Three Four

Over the next week, the pair of you discussed your boundaries. Mostly they vary based on what the other individual guys might like or want, but there were hard lines for both of you. Mostly for you, and mostly centered on things you just didn’t like to do sexually. Though you did include things like allowing them all to have you with no additional protection since you had an IUD. As long as they were comfortable with it, you already knew they were all clean. The one hard rule was that if, at any time, you or Chan realized this type of sexually-opened, hopefully fully polyamorous, relationship was no longer working for you as a couple or as individuals, you’d say something. You two would keep talking about it, and include the others when and if they decided to fully be in a relationship with either of you, to keep making sure it was still a healthy relationship for all involved.

Then the conversation turned to how to invite the other seven members. You suggested posting a pic or short video of yourself masturbating into the group chat and inviting anyone who wanted to to come over and play.

Chan groaned, then laughed. “I think you’d give more than one of them a heart attack if you tried that. But definitely hold onto that idea for later.”

You then agree that they should be approached one-on-one, with each method to be different, depending on who you’re approaching. You suggested Jeongin first, seeing as he’s Chan’s roommate. You figure, and Chan agrees, that’ll make him the easiest target.

You specifically chose a day he has a schedule without the others, a photo shoot that was just him. Chan invited you over after he’d already left, letting you know that, as long as nothing went wrong, I.N would be back to their apartment by 3:30. You tried to keep yourselves distracted, not wanting to get started too soon. After all, it wouldn’t look like you’d accidentally forgotten what time he’d be back if he walked in after you were finished. Still, the anticipation and desire was making you both squirmy.

Finally, Chan’s reminder alarm goes off. You couldn’t help it, the second he looked at you after silencing it, you started giggling.

“Baby?”

“Sorry. Just, ya know, us – scheduling sex.” You laughed harder and he joined in this time. Your giggles continued, even as he gripped your hips and pulled you against him, dipping his head down to press open mouthed kisses to your neck. Chan makes quick work of your clothes, leaving you completely naked in no time.

“Already so wet, baby girl,” he muttered against the skin over your sternum as he runs a finger up and down your slit.

“Like you haven’t been hard for the last hour,” you countered. He only hummed, not denying it. That caused another gush of arousal from you – knowing he wanted this as much as you.

He laid you back on the couch, steadily kissing, licking, and sucking his way down your body until he got where he wanted to be. The flat of his tongue pressing against your clit had you arching your hips toward him and reaching down to grip his hair.

Despite inviting Jeongin to join you being the whole point, neither of you noticed right away when he walked in. It was when you heard his bag drop to the floor that you looked up and caught sight of him, flushed and staring at you. You were facing the front door and Chan had his back to it so, if not for your boyfriend blocking his view, he’d have a perfect view of your wet cunt.

“Innie,” you whimpered, reaching out toward him and digging a heel into Chan’s side. Chan pulled away, the bottom of his face coated in your arousal.

“Shit, sorry, Iyen-ah. Didn’t realize you’d be back already.” When he didn’t respond, but his eyes drifted down and locked on your pussy, the pair of you grinned at each other. “Iyen-ah?” Chan worked to hide his amusement as he waved a hand in front of the other’s man’s face.

That seemed enough to jolt him back to what was going on. He dropped his face, cheeks flushing deeper with the embarrassment of being caught. “Shit. Sorry, hyung. Sorry, noona. I’ll just, uh…. Go, yeah, I….”

“Innie, do you want a taste?”

His head snapped up and gaze locked on Chan’s face so fast, it almost gave you whiplash just from seeing it. “What?”

“I know how good she looks, spread out like this. And I can see you like what you see,” Chan nodded at the noticeable bulge in his pants. “Do you. Want. A taste?” He repeated his question, just a little slower.

“I… uh…. I mean –”

“Innie, please,” you pleaded, holding out your hand to him again. Slowly, nervously, Jeongin made his way over to you, eyes fixed on your face with a look that said he was waiting for someone to say you were just teasing him or you’d changed your mind. When he got close, you popped up just enough to grab his shirt and pull him in toward you. He stumbled a bit, but caught himself by bracing one hand on the back of the couch and the other landed just barely under you. “Do you wanna kiss me?” You asked softly, lips already close to his where he hovered over you.

“Yes,” he whispered, nodding. You grinned and pulled him fully into you. The small moan that escaped him as your lips connected had you clenching around nothing in anticipation. Chan, from his new vantage point sitting on the floor beside the couch, had a perfect view of it and reached out to squeeze your calf.

You weren’t sure if he realized then that you weren’t joking with him, or if he’d just decided to take advantage for as long as he could, but Jeongin quickly took control of the kiss. He tugged his hand out from under you, cupping your cheek and tilting your head for a better angle to deepen the kiss. One knee came down between your spread thighs to better hold himself up. His hand came off the back of the couch, fingertips grazing down your side, from shoulder to hip.

“Tease,” you muttered, pulling away just enough to speak, but your lips still touched his as you spoke. This time, as that same hand travelled down your side, his thumb brushed over your nipple causing you to gasp against his lips. This seemed to be all the encouragement he needed as his touches became a lot firmer and more deliberate after that. He shifted so that the hand that had been cupping your cheek was now holding your hip, thumb gently rubbing against the skin there. Starting at your jaw line, he began pressing open mouthed kisses across your jaw, under your ear, down your neck, and over your collar bone. You tangled the fingers of one hand in his hair, not letting him move too far away from your skin.

The hand on your hip slid over and two of his fingers gently pressed into you at the same time he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples. You moaned, arching into him and feeling him smirk against your nipple at your reaction. You whimpered, moaned, and writhed on the couch under Jeongin as he played your body as if he’d been taking lessons for years. He alternated sucking and licking your nipple, while his free hand pinched and rolled the other, then he switched sides. Meanwhile his fingers in your cunt were moving at the perfect speed to get you to and keep you on the edge of an orgasm without tipping over. Occasionally, his thumb would press on and gently rub circles against your clit. Again, just enough to not let you cum. It was maddening, but you loved it.

On the floor, Chan unzipped his pants with one hand to relieve the pressure while his other hand smoothed up and down the back of your calf, grounding himself and making sure you knew he was still there. He pressed a kiss to the top of your knee, causing you to jolt a little at the unexpected feeling.

“Forget I was here, baby girl?” Chan chuckled. You felt Jeongin twitch at Chan’s voice. “Clearly not the only one who forgot. Oh no, Iyen-ah,” Chan said as he started to back away. “Don’t stop now. She hasn’t cum yet, and you haven’t even had a real taste of her.”

Jeongin groaned, dropping his forehead to your chest. But his fingers didn’t stop. Instead, after a moment, his mouth started traveling down again, pressing open mouthed kisses to your tummy, licking or nibbling on the soft, smooth skin. He looked up at you, lips hovering over your cunt.

“Please, Innie.” Gently, you tugged at the hair you still had your fingers tangled in. He dropped a chaste kiss against your clit then wrapped his lips around it, flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves, pulling matching moans from the pair of you. Chan’s grip on your calf tightened as he watched his friend finger you and suck on your clit. There was something about hearing the oh-so-familiar sounds you made when he wasn’t the one causing them that was driving him crazy in the best way.

You felt Jeongin’s tongue slip down to join his fingers, pushing into your cunt and thrusting a few times, before flicking up again to press against your clit. Your legs, that had been just spread on either side of him, came up to rest over his shoulders and hold his body against you as you grew closer to your orgasm. Finally, with a crook of his fingers and a particularly harsh suck of your clit, the coil in your belly snapped.

You arched up with a moan closer to a scream as you finally came. Jeongin kept working his fingers in you, letting you ride out your high on his digits. His fingers slowed to a stop as you came down from your high.

“Innie?” You asked, still trying to catch you breath.

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, noona.”

“We didn’t forget when you were coming back home.”

“What?” He looked from you face to Chan’s, sitting up and pulling his fingers out of you as he did, causing you to whimper at the loss.

“When I said we didn’t realize you’d be back already, I lied,” Chan elaborated. “We planned for you to be home.”

“I don…. I don’t understand.”

You sat up beside him, tossing one of your legs over his, but let Chan explain. “Baby girl here has a fantasy.” He explained the whole situation.

“Hang on, is this why you were distracted last week?” Chan nodded.

“Listen,” you started off, starting to feel a little guilty about lying, or at the least misleading, your friend. “If you don’t want –”

“Oh no, I want. You’re not backing out, are you Y/nnie?” he asked with a sly smile.

“Not a chance,” you grinned, tugging up his shirt then pulling him to you by the back of his neck after he’d pulled the shirt all they way off. He kept moving forward until you were lying back on the couch again and he could slot his body back between your legs. You let your hands wander his torso, tracing the ridges of muscle as he reclaimed your lips in a hungry kiss.

His lips trailed down your neck again, this time biting and sucking a mark into the skin of your neck and another just below your collar bone. You scratched your nails over his abs, delighted when they twitched under your fingers. Then you reached down, gripping the waist band of his jeans with one hand and popping the button on them with the other. You felt him smirk against your skin, even as he helped you get him out of his pants and briefs.

You reached down, wrapping your hand his cock and stroking a couple times before shifting so you could press his tip to your entrance.

“Impatient, are you?” he teased.

“She usually is,” Chan agreed. “Even though she’s already cum twice.”

“Twice?”

“Mm. Once just before you walked in.”

“Enough talk, fuck me now,” you demanded, rolling your hips up. Jeongin laughed but didn’t deny you. Instead, he gripped under your knee, bending your leg up and slightly out to open you up to him better. As he slid into your warmth, his free hand groped for yours in an effort to keep himself grounded. When he bottomed out inside you, he held still, both of you breathing heavy.

You vaguely recognized the look on his face as similar to the look Chan got when he was doing his best to hold back and not come too soon. Instead of saying anything, you brought your hand that was holding his up to your mouth and wrapped first your tongue then your mouth around one of his fingers. With a groan, he flexed his hand, allowing you to trap two of his fingers between your lips. As he finally started rolling his hips, he copied the movement with his fingers in your mouth. You moaned around his fingers, sucking them as he went.

There was something soft in his eyes, just for a moment, as he looked down at you sucking on his fingers. Then it was gone and he’s pulling his hand out of yours and away from your face as he sat up on his knees. Using both hands on your hips to hold you in place, he pulled nearly all the way out then thrust back in, setting a fast, but not too rough, pace and pulling little ahs and moans from you every time he thrusts back in.

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Chan, standing up and having rid himself of his pants and boxers. Reaching out to your boyfriend, you shift a bit so your head is hanging just slightly off the side of the couch. At Chan’s raised eyebrow, you just open your mouth while holding eye contact.

You lose yourself in the absolute pleasure of being fucked in your mouth and pussy at the same time. There’s something indescribably wonderful for you about the familiar sensation of Chan in your mouth and the new sensation of Jeongin in your cunt that makes it so, even if you tried, you’re not sure you could keep track of anything. You’re pretty sure it’s Chan whose mouth is wrapped around your nipple now, but you couldn’t say for sure, lost in the haze of your building orgasm. Someone’s fingers find your clit and apply just the perfect pressure to have you arching off the couch, scream muffled by Chan’s cock. Seconds later, you feel warmth flood your cunt as Jeongin comes, followed by a grunted warning from Chan before he’s coming down your throat.

Chan collapses to the floor, head on the couch beside you. Jeongin tries to stay sitting up for a second, but gives that up and lays down with his head on your chest, his own chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You reach out to both of them, toying with their hair as your breathing slowly returns to normal.

“Okay baby girl?” Chan asks.

“So okay,” you reply in a raspy voice.

“Shower or tea first?” It was one thing he always insisted on when he used your throat like that – soothing tea after.

“Sleep.”

“Nu-uh, that’s not one of the choices.”

“Ugh,” you groaned.

“Why don’t you take her up to the shower and I’ll bring tea?” Jeongin suggested.

You both agree, but it still takes a few minutes before anyone moves. A while later, you’re curled up with your head on Chan’s chest and Jeongin’s arm around your waist as you drift off to sleep.

Taglist: @skzficpriv @strayk1ds143 @vegetablesarefuntables

[kaleidoscopecth]

A Flower Bud In Concrete

MDNI

pairing: ashton irwin x hemmings!reader

summary: a surprising reaction to a negative pregnancy test has you and ashton discovering some new kinks

warnings: absolute filth be warned, heavy breeding kink, dirty talk, slight oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, cum play, fingering, hair pulling, choking, mentions of COVID-19

word count: 5.9k

a/n: LAWD it’s about damn fucking time i write for ashton. the things i would let him do to me YOU DONT GET IT. anyway this is absolutely the filthiest thing i have ever written and i love it, huge thank you to a special someone for helping me out w this, your filthy brain never ceases to amaze me. anyways, hope you guys enjoy some filthy quarantine (post?) smut with black haired ashton because i loved writing it

also, this was inspired by @souperbloom and their AMAZING ashton blurb “island time” which you NEED to read.

Copyright © 2024 kaleidoscopecth. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The word messy didn’t even begin to describe your life. It was almost comical, the way everything had derailed so quickly—like the universe had yanked the rug out from under you, leaving you to scramble in the aftermath.

Your mind spun as you sat in your car, staring at the unopened test on the passenger seat. The small box seemed to glare back at you, taunting you with the weight of fear it carried. Just looking at it made your stomach churn, flashes of a future you didn’t dare let yourself imagine creeping into your thoughts. You shoved them away just as quickly, refusing to let yourself hope for something that felt so far out of reach.

Your phone sat untouched on your lap, the weight of it somehow heavier than it should have been. You hadn’t even pulled out of the driveway yet, but the thought of what you were about to do made you want to retreat into the safety of your car forever. With shaky hands, you picked it up, your fingers hovering over the screen before you numbly dialed the number you dreaded.

Ashton, of course, didn’t take long to answer. He picked up on the second ring, his voice bright and cheerful as always. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted, the smile in his tone almost palpable. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you today. You coming over? ‘Cause if so, I should probably clean—”

“You don’t have to clean up anything,” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended as you bit down on your bottom lip. You stared at your lap, the words you needed to say catching in your throat. Finally, you forced them out. “I have a test… I’m late. And, uh, I figured I should be with you when I figure out why.”

The other end of the line went silent, the lack of response from Ashton tightening the knot of stress already coiled in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, waiting, the quiet stretching unbearably.

“Does Luke know?” he asked at last, clearing his throat as if trying to sound casual.

You shut your eyes, frustration flaring at the mention of your little brother. “Why the hell would he know if he has no idea about us?”

“Right, right,” Ashton groaned, his tone sheepish. There was a pause before he continued, softer now. “Okay, well… I’ll see you soon, alright? You’ll take the test, and we’ll figure it out from there. Just like we always do.”

His voice was so kind, so gentle and reassuring that you could almost cry. “Okay,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper as you let out the breath you had been holding.

“Don’t sweat it, babe,” he reassured, the nickname falling off his lips without any hesitation. It sounded almost natural, and it definitely made your stomach tighten. “Everything will be fine.”

You frowned, looking out your window and taking in the relatively sunny day. “Yeah, I guess so,” you mumbled. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

Ashton shifted in the other line. “Drive safe.”

The call hung up with a soft click after that, leaving you once again in anxious silence. You threw your head back against the seat, letting out a long, defeated sigh as your hands came up to grip the wheel.

You first met Ashton when he was just a scrawny kid with hair that swooped over his eyes—your little brother’s annoying friend. Despite being only a year older than him, his friendship with Luke made him feel much younger in your eyes.

When your acting career started taking off, you didn’t give Ashton—or anyone else from those days—much thought. At least, not until their cute little YouTube covers got discovered and their band skyrocketed to fame. Thanks to your close relationship with Luke, you began seeing more of his bandmates.

Ashton always lingered a little closer than the others, his nervous energy unmistakable. The rest of the boys treated you like their older sister—occasionally annoying, but familiar and comfortable. It was obvious Ashton’s feelings were different, but you never dwelled on it.

Not when you met Daniel. He was everything you thought you wanted—kind, charming, and effortlessly sweet. You’d been hesitant at first, unsure if your feelings would match his, but he quickly swept you off your feet.

For nearly five years, the two of you were happy together. Everyone in your life adored him—even Jack, who could be overbearing at times, warmed to him easily.

He was everything to you, his smile brighter than the sun itself. Daniel had shown you a new side of life, filling it with warmth and the promise of forever. But promises are fragile things, and eventually, he broke his—leaving you shattered and alone to gather the pieces of your broken heart.

As if that wasn’t enough, the world began to crumble around you. Whispers of a new illness dominated every conversation, and soon enough, isolation became your reality. Alone in your home, with no one for company but your own thoughts, you struggled to hold on. Work had slowed to a crawl, and seeing friends was too risky.

Ashton had always been the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back without hesitation. His compassion extended to everyone in his orbit, always checking in to make sure they were okay. So when your phone lit up with his call, something inside you broke.

You poured your heart out, tears spilling as he listened to every word of your pain. He let you cry, soothing you with soft words and a patient ear. You felt terrible about it—he’d only been calling to check in out of kindness, not to become a makeshift therapist.

You apologized over and over, feeling guilty for taking up his time, insisting that what you really needed was professional help. But Ashton wouldn’t hear of it. He reassured you, his voice firm yet gentle, that it was no trouble at all. “I’m happy to listen,” he said. And you believed him.

That’s how it started—a strange kind of pen-pal relationship born out of quarantine. It became rare for you not to be on the phone with Ashton. What began as conversations about Daniel and your heartbreak gradually turned into something lighter. You talked about life, movies you’d seen, and the places you’d go when the world opened up again.

One night, during one of your usual calls, Ashton said something that made your breath hitch. His voice, normally so confident, was uncharacteristically shy.

“Yeah, so… basically,” he started, hesitating for a moment. “I only called you. At first, anyway. I was bored out of my mind, sitting in the house with nothing to do. And—I don’t know—I just found myself dialing your number. I’m glad I did.”

That confession had shifted something inside you. Ashton—who had always just been Ashton—suddenly became something else entirely. You started noticing the little things: the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, how a stray black curl would occasionally fall over his face, or the intense focus in his eyes when he drummed.

When restrictions eased, your friendship transitioned from FaceTime calls to in-person hangouts. Being around Ashton felt surprisingly effortless. He had a way of calming your nerves with a joke or a warm smile, and sometimes, you couldn’t help but notice how his touch lingered just a little longer than necessary.

One night, the two of you got carried away, talking late into the night.

“Shit,” you groaned, glancing at the time on your phone. “It’s so late.”

Ashton just smiled, shifting closer to you on the sofa. His eyes were red from the blunt you’d shared earlier, but they still sparkled with that familiar brightness. “So stay,” he said casually. “I don’t see why you should go.”

The thought of returning to your lonely house made your stomach sink. Staying with Ashton, basking in the warmth of his company, felt like the only right choice. But one thing was clear: if you stayed, if your eyes kept flicking to his lips, you would do something you might regret.

And you told him that.

Maybe it was the weed loosening your tongue, or maybe it was the way Ashton looked so unfairly good in his old muscle tee and shorts, but the words spilled out before you could stop them.

To your surprise, Ashton’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smirk. “What if I want you to?” he murmured, leaning impossibly closer. His hand lifted to your face, his fingers lightly tracing along your jaw and down your neck. His eyes never left yours, their intensity making your heart race.

So you gave into your innermost desires and kissed him. And he kissed you back.

The next thing you knew, you were a tangle of limbs on the carpet, the crackling fire casting shadows of your moving bodies across the room as muffled moans filled the space.

That’s how it started—how your unconventional relationship began. You’d made it clear from the beginning that you wanted to take things slow, unsure if moving on from Daniel so soon was the right decision. You and Ashton agreed to keep things casual for now, just hooking up and seeing where it led.

Another mutual decision was to keep your arrangement private—especially from Luke. Your little brother had always been harmless, and you weren’t worried he’d be angry about your relationship with Ashton. But you didn’t want to get his hopes up either. Luke would’ve been over the moon if he found out his best friend and his sister were together, so until you both were certain about where this was headed, Luke would remain in the dark.

For a few months, it worked seamlessly. Life had started to regain a semblance of normalcy as the year drew to a close. That was until your period decided to throw you a curveball.

The drive to Ashton’s place was filled with anxious thoughts and worst-case scenarios playing on a loop in your mind. By the time you pulled up to his house, your hands were clammy from gripping the steering wheel, and the box of pregnancy tests in your lap felt heavier than it should.

You rang the doorbell, clutching the box tightly as if it were a lifeline. Ashton took a few seconds to answer, but when he opened the door, his warm smile melted a fraction of your fear.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he greeted, pulling you in by the waist and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. His easy affection steadied you, if only for a moment.

“Hey, Ash,” you murmured, your voice barely audible against his lips. Pulling back slightly, you met his gaze, searching for any sign of unease or irritation. All you found was concern and affection in his hazel eyes.

Ashton frowned, his hand coming up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone, and he gave you that signature reassuring smile. “Go take the test. Whatever it says, we’ll figure it out together.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning forward to rest your head against his chest. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stay there, wrapped in the safety of his arms, wishing you could freeze time and keep the weight of reality at bay.

But you couldn’t hide forever. Reluctantly, you pulled back, giving him a weak, trembling smile. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“I’ll see you on the other side, Y/N,” Ashton replied with a small nod, his voice steady as he let you go.

With your heart pounding, you walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You avoided your reflection in the mirror, unwilling to face the physical manifestation of your nerves.

Hands shaking, you unwrapped the first test and let out a deep, uneven sigh. The whole thing felt absurdly humiliating—peeing on a stick to determine the course of your future. In another situation, you might have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

But this wasn’t that kind of moment.

You capped the test and placed it on the sink, refusing to look at it as the seconds ticked by and the result formed. There was no use in dwelling on it, or stalling the results, so with a deep breath, you reached out and shakily grabbed the test.

Not pregnant.

The words were blunt and stark, staring back at you with an unrelenting certainty. Yet, a sudden surge of denial hit you. That couldn’t be possible, could it?

You had expected relief to come with those two words, but it didn’t. Instead, tears pricked at your eyes, and you slumped onto the closed toilet seat, unable to tear your gaze away from the test in your trembling hand.

How insane did you have to be to feel sad over a negative pregnancy test? The thought rattled in your mind as a quiet sob escaped your lips.

You had always wanted kids—or at least one. The idea of becoming a mother had been a dream you carried for as long as you could remember. It was a dream that had, in part, torn your relationship with Daniel to shreds. He had made it abundantly clear he didn’t want kids, especially not when you and he had faced a similar predicament.

But you did. You wanted one with everything in you.

Your chest tightened as you shut your eyes tightly, trying to push away the ache clawing at your heart. Maybe it was for the best, you told yourself. After all, you and Ashton hadn’t even defined the status of your relationship. You hadn’t dared to dream of having that kind of conversation, let alone one about kids.

Still, the weight of disappointment was unbearable as you wiped your face and mustered the strength to walk out of the bathroom. Ashton was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, nervously biting his nails.

His gaze snapped to you the moment you appeared, his body straightening as he pushed off the wall. He looked tense, his brows slightly furrowed, his hands fidgeting.

“Well?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly with the anxiety he was trying to mask.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to keep any trace of emotion out of your voice. “I’m not pregnant,” you said evenly, squaring your shoulders as you met his eyes.

For a moment, Ashton’s expression softened, something flickering across his face that you couldn’t quite place. But then, to your utter surprise, you caught a glimpse of disappointment.

Your eyebrows shot up in shock as you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, your protective wall snapping into place.

“Let’s have a kid,” Ashton breathed, the words tumbling out as if he hadn’t thought twice. His eyes locked onto yours, wide and earnest, his tone full of sincerity.

You drew in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, your mind struggling to process what he’d just said. There was no way he could possibly mean it.

“Ashton,” you said incredulously, your tone laced with disbelief, “we just lost our shit thinking I might be pregnant. And besides”—your voice rose slightly as your confusion gave way to frustration—“we’re not even together. Not really.”

Ashton shook his head, closing the distance between you in a few determined strides. His hands cupped your face, his breath warm and slightly uneven. “We are now,” he murmured, an excited gleam lighting up his hazel eyes. “So let’s have a kid. You and me.”

For a moment, you were frozen, staring at him in stunned disbelief. This had to be some kind of sick joke. Who in their right mind would randomly decide to have a baby on a whim—especially with someone they were just casually hooking up with?

But then again, there had never been anything truly casual about you and Ashton. Not the way his touch lingered, how his kisses felt like promises, or how his presence made everything seem softer, lighter, easier. It had always been more than either of you admitted aloud.

His gaze stayed locked on yours, wide and earnest, as if begging you to say yes.

“You were freaking out,” you whispered, though the fight had already left your voice. Deep down, you were searching for any sign that Ashton might back out of this sudden decision, that he might have second thoughts.

Instead, he just shrugged, his lips curving into a soft, hopeful smile. “I was,” he admitted. “But then I started thinking—I love you, Y/N. I always have, and I always will. And even though this isn’t the most conventional way, I’d love to make something real with you. And that something?” His voice dropped, full of quiet conviction. “It definitely involves a baby.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your brows furrowing as you tried to process his words. Who in their right mind would agree to this?

Apparently, that someone was you.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft but steady, a spark of excitement rising to the surface and chasing away your fear. “Let’s have a baby.”

Ashton’s face lit up with pure, unfiltered joy. He let out a triumphant whoop, his hands moving to your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you in the air. Laughter bubbled out of you, breathless and giddy, as the weight of uncertainty slipped away, replaced by something far more exhilarating.

“I love you too,” you mumbled breathlessly as Ashton set you down gently. You were still giddy, your mind flashing with images of your possible new future. Your hands came up to Ashton’s shoulders, watching him.

His hands lingered at your waist for a second, his eyes softening even more. His smile was radiant, lighting up the room, and he looked almost boyish. Your heart swelled in your chest as you looked at him.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” you breathed, nervous laughter bubbling up inside you. “We’re really going to do this?”

Ashton laughed, leaning his forehead against yours. “We’re doing this,” he confirmed, his voice sure and steady. He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb briefly brushing over your bottom lip. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

A faint blush krept up your cheeks, the words lighting a fire inside you that was almost surprising in its intensity. You should have been scared, after all, your life was going to forever be altered, but it was exhilarating.

”What now?” you asked softly, your fingers absentmindedly brushing through Ashton's hair. The jet-black color suited him far more than you wanted to admit, and the sight of him like this-confident, certain, and utterly yours-sent a thrill down your spine. “Where do we even start?”

Ashton's eyes darkened, his lips curving into a devilish smirk as his gaze locked with yours. “We start by making that baby, of course,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. The playful elation in his tone had shifted, replaced by something deeper, more primal.

The heat in his voice sent a shiver racing through you, and you swallowed hard, excitement and nerves dancing in your chest.

Ashton didn't wait for you to respond. Instead, he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was demanding and all-consuming, leaving no room for second-guessing. His arms tightened around your waist, holding you flush against him as his lips moved against yours with practiced skill. You melted into his touch, your hands threading into his hair, tugging just enough to elicit a low groan from him.

Ashton coaxed your lips open with teasing nips and soft bites, his tongue sweeping over yours, tasting you like he couldn't get enough. A muffled moan escaped you as you felt him lift you effortlessly, his grip firm but careful as he carried you through the room.

The world tilted slightly, and before you could process where he was taking you, your back met the cool surface of the kitchen counter. You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, smirking as your eyes met his. “The kitchen, Ash? Can't even wait until the bedroom?”

“Too far,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with need. “Need you now.”

Before you could respond, you heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing. Your jaw dropped as you looked down to see your shirt now hanging in shreds, the pieces slipping from your shoulders. “Ashton!” you gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding. “You ripped my shirt!”

He pulled back briefly, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “It was mine first,” he said nonchalantly, his mouth returning to your neck to leave a trail of kisses. “You can steal another one later.”

You couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, though it quickly turned into a sharp gasp when his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch. His hands roamed your body freely, sliding up your back to unclasp your bra with practiced ease.

When his calloused hands cupped your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze, a soft groan escaped your lips. Ashton took it as encouragement, his fingers teasing your nipple. His mouth followed soon after, trailing hot kisses down your chest before capturing your nipple between his lips.

Your head fell back as he gently nipped at it with his teeth, a moan spilling from you.

Meanwhile, his other hand began its slow descent down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your shorts. “God, you're gonna look so pretty, all full of my cum,” he growled against your skin, tugging the fabric of your shorts down your legs.

Ashton's mouth continued its heated journey down your body, every inch of you humming with anticipation. The thought of him finishing inside you sent a thrill through you that you couldn't deny, and as he kissed along your stomach, pausing at your hip bone, you couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

When he looked up, his hazel eyes were dark and glassy with lust. His teeth caught the edge of your underwear, and you let out a soft gasp as he began to pull them down, agonizingly slow.

Ashton let your underwear fall to the floor, his hands gentle as he spread your thighs apart. His lips parted slightly as he took in the sight of you, laid out on the kitchen counter, wet and glistening just for him. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, quickly yanking off his sweater and tossing it somewhere in the room without a second thought.

His hands slid up your thighs with deliberate slowness, his touch sending shivers through your body. He traced a single finger along your folds, biting his lip as he collected your arousal. “You're so pretty for me,” he murmured, voice husky. “Such a pretty pussy.”

When his finger slipped inside you, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, and your back arched off the counter instinctively. Heat flooded through you as he added a second finger, curling them just right, finding that spot inside you with practiced precision. A loud moan spilled from your throat, your body trembling under his touch.

His lips found your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin, marking you without hesitation. “Since we're telling everyone we're together now,” he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against your skin, “I'm gonna make sure they know. You're mine.”

“I'm yours,” you whimpered, your voice breathless and needy as his fingers sped up, your legs shaking with the intensity of it all. If he kept this up, you wouldn't last much longer.

Ashton hummed in satisfaction, his lips curving into a smile against your neck.“That's right, baby. You're mine. Gonna fill you up to the brim, put a baby inside you. Isn't that right, pretty?”

You nodded frantically, tugging at his hair for something to ground yourself. His words only spurred you on, the heat in your core building to a fever pitch. But just as you were about to tip over the edge, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and desperate.

A frustrated whine escaped your lips as you propped yourself up on your elbows, ready to protest. But your words died in your throat when you saw Ashton hastily kicking off his jeans.

When he pulled down his black boxers, freeing himself, your eyes widened. You had been with Ashton countless times, but he had never looked so painfully hard. His cock stood thick and ready, the tip an angry shade of red, glistening with his own arousal.

Before you could fully process the sight before you, Ashton's hands were on your hips, pulling you off the counter. He gave you no chance to protest, spinning you around and bending you over the cold surface.

“You're gonna take all of me,” Ashton growled, his voice low and commanding as he lined himself up with you. “And you're gonna love every second of it. Be a good girl for me. Good girls get my cum.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your hands gripped the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turned white. “I’ll be a good girl,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Ash. I want you to fill me up. Please.”

A smirk played on his lips as his hand slid around your waist and down between your legs, his fingers expertly teasing your clit.

The sensation sent shockwaves through you, making your knees buckle slightly. Your moans grew louder as Ashton ran the tip of his cock along your entrance, the teasing driving you to the brink.

“Beg for it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance, his fingers working you mercilessly. Every nerve in your body was alight, your need for him consuming every thought.

“Please,” you cried, your voice breaking into a small sob. “I need you, Ash. Fill me up, stretch me out, put a baby in me—please, I'm begging you.”

Ashton groaned low in his throat at your words, his control slipping as he finally pushed into you, slow and deliberate. “That's my good girl,” he rasped, his grip on your waist tightening as he buried himself inside you inch by inch. “And you're gonna take every single bit of me, aren't you?”

The stretch of Ashton finally filling you up was overwhelming, nearly enough to tip you over the edge instantly. You didn't know how you'd gotten so worked up, but as he buried himself to the hilt, the sensation was so intense tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. Ashton's hand trailed up your back, settling around the back of your neck, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

“Yeah? You like being stretched out like this?” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal, his hips unmoving as he stayed buried deep. “You're so fucking tight, baby. You feel so good wrapped around me. I'm gonna come so hard for you, so deep.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your frustration building as Ashton still refused to move. His free hand roamed down your body, squeezing your hip before pulling back and landing a sharp slap on your ass.

The sting sent a jolt through your body, making you clench around him involuntarily. Ashton groaned low in his throat, the sound deep and guttural. “God, I wish you could see yourself right now,” he muttered, smirking as he delivered another sharp smack to your ass. This time, the moan that escaped you was loud and unrestrained. “So pretty, bent over a counter for me, taking me so well.”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes squeezed shut, every nerve in your body focused on the feeling of Ashton filling you. “You're so warm,” he groaned, his hips shifting just slightly. “I need to hear you. Every gasp, every moan— want it all. If you hold back from me, baby, you'll regret it. Got it?”

The threat sent a shiver down your spine. His earlier promise not to finish inside you if you misbehaved hung heavy in your mind, the thought alone making your chest tighten with desperation. “Fuck me,” you begged, your voice shaky and whiny. “Please, Ash, just move already.”

Ashton let out a low chuckle, dark and taunting. “So needy, aren't you, sweetheart?” he teased, his words dripping with smug amusement. Before you could respond, he pulled out of you slowly, the sensation drawing a loud moan from your lips.

“Don't whine,” he chided, his tone sharp but playful. “You're gonna take what I give you.”

But mercifully, Ashton seemed to decide your torture had gone on long enough. On his next thrust, he pulled out almost completely before slamming back into you, the sudden force stealing the air from your lungs. A yelp tore from your throat as his hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back slightly.

Ashton set a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against yours with every thrust. The lewd sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with your loud, uncontrollable moans. The delicious friction he created with each movement made your legs shake, the intensity overwhelming.

“That's it, good girl,” Ashton purred, his voice dripping with approval. “You take me so well. Can't wait till you're all round and pretty for me,”he murmured, his thrusts growing harder, more deliberate. “All mine. My perfect little cum slut.”

The possessive tone in his voice made your entire body shudder. His hand tugged at your hair again, pulling you upright and flush against his chest. His other hand slid up to knead your breasts, his fingers tweaking and teasing your nipples as he continued to thrust into you relentlessly.

One hand slowly slid up to your neck, wrapping around it gently before applying just enough pressure to make your head spin. The dizziness only heightened the pleasure coursing through you, amplifying every sensation.

But Ashton didn't hold for long. His hand eased away, and your hearing slowly returned as you gasped for breath. He released your nipple and pushed you back down onto the counter, his voice low and rough. “So fucking perfect,” he groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair again, using it for leverage as he pounded into you harder.

The heat of his movements, his filthy words, and the way he dominated every inch of your body brought you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans and whimpers grew louder, each pull of his hand in your hair sending a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure rippling through you.

“Baby, I'm close—” you choked out, your voice breaking with need.

“Yeah?” Ashton rasped, his hips never losing their relentless rhythm. One hand slid between your legs, finding your clit and teasing it with quick, precise circles. The intensity made your breath hitch, and he leaned in, his voice dark and commanding. “Come for me, baby. Show me how good I make you feel. Show me how much you love my cock.”

You couldn't hold back. Between his unforgiving thrusts, his dirty words, and the way his fingers worked you with expert precision, the pressure inside you finally snapped. A loud cry tore from your throat as you came, your entire body trembling violently with the force of your release.

Ashton's lips brushed your ear as you shook beneath him. “Just like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers never faltering even as your body slowly began to come down from its high.

“Ashton,” you gasped, your legs trembling uncontrollably. “Fill me up, baby. Please— need your cum.”

His breathing was ragged, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release. “I'm close, baby,” he groaned, his hand slipping away from your clit to grip your hips tightly. His movements grew sloppy, and he buried himself deeper with each thrust. “I'm gonna come so deep inside you. Gonna fill you up, make you mine, put a baby in you.”

It didn't take long before Ashton's rhythm faltered, and he let out a broken whimper of your name. His body shuddered as he spilled into you, the warmth of him flooding your core just as he'd promised. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, each twitch of his cock making you moan softly.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, completely still except for your heaving breaths. The only sound filling the kitchen was the ragged symphony of your labored gasps. Your body felt boneless, leaning heavily against the counter to stay upright.

Ashton pressed soft kisses along your shoulder blades, his warm breath fanning your damp skin and making you shiver. “You’re gonna look so hot as a mum,” he teased with a lazy smirk, slowly pulling out of you.

You whined at the sudden emptiness, the loss of him leaving you aching. Before you could protest, Ashton turned you around and lifted you onto the counter. The cold marble against your bare skin sent a jolt through your body as he gently spread your legs wide.

His eyes glittered as he took in the sight of his release dripping from your core. “Can't let any of this go to waste,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

With deliberate care, he slid a finger along your sensitive clit, making you gasp sharply. Then, without hesitation, he pushed a finger inside, catching the white ribbons threatening to spill out and gently pressing them back into you.

The overstimulation had your legs shaking again, and you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him work with hooded eyes. Every touch sent sparks shooting through you, and the satisfaction on his face as he ensured none of his release escaped made you ache for him all over again.

Ashton knelt before you, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with a mischievous glint before he leaned in, running a slow, deliberate stripe along your core with his tongue. His movements were unhurried, carefully cleaning you up without disturbing the evidence of his release too much. He only lapped up the small traces that had escaped, trailing down your thighs.

When he was satisfied, he pulled back, the soft sound of his lips parting making you shiver. Rising to his full height, he grinned widely, his expression smug and satisfied. You returned his smile with a lazy one of your own, reaching up to tug him down into a soft, lingering kiss.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips, your voice tender. “And this was... definitely fun.”

Ashton pulled away just enough to meet your gaze, his grin morphing into a playful smirk. “I love you,” he began, his tone laced with mischief, “and about that…”

His hand slipped down between his legs, stroking his still semi-hard cock until it stood at full attention once again. Your breath hitched as you watched him, speechless, as he lined himself up with you once more. With an achingly slow push, he slid back inside you, making both of you groan at the sensation.

Your arms gave out beneath you, leaving you fully leaning against the counter. “Gotta make sure it all stays in there,” Ashton murmured, his voice low and strained. His hips rolled gently, his eyes fixed on where your bodies joined. “Give me a few, and we'll go again. Maybe even one more time after that.”

A soft laugh escaped you, the movement causing your walls to flutter around him.

Ashton let out a deep groan at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice breathy but teasing. “We can do this as much as you want.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

hope u enjoyed u nasty freaks. my requests are closed atm but my inbox is open if you wanna chat :)

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove (A Zombie!Ghost Story) Chapter Twelve

Summary: “‘rrrreeetttyyyy…” The mangled word came from deep in his chest, rumbling out in a low, gravelly voice. Lelia’s cheeks grew rosy and she bit her lip, trying and failing to hide a smile. Simon’s hand smoothed over her bare shoulder and down her arm to clumsily play with the delicate pearl sleeve. He could break it so easily—could tear the dress off of her in a second and throw her onto the bed, have her naked and vulnerable beneath him. She would be his to claim. His to devour. Word Count: 3692 Warnings: no smut but Ghost has horny thoughts as usual, mentions of past abuse Notes: This chapter is the last one I have pre-written (well, the last one in order I have pre written, i have some later chapters/scenes written to but I need to write the connecting parts still), and the semester starts tomorrow, so I don't know if I will be able to update again next Sunday. I hope to be able to, but it all depends on how difficult this first week is, and if I can figure out what I want to write next lol. I have ideas/plans but I'm struggling with the execution a bit. If any of you guys have ideas/scenes you'd like to see, feel free to comment them, it helps me organize my own thoughts and is very motivating. Oh, and the dress Lelia finds in this chapter is based off of Padme Amidala's nightgown from ROTS lol. I love that dress. All dividers were made by @/sweetmelodygraphics (original post here). The zombie divider indicates the text below is Ghost's POV, the dove divider inidcates Lelia's POV. The combined dove and zombie divider represents a time skip but not a POV change. I still have no beta for this fic so all SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

AO3 | Masterlist

Nearly a week had passed, and the snowstorm still hadn’t let up.

Ghost scavenged for supplies everyday, clearing more and more of the village as he did. On the fifth day, he found a cottage that was in nearly perfect shape, with an actual working fireplace. He’d given into Lelia’s begging a few nights ago to try and light a fire in the current cottage they were holed up in, unable to stand seeing her shiver constantly, only to find that it had been sealed off. She had been devastated, but hadn’t complained. The only reason he knew she was still freezing was because she couldn’t keep her teeth from chattering all night. She’d tried to muffle the sound by pressing her face into the fur of the teddy bear he’d found for her the day after she’d told him about the one her ex-husband had thrown away—her face had sort of crumpled in on itself when he presented it to her, but she’d hugged him for hours without letting go, and snuggled with it every night since then, so he was sure she liked it—but it didn’t make much of a difference, not with his enhanced hearing.

But in this new cottage, there was even a clawfoot tub that his dove could take a hot bath in, if they warmed some buckets of water on the wood burning stove first. It was perfect, and he couldn’t wait to show her.

It was dark by the time he got back, though, so the move had to wait until morning. Like hell he’d risk her stumbling around outside in the dead of night. Lelia was none too pleased when he woke her up early to brave the cold, but she followed him regardless, muttering under her breath about ‘stupid zombies and their stupid ideas.’ He tried bloody hard not to laugh when he heard her, knowing it’d only piss her off more.

He failed.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long to get to the new house, though they were both soaking wet by the time they got there, and Lelia was shaking like a leaf from the frigid temperatures. He gestured at the fireplace, silently letting Lelia know it worked. She grinned and rushed over after digging out the matchbook from their supplies and shedding her wet layers, setting about to light the fire, just like he’d taught her. He felt a flush of pride at the sight. His dove was a quick learner.

He stripped his own wet layers before joining her, watching her blow gently on the little flame to coax it higher. The firelight flickered across her delicate features, bathing them in a soft, orange glow.

Fucking hell, he would never get over how beautiful she was.

He grunted in approval when the flames in the hearth began to crackle loudly, and a pleased grin spread across her face. He knew she liked the praise. Made him wonder how she’d react to being lavished with compliments in bed.

Such a good girl for me, Dove, takin’ my cock so well. Look at you, you gorgeous little thing, gonna fuck all the thoughts outta that pretty head of yours, hmm?

Ghost didn’t need to breathe, but he sucked in a rattling breath anyway to clear his head. This was a hunger that he couldn’t satisfy with the flesh of some furry creature. He'd eaten just yesterday—but not before he’d banished himself from the house for a couple days. The blizzard had kept him from being able to hunt before Lelia started looking irresistibly delicious—in a less human way. She’d been loud about her displeasure of having to watch him sit on the stoop of the house like a stray dog, surrounded by snow drifts, white powder covering him in a blanket every morning when he came out of his nightly almost-meditation. But he hadn’t budged, and she hadn’t pushed—though she’d insisted on him joining her in bed last night, layers of blankets between them so she could cuddle up to him.

He hadn’t protested, of course—with a full belly, he’d get as close to Lelia as she let him. She didn’t always want him in the room while she slept, but he no longer took it personally, knowing what he did about her past. Just felt honored when she did pull him close and let sleep steal her away.

Like now, when she laid down on the floor in front of the fire, resting her head in his lap. He didn’t twitch, too well trained to let his surprise show. This was a new position for them. For once, he was glad his cock didn't work. Wouldn’t want to scare her if she woke up to it poking her cheek like an overeager mutt.

He kept his hands planted firmly on the plush rug beneath him—at least until Lelia huffed and grabbed the one closest to her, lacing their fingers together and placing their joined hands on her belly. Simon went very still, but his mind ran wild.

Lelia, no longer skin and bones with a concave stomach, but plump and healthy with a round belly, their child snuggled safely inside her, just below her heart.

Lelia, cradling their baby to her breast as it nursed, a soft, adoring smile on her face as she gazed down at the little bundle of joy in her arms.

Lelia, a toddler in her lap as Simon sat behind her, listening attentively as she taught both of them how to read.

Ghost closed his eyes, trying to rid his mind of the bittersweet images. He never hated that zombies couldn’t sleep more than he did then. If he could, then maybe he'd at least get to live that life in his dreams.

The days settled into a routine, now that he’d found a true place for his dove to nest in and wait out the winter. There was a hiccup when he tried to surprise her with a hot bath one morning, only for her to immediately start sobbing and screaming the second she saw the tub filled up with steaming water. It was worse than the episode with the leather jacket, worse than her panicked state after her nightmare. The terror on her face was closer to that of when he first found her—she’d looked like she thought she was going to die.

It had taken hours to calm her down, and though she hadn’t exactly told him why she’d been so afraid—for as much as his dove liked to talk, she was surprisingly good at keeping secrets—he didn’t need to be a genius to put two and two together. Her wariness of the stream all those weeks ago, her downright fear at the river, and her reaction to the bath… it painted a picture that had him tearing apart his next kill far more viciously than usual, imagining it was the people who hurt her.

Other than that, things were surprisingly calm. The snow storm abated only a couple days after they’d moved into the new cottage, and she could join him again on his daily hunts for supplies. With a more permanent base, he no longer had to say no to the less useful—”They’re not junk, Simon!”— things she wanted to keep. The house was soon filled with little animal figurines, make-up, even small, framed pictures of random people. Lelia liked to think up stories about them. They always ended happily, despite both of them knowing those people had probably died gruesome deaths.

But this… this was new.

A delighted squeal from the room across the hall caught his attention. They had been scavenging for around half the day already, but hadn’t yet turned up more than a single can of soup. Ghost was familiar enough with his dove’s excited noises to know that this one didn’t mean she’d found something useful like food or water, but another pretty thing to add to her rapidly growing collection. Rather than being annoyed, though, he kicked his arse into gear and hustled over to her, wanting to see the happy look on her face for himself.

Except at the threshold of the room, he was met by a shifty Lelia, her hands outstretched to stop him.

“Wait,” she said, as if he wasn’t reeling from embarrassment at being so predictable that she knew he’d come running. Bloody hell, the things she did to him. Had him acting like a school boy with a crush rather than a highly trained soldier. “I want it to be a surprise.”

Simon raised a brow beneath his mask, but backed up into the hallway. Lelia giggled before closing the door in his face. He could hear her moving around in the room, the rustle of fabric, and the soft clack of what sounded like beads.

A moment later, his dove opened the door. Backlit by the weak winter sun streaming in from the window, she was a vision as she stood there wearing a big smile and a dress that made his mouth water.

It wasn’t even all that revealing, but somehow, that just drove him crazier. Pale blue and silky, it left Lelia’s shoulders and collarbones bare, but everything below that was covered. At the center of the neckline sat a swirl of white, glowy metal, so delicate-looking Ghost was sure he’d break it with a single touch. Three strands of pearls were draped over the middle of her upper arms, like useless, sexy sleeves.

“Isn’t it just the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen?” Lelia asked, doing a little twirl for him. He swallowed a hungry growl, but he couldn’t help but reach out to run his fingers over the fabric at the small of her back. His dove jumped, but then went still, looking over her shoulder at him, loose auburn curls spilling tantalizingly over her bare skin as big brown doe eyes gazed at him hopefully. “Do you like it?”

Simon knew he should pull away. Instead, he flattened his palm against the base of her spine as he nodded, staring down at her intensely. He stepped closer, crossing the threshold, and his chest burned with arousal as he remembered the sounds of rustling fabric. She’d been naked just a moment ago, the only thing separating him from her was the thin wood of the door—and he hadn’t even known.

His hand slowly dragged up the length of her back, until it finally met bare skin. Lelia shivered from the chill of his skin, but he could see her nipples were stiff beneath the silk, and her sweet, musky scent filled the air. She liked this. She liked how he touched her. And he knew he could make her feel so fucking good…

“‘rrrreeetttyyyy…”

The mangled word came from deep in his chest, rumbling out in a low, gravelly voice. Lelia’s cheeks grew rosy and she bit her lip, trying and failing to hide a smile. Simon’s hand smoothed over her bare shoulder and down her arm to clumsily play with the delicate pearl sleeve. He could break it so easily—could tear the dress off of her in a second and throw her onto the bed, have her naked and vulnerable beneath him. She would be his to claim. His to devour.

With a grunt, he lowered his hand and stepped away, cock aching even though it didn't so much as twitch in his trousers. Christ, this was the worst fucking case of blue balls he’d ever had, and he couldn't even rub one out to make it better.

He was still half tempted to try.

Lelia’s face fell a little, but she quickly recovered, giving him a sheepish, slightly strained look. She said something about needing to focus on finding supplies, then shut the door in his face. The sounds of her getting undressed reached his ears, and he swiftly walked downstairs so he didn't try to take a peek.

Back at the house, Lelia wiped herself down with a clean rag, a bar of soap, and a bowl of water heated on the stove. There were several layers of towels piled below her on the toilet’s tiled floor, as she couldn’t bear to stand in the tub even if it was empty. She had to work quick, as the air was chilly even with the fireplace lit, as she didn’t want to catch a cold. Even a little case of the sniffles could spell her death in this new world.

Washing her hair was the worst part, and she always saved it for last incase it sent her into a panic. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, held her head over the sink—not the tub, never the tub—and dumped a second bowl of lukewarm water over it. She kept her lips clenched tightly together as the world went foggy, but when she finally let out a breath, unable to hold it any longer, she began to calm when water didn't suddenly rush into her mouth and fill her lungs.

With shaking hands, she worked a little bit of the rose-scented shampoo she’d found through her locks, careful to conserve as much as she could. Who was to say when they’d stumble upon another bottle? Especially one that made her hair all shiny and soft like this one did.

Lelia sighed and mentally prepared herself for the second rinse. Once it was done, she wrapped her wet hair up in a fluffy towel and dried her body off with another before changing into an oversized set of flannels she’d designated as her sleepwear after finding it a week ago. She was tired of sleeping in dirty clothing. She was tired of wearing dirty, ugly clothing in general—she’d picked up a few new shirts and even a new pair of jeans since she and Simon had truly settled into the village, but none of them were her style. Not until the dress today.

Lelia blushed at the memory. She’d been so excited to find such a stunning piece of clothing—but even more so to model it for Simon.

His reaction had taken her breath away. For some reason, the feeling of his bare, cold skin against her own had made her feel hot all over. And the way he’d looked at her…

It had been similar to the way he looked at her when he hadn’t eaten in too long—but not quite the same. There was something more human to it. She almost thought it might have been lust, but there was no cruel glint in his eyes. Lelia had learned that that always came hand in hand with a man’s desire.

The shameful part was that Lelia would have welcomed it. The aching emptiness inside her got worse everyday. She was anxious most of the time now, even more so than usual. Like she was just waiting for someone to stumble across her and take away her choice again. She thought perhaps that was the crux of it—she couldn’t truly bring herself to believe it would never happen again, and so her body was making her crave it. It was telling her to get it over with and have sex, so at least for once, it would be her choice.

None of that made her feel like any less of a whore, though.

Lelia sighed, moving over to the bedroom door and knocking on it to let Simon know she was done. He always hid himself away in there when she bathed, so she could keep the toilet door open and let in the heat from the fireplace. The first time she’d done it, he’d tried to wait outside, but she hadn’t let him. Just because he didn't feel the cold didn't mean he needed to get soaked through with snow.

A moment later, Simon stood in front of her, eyeing the towel on her head warily. She giggled a little. Simon had found out the hard way that her hair was wrapped up in it—she’d fallen asleep with it on, and he’d tried to pull it off to her, only to wake her up as she yelped in pain. He’d been horrified, but once the instinctual fear left her, she’d just found it funny.

She’d also enjoyed him cradling her in his arms and gently petting her hair for an hour straight, like he was trying to apologize to the very strands themselves.

Lelia took Simon’s hand and led him over to the couch, picking up her poetry book and sitting down on the soft cushions. Simon piled several blankets on top of her before joining her, throwing his arm over the backrest so she could curl up against his side.

She paged through the book before she found the poem she’d been looking for. Reading to Simon had become a part of their daily routine since that first time, and they’d gotten through the little book twice now, including the poems in Russian.

The only ones she hadn’t read to him were her own.

She paused, looking up at Simon. He tilted his head in a silent question. She raised a hand to tap her fingers nervously against her lips, but then spoke.

“Would you… would you want to hear a poem that I wrote?” She asked, voice whisper-quiet. “None of mine are very good, but at least it will be something new…”

Simon let out a grunt of agreement, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners and he leaned in closer to her, eager. Lelia blushed, turning back to the book and then flipping to a new page.

“This one is called Springtime,” she started, but then stopped, embarrassment already creeping up on her. She set the book down and pulled the towel off her head, tossing it on the floor and beginning to fiddle with her damp hair. “It’s stupid, I should just read one of the real poems, you don’t want to hear this drivel—”

Cold fingers gently gripped her chin, turning her to face Simon. Lelia’s heart skipped a beat and she looked up at him with wide eyes. He lightly shook her head, like he was trying to shake some sense into her, before letting go. He pointed at her, then at the book in her lap, and then her again. The message was clear. Read the damn poem.

Lelia had never heard Simon swear, but some of his frustrated growls sounded suspiciously close to curses, so she figured that he would if he could.

“It’s very short,” she continued trying to stall, but when Simon growled at her, she raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll read.

“Into the abyss of love we dove,” Lelia recited, cheeks already bright red, “headfirst; there was no sun for you are my sun. My love, my vision of springtime.

“I told you it was bad,” Lelia muttered, refusing to look at Simon as she burned hotly with humiliation. She’d written it after watching a particularly sappy romance film, when her head was still full of dreams in which the man she married would cherish her rather than destroy her.

“No. Ss’ggoood,” Simon said. He was getting better at speaking—or maybe Lelia was just getting better at understanding him. “Lll— llliike iit.”

Lelia was quiet for a long moment, picking at her cuticles. Simon shifted next to her, placing a hand on top of hers to halt the anxious habit. She let out a deep breath, taking his hand in hers.

“Do you really think so?” She asked softly as she played with his fingers. They were still cold, but they weren’t nearly as stiff as they used to be. They were almost as quick as hers, nowadays.

“Mmmm,” Simon hummed, the sound throaty and a little off-putting. She knew that meant he was trying to soften the noise for her, and her lips tugged up into a small smile. Simon cupped the back of her head with his free hand, and guided it to rest against his chest as he pet her wet hair. Her breath caught in her throat, and he stilled, but she quickly snuggled into him, not wanting him to stop. “Ss’ggoood, Dddoove.”

“I’ve never shown anyone my poems before,” she admitted in a whisper, staring at where their joined hands rested in his lap. “You’re the first.”

Simon’s petting paused for a moment before starting up again, and Lelia realized that she’d surprised him. She huffed a laugh, wiping away an unwelcome tear. It was just that there was a reason no one had ever heard her poems—no one had ever cared enough about her to want to.

Lelia lifted her head, gazing into Simon’s cloudy eyes. The shadows from the flickering fire almost made it seem like there were swirls of onyx dancing in the white irises. Lelia couldn’t help but think that the color suited him.

“You’re the first person to make me truly happy, too” she confessed, voice soft. “I wish I had met you before—” before the world ended. Before you died. Before I was forced to marry Andrew and a part of me died, “Well. Before everything, I suppose.”

Simon stroked her damp hair, and she could see the skin around his eyes tighten and his jaw quiver, a sign that he wanted to say something but wasn’t able to with his limited words. She just smiled at him, reaching up to cup his cheek, absentmindedly using her flannel to wipe away a bit of drool.

“It’s alright,” she soothed him, before yawning and laying her head on his chest once more. She snuggled even closer to him, so she was half in his lap, the fire in the hearth keeping her warm despite Simon’s lack of body heat. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Simon grunted, frustrated, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into his lap fully. She let out a pleased sound, letting her eyes flutter shut. She was just on the cusp of sleep when he finally spoke, the words making her smile even as they escaped the grasp of her memory.

“Yyyouu are… eeerr’rryy… thhhiinnng… ttoo… ‘eee…”

[runningfromaghost]

Roommate

This is my first fanfic on here so let me know how ya’ll like it!

Summary: You are Bucky’s new roommate after he had posted an ad in the newspaper. The super soldier hadn’t thought many people would contact him about the room available as nowadays most- if not everybody did everything online. He was right though; you had been the only one to respond in the two weeks that the ad was in the paper. But there is a reason you used a newspaper to find housing and a payphone to contact Bucky.

“Hey doll, how was your shift?” Bucky asks as you walk through the door coming home from your shift at the diner.

Initially you had been intimidated by James Buchanan Barnes or Bucky as he prefers to be called. With your recent history, you were weary of men in general but within ten minutes of being around Bucky, he made you feel comfortable and welcome and even safe in his presence. Three things you had lacked to feel in a long time. You moved in a couple of weeks ago so the two of you are still getting adjusted to the other for the most part, but it’s been easy going so far.

“Hey Bucky,” you give him a small smile as you close and lock the door. “Not bad, went quickly actually. I’m gonna shower and change, I can make dinner when I get out if you’d like?”

“Sure doll, if you tell me what to get ready, I can set everything out to help.”

“That’d be great,” you nod. “If you could pull out the chicken, bacon, spinach, and the heavy cream please?”

Bucky stands up and is quick to get to work, pulling out all the ingredients before frowning to himself. He’d like to offer you more help than just setting everything out so he walks down the hall to your bedroom and knocks gently, hoping you haven’t jumped in the shower yet as he can hear it running. You had just gathered your fresh change of clothes when you hear Bucky knock on the bedroom door, so you open it while tucking the clothes under your arm.

“S-sorry. I just wanted to know if I could do anything else to help?” Bucky’s asks shifting from foot to foot.

“You can chop up the bacon and cut the chicken into bite size pieces if you’d like,” you tell him. “And then in a pot start cooking the bacon on medium high heat.”

Bucky absorbs the information you give him, nodding and dunking away with a smile on his face making you laugh softly. You make your shower quick just in case he has any other questions. Going through the motions of your shower, you get out quickly to dry off and towel dry your hair before dressing in the cotton pajama shorts and t-shirt.

Bucky damn near drools when he sees you walking into the kitchen dressed in your little pair of shorts and simple shirt. He didn’t think you could get any more attractive- and since he hasn’t seen you dressed up aside from work… seeing you dressed so comfortably in front of him… well let’s just say it does things to him that makes his jeans uncomfortably tight.

“Are you okay?” you ask Bucky as you notice he hadn’t moved when you walked into the kitchen to see what all he’d gotten accomplished.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine,” he nods. “You?”

You let out a soft laugh as you nod as well while pulling out a second pot to fill with water for the penne noodles.

“Get to do anything exciting today?” you ask while placing the pot of water on the stove to boil, getting to work on finishing up the bacon before draining most of the grease into an empty coffee container and tossing in the chicken.

“Met Sam for breakfast, nothing exciting,” Bucky replies. “I think he’s gonna try to get me to socialize again,” he grumbles unenthusiastically.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “It can’t be that bad.”

“I have enough friends,” Bucky tries to defend himself.

“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow with a smile looking at him. “How many friends do you have?”

Seasoning the chicken well, you salt the water and wait for your roommates reply patiently. From the short time the two of you have been around the other, he’s told you about Sam and that’s it.

“Two! And that’s plenty enough for me,” he smiles smugly.

“Oh?” you say in a surprised manner. “Who is this second friend that I’ve heard nothing about?”

Bucky smiles wider at you as you continue cooking. “Oh, uh, well she is about this tall,” he raises his hand to measure your height before continuing, “same hair color and length as yours…”

You laugh and can’t even hide your smile. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Bucky nods. “Oh, did I mention the eye color?” you shake your head slightly in response. “Well, she’s got the same eye color as well. Ironically the two of you have the same name.”

“Huh,” you pretend to think, tapping your pointer finger on your chin. “Wonder if I know her.”

Bucky chuckles. “You’d know her if you saw her. She’s smart, beautiful, caring…”

“Sounds like she’s lucky to have a friend like you,” you tell him honestly while replacing the chicken with spinach to cook that down and seasoning that as well.

“The other way around actually,” he smiles while bumping you gently.

You feel your face redden with the compliment, keeping your face trained on your task for the time being with a smile. “How about we’re both lucky for arguments sake?”

“I can live with that.”

You’re not sure when you began to develop feelings for your very handsome roommate, but with living with him for two months now and spending all your free time with him… well it’s definitely taken its toll on your feelings. You haven’t had a crush of any sort since going on the run from your past. Honestly, you can’t afford to have a crush on anybody- much less your roommate.

“Here you are sir, is there anything else I can get for you?” you smile as you drop off your customers order of fresh hot pancakes and syrup.

The gentleman shakes his head with a tightlined smile. “No thanks.”

Nodding, you give him extra napkins just in case before walking away and tending to the other customers in the diner. The bell dings, signaling someone has walked in making you look up and smile to greet the customer.

“Hey there doll,” greets Bucky with Sam next to him smiling brightly with a head nod towards you.

“Hey guys! Dinning in or just a pit stop?” You question while pouring a cup of coffee for the older couple.

“Brunch today,” answers Sam, shoving Bucky out of the way. “This one has been hogging you so I figured this would be the place to see your lovely face.”

“Have not,” grumbles the super soldier.

“Pick a table guys,” you laugh with a shake of your head.

The older lady you had refilled the coffee for clears her throat gently so you look at her with a smile. “I’m sorry I kn- “

“No dear,” she smiles sweetly at you as she holds her hand up and motions you closer to her so you lean down. “He’s in love with you, you know.” You pause, not knowing what to say but she continues with, “The bigger guy in the gloves. I can see it in his eyes. You love him too, don’t you sugar?”

“He’s my roommate,” you say in a small breath. What did she mean she can see it in his eyes?

“Keep telling yourself that sugar,” she giggles and pats your hand gently.

By the time you make it to Sam and Bucky, you’re so deep in thought they give you a funny look when you actually take their order instead of placing their regular orders automatically. You bounce back when the older couple leave though and you shake it off with a grain of salt. Making your rounds again, this time with some checks, and to-go coffees, you notice the one man with pancakes staring hard at Bucky and yourself.

“Can I get you anything else?” you try to ask in your normal customer service voice with a smile.

“Just the check, thanks,” his voice is hard but you quickly take out his bill to slip it to him and as you go to take his empty plate and cup he grips your wrist tightly.

Your heart lurches into your throat, palms going sweaty instantly while panic rises too quickly for your liking and your eyes shoot to his shitty brown ones. “I’d appreciate it if you let me go,” you say softly as to not alert the two former Avengers across the diner.

“I was told to give you a message,” the customer says. “He’ll kill my family if I don’t do what he wanted, I- I’m sorry.”

You swallow thickly, understanding why this man was acting strangely the whole time he’s been here. Your past has finally come back to haunt you… to kill you. Nodding at the man you take a deep breath and slowly release it.

“What is the message?”

Luckily the man before you releases his hold on you, slowly standing up he reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet and takes out cash for his bill while simultaneously pulling out a note as well.

“I don’t know what it says… but there’s a USB drive too,” he tells you.

Grabbing what he gives you, you shove it in your apron pocket. “Is he in the city?”

“I live an hour away.”

Still too close for your liking. “Did you know him before?”

The man shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles with emotion.

Anybody who has the unfortunate luxury of crossing paths of John Walker tends to regret it sooner or later. What you didn’t realize was how much you would come to regret ever accepting the help of John and how much you would come to regret his courtship. The two of you met at a club- you had been trying to wrangle off the affections of an overly drunken man at the time, but he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. John, while looking like a knight in shining armor was just a monster in disguise.

He had taken you to turn you into one of the many women you would soon find out that would be sold on the black market. But he kept you for himself after spending one night with you. After realizing how isolated and alone you actually were. You were easy to break and mold into what he wanted you to be.

“I said no, you jerk!” you shout at the obnoxious man, trying to shove him away.

“Oh, come on sexy, let’s go back to my place- “suddenly he is shoved to the side with a firm punch to the face by a tall handsome blonde man.

“I believe she told you ‘no’. Beat it!” the savior growls at the drunk.

You can’t help gawking at the man in front of you, where had he come from? Hell, where had he been all your life? Subconsciously you press your thighs together all the while your tongue darts out to moisten your bottom lip.

“Thanks for that,” you say crossing your arms. “He wouldn’t leave me alone, clearly,” you huff a laugh.

“You’re welcome,” he smiles brightly at you. “I’m John, by the way. John Walker.”

John Walker. You regret ever meeting him. But you don’t know that yet.

You can’t help your own smile and telling him your name, blushing when he tells you how beautiful sounding it sounds. The two of you leave the club that night together to go to a smaller bar- one where you would later find out he initially tried to drug you at before changing his mind.

The next few weeks were spent connected at the hip and not even thinking twice about when he just knew something that you hadn’t thought you told him. He showered you in expensive shopping trips- ones you tried to tell him wasn’t reasonable as he hadn’t known you for more than a couple days when he suggested it. Everything from manicure and pedicure to hair care, and a new wardrobe with shoes to match- if you so much so as looked at something John made you get it.

You knew John had a great paying job for him to have such luxury things for himself and for him to spend so much on someone like you without batting an eye, he really must’ve been well off. What you hadn’t known was what it was John did for work after his nine to five job. All you knew is he worked for a high-tech company and got paid more than well.

John had been acting funny after some strange man came over and made a comment about you walking around the kitchen freely. You hadn’t said anything as you quietly proceeded to grab a bottle of water from the fridge before turning around and walking right back out.

“Mine to do with as I please, yes?” you heard Johns reply as soon as you were out of the kitchen.

Later, after that man John had been meeting with left, you would confront your boyfriend of six months. Slowly his true colors have been unfolding right in front of you, but his damage has taken its toll on you already. You’re in too deep now as he had already isolated you from the handful of friends you had before. With no parents or siblings to check in on you, you were just a chess piece waiting to be moved into play.

Around eleven that night is when John decided to come to bed, all the while you were rehearsing what you were going to say to him. Leading up to this point, he hadn’t put his hands on you… up to this point, that would change.

“John...?” you ask hesitantly, nervously as you wrangle your hands in your lap as you sit up in bed on your side.

“What?” he harshly answers throwing his dress shirt into the hamper before stripping out of his slacks.

Already the tears threaten to disrupt your vision so you are quick to blink them away and biting your bottom lip. “I- I think we should take a break,” you say in a rushed breath. Even you were surprised you had managed to say it without the sentence coming out terribly butchered and/or run together.

The bedroom is eerily silent. As you look up however, you are met with John’s stone-cold face standing right in front of you and in a split second, just before he begins beating every inch of your body, you see pure rage take over his face. You don’t remember much from that night, it’s a blur after the fourth hit to be honest.

The next day, you wake up to an abundance of flowers along with a new jewelry set and a love note telling you sorry he overreacted and that he’d be seeing you for lunch on the terrace to talk things over. You rolled over like the dog he trained you to be. You ate right out of the palm of his hand just like the good girl he taught you to be. Things changed though. The beatings became more severe, words more abrasive, different men coming to the house like the one who made you begin to question John in the first place… John kept you under lock and key- never allowing you out of sight when those men would come, however he could care less whenever they weren’t around.

That’s exactly how you ended up with all the dirt on John Walker. The biggest most feared ringleader of human trafficking. His specialty being women of course. Video after video and document after document you went through and made two sets of copies of, keeping the originals for yourself and stashing one set while you mailed the other to a PO Box wherever you move to. Biding your time until you could make your move, you ended up waiting until he had to take a business trip for his actual job- or so he said two months later after compiling your plan together.

The night before he left you were a wreck, your nerves going into overdrive and your whole body feeling as if it could explode with how much anxiety that seemed to be exuding from you. That is exactly why you chose to do what you did next…

“John?” you say quietly, coming to stand just behind your… soon to be ex. Your heart is pounding in your chest, hands shaking as you try to decide where to place them.

“What is it?” while John’s voice isn’t harsh, you still flinch out of knee-jerk reaction anymore.

‘This is a dumb idea!’ You think to yourself as you get flashes of previous night’s here you had rejected this man of any sexual advances, they turned into worse fights than the last. John had turned around when you kept silent and was surprised to say the least when he saw you standing in such proximity to him. Narrowing his eyes at you, he tilts his head to try to figure you out.

You lick your dry lips as you watch him before mustering up the courage to make a simple request. A simple, DUMB request! “Make love to me,” you whisper.

That is the last night you let his body bring you pleasure, and you can’t even justify why you gave in that night when you put up a good fight all the other ones. That was the last time you slept next to John Walker, but it wouldn’t be the last you’d see of him.

The USB drive contained a short video of John Walker explaining what he would do that man’s family if you didn’t meet him in the club the two of you had met in Arizona. You had played it on your boss’s computer with his headphones in right after the man left. Right after you watched the video, you snuck out the back after telling your boss you had a family emergency to tend to. He let you go with no questions asked and helped out the other waitress with tables until someone came in to cover the last hour.

Meanwhile Sam and Bucky had been subtly checking for you after seeing you talk to the man earlier. You had served a couple other tables but hadn’t gotten back to your two friends- which was fine, but after fifteen minutes of not seeing you anywhere… even Sam had thought it to be odd. So, when your manager is the one to come with the bill and not his roommate, Bucky is ready to tear the city apart to look for you. 

“What happened to our waitress?” Bucky questions as your boss walks up.

“Some type of family emergency,” the older man grumbles. “She’s never had to leave before like this so I’m covering.”

Bucky tosses cash on the table quickly, more than enough to cover their meal and tip and then some before bolting as quickly as possible out of the diner. Sam looks just as shocked for a moment before nodding at the man and running out of the diner after his friend.

“Yo, wait up!” Sam shouts after Bucky but he doesn’t listen. “What’s up? She had a fami- “

Bucky growls and comes to a stop in his run. “You don’t get it, Sam! She doesn’t have family!”

Sam frown, “Then why would she tell her boss that?”

“Run and talk Sam!” The two of you take off into a sprint. “When- when she had come here, it was under false pretenses. I sensed she was running from something,” Bucky shakes his head as you two reach the apartment building and hightail it up the flight of stairs.

“Well did she tell you?” Sam pants, running out of breath. Don’t get him wrong, Sam is very fit and in shape, but he is nothing compared to the super soldier next to him.

“Boyfriend. He must’ve found her and spooked her, she’s running,” Bucky damn near tramples down his apartment door.

Sam leans against the kitchen counter panting while Bucky is hardly breaking a sweat.

“Doll face?” Bucky hollers loud enough for you to hear had you been in your bedroom. “You home?”

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

Bucky doesn’t bother knocking on your door, he opens it to find some items missing and a note on her bed neatly placed with Bucky’s name on it.

‘Hey, Buckaroo,

I’m sorry to leave like this. The crazy ex I told you about found me, and I don’t have time to pack. Please don’t be mad at me, I know you said you could help but there is so much you don’t know. If I get somewhere safe, I’ll send you a post card and note with next months rent and grocery money.

XO’

Across the city, you walk through the Avengers tower in hopes to see someone you recognize from Bucky’s photos. Luckily you don’t have to look long nor do you have to go too far into the building before you see the tall red head you’d been hoping for. She’s even walking your way.

“Excuse me!” you shout slightly just before she is going to walk by you with another Avenger you don’t think you’ve seen before. “Hi, s- sorry,” you continue as the red head turns to look at you with a cocked eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“Uh- yes, hi,” you stammer, pulling out your baggy full of USB’s. “I- my- “

“Do you need a doctor?” she asks with a tilt of her head looking concerned as the man she had been walking with takes a step closer.

“Oh, hey you’re Bucky’s roommate,” he comments.

You nod. “Yes. I- I mean yes, I’m his roommate- was.” You shake your head with a deep sigh. “Your Natasha?”

“I am. Is Bucky okay?” Natasha asks suddenly concerned for her friend as you stand her so… weird.

“Yes, he is. Um. I- I know you don’t know me but, can you do me a favor?” finally the reason you’re here is thrown out as you shove the baggy of USBs into Natasha’s hands.

“What are these?” she frowns down at the baggy.

“Enough evidence to put away a lot of bad people for very mundane things in comparison to what you guys do,” you tell her honestly. “My time is running out and I need someone who can deal with this, who can upload everything and make sure it’s taken care of. You did it once before right?” you question, your eyes begging her. “Please?”

“We’ll look through it,” she tells you as you look at the time for the umpteenth time.

“If you see Bucky, tell him I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You should get started on those,” you nod to the drives before turning around and sprinting out the building down half a block and hailing a cab.

The drive to the airport is nerve wracking, you wish you could go back home and watch a movie with Bucky while playing the card game ‘war’. The flight itself goes smoothly, there isn’t any delays and since you only have your small carry-on bag you make quick work on making it out of the airport and into the heat of Arizona.

While you had just left the Avengers Tower, Natasha got to work on the USB drives as quickly as she could get to her office upstairs. It had been Clint that was walking with Natasha and he’s the one who got a hold of Bucky before the two Avengers opened the first USB drive.

“Hey, Clint, I’m sorry I don’t have time for a social call right- “Bucky had picked up the phone call on the third try to be cut off by Clint.

“Shut up and listen, Barnes. Your girl was here,” Clint rushes out before Bucky thinks about hanging up. “She dropped off USB drives to Nat, wanting her to go through and upload them. We’re going through them now- “

This time it is Natasha that cuts off Clint. “Buck, whoever this woman is, she is up shit creek. You need to get here as soon- “

Natasha breaks off as he comes bursting through the office door with Sam who looks like he’s ran a marathon and then some.

“She’s running from an ex-boyfriend,” Bucky has the decency to pant as he walks up. Both Natasha and Clint wear the same shocked expressions at seeing you so quickly, but they shake it off as they make room. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

The pair of current Avengers tell the two former Avengers everything you had said and done.

“Wait, wait, wait, go back,” Clint says to Nat. “Isn’t he the one we’ve been after? All the missing women- he’s the one behind it.”

“Holy shit,” Natasha whispers as she quickly pulls up the file for the job, they’ve been working on for six months. “It is! And… and…” Natasha looks up at Bucky.

“You can’t be serious right now,” Sam says, disbelief coating his voice.

“We have to find her before it’s too late,” Bucky says.

Entering the club, you shake off the cold chill that runs down your spine the moment you step through the threshold. When the door slams shut you are hit on the back of the head with something hard enough to knock you out. When you come back to your senses, you have a killer headache, and you are tied to a chair in the middle of the clubs basement.

“Have a nice nap baby?” John sneers, taking a swig from his bottle of scotch.

There are a couple of men in the basement with you seemingly standing guard while he continues to set up his table of torture devices. Your breaths are coming out in pants as you can’t help but panic slightly.

“No,” you reply.

“Good,” he smirks picking up the pack of cigarettes and lighting one up before taking a deep drag and slowly walking up to you. “Where are my drives at baby?”

Straight to the point then. You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about John. Maybe you need to lay off the alcohol,” you tell him earning you a hard smack across your cheek making you gasp.

“Make this easy for yourself,” John seems to beg you. “Be a good girl and tell me where they are!” he yells.

“You always were a bad drunk, John,” you say instead earning you punch in the gut this time.

You gasp for air. John walks back to his table of torture devices, carefully selecting a pair of brass knuckles and sliding them on with ease.

“Last chance baby,” John sighs heavily, eyes darting to one of the guards who come walking over. You can hear a chain getting tossed around and your heart races faster for what’s to come. “Tell me,” his face is so close to yours that you can feel his grown-out beard.

Spitting in his face, you see the pure hatred coating every inch of his once handsome face before it turns into an evil smile.

“That’s okay,” he bobs his head up and down while pulling out a handkerchief to clean off his face. “Jason, hook her up.”

Suddenly the man named Jason is roughly cutting the ties from the chair to quickly yank you up and has you in thick chain cuffs. Your arms are above your head, and you are stretched in a way that you have to balance on your tip toes if you don’t want to pull your arms out of their sockets. John Walker begins to really show you what he had done after his nine to five job. It’s not long until you can’t contain your agonized cries of pain and all the while your ex-boyfriend has a sadistic smile on his face.

“They were right,” he tells you after some time. “Should’ve just fuckin’ sold you like the whore you are. Would’ve made me money instead of wasting it. Fuckin’ bitch,” he laughs.

“Fuck you,” you spit a mouthful of blood at his feet.

The beating continues. Brass knuckles, kicks, and now burns.

“Okay!” you cry out in defeat. “I- I’ll tell- “

You’re cut off as the power to the whole building shuts off, leaving you in complete and utter darkness. Scuffling can be heard about just before a lot of what sounds like gunfire. There must’ve been a lot more men who had been with John than what you saw as there is a lot going on around you. It’s been a long night for you up until this point, so nothing is quite clear until some lights turn back on. Bodies litter the basement floor and John who hides behind you, cocks his gun and points it to your head.

“Doll?” you hear a familiar voice ring out.

Forcing your eyes open, you see Bucky in full tactical gear looking as if he could kill with his eyes if he was able. You can’t seem to keep your eyes open for too long, your body is too heavy for that at the moment and you mumble incoherently.

“I suggest you put the gun down,” you can hear Bucky say.

“Seems like she’s my only ticket out of here,” John replies roughly. “You’re going to let me- “

For some reason John is cut off mid reply and his body knocks into you, knocking you roughly forward which jolts you conscious once again.

“I thought we agreed on a signal, Nat?” Bucky says angrily as he carefully lifts you into his arms.

“His voice was fucking annoying, Buck,” Natasha defends herself. “If I had to listen to one more second of it, I was going to find a way to saw off my own ears.”

When Bucky unhooks you from the chains, he carefully sets the two of you to the floor to assess you over. “Come on doll, I need you to open your eyes for me,” Bucky says in what sounds like a far-away voice as he very carefully and lightly taps tap the only clear part of your face.

“Mm?” you mumble. “Bucky?” Your voice is strained, he can hear the way it sounds like you’re gargling with each breath you take.

“I’m going to get you out of here doll, don’t worry,” Bucky promises, quickly looking over you for external bleeding injuries and anything he might need to splint until they get you back to the Avengers Tower.

“Everyone is accounted for and in custody,” Sam speaks over the earpiece.

The team had a doctor with a whole medical supply come along, so when you guys emerged from the club basement to the makeshift ambulance truck, he got right to work. Bucky was hovering obnoxiously close; Sam had to pull him away from you when you began to code in front of him. Sam and yourself had gotten closer, sure, so it was no walk in the park for him either watching you like you were, but Sam wasn’t the one who was in love with you.

Luckily, by the time Natasha gets the truck to the Quinjet, the doctor has stabilized you for the time being. Unfortunately, by the time the Quinjet touched down at the Avengers Tower, you had coded for a second time and had been even harder to get back. While in the operating room, with Bucky not leaving the window to watch you the whole thirteen-hour surgery for the extensive internal bleeding repair among other things, you had coded two additional times an hour apart.

“She’s going to be okay,” Sam tells his friend confidently this time. All the other thousand times, even to his own ears it had sounded forced; sounded like a lie.

She’s been in recovery for two days now, still unconscious, but at least you’ve been stable since the doctors finished. Bucky is made to shower and eat; he won’t leave your side for nothing unless forced. When Bucky had asked the doctors when you would wake up, they had told him it’d be dependent on you and when your body was ready. Your body wasn’t ready for another four and a half days. During which time Bucky stayed by your side the whole time, either holding your hand or rubbing your arm gently.

The first thing you noticed when your eyes fluttered open was that your body felt like you had been run over repeatedly. Your throat felt like it was on fire and your whole mouth felt dryer than the Sahara Desert. The third thing you noticed was you couldn’t move your left hand as you find Bucky has it grasped in his own hand with his head laying on his crossed arms. Squeezing his hand startles him slightly as it was a foreign feeling that he hadn’t been expecting you to wake up, let alone wake up before he could before his small nap.

“Doll!” Bucky exclaims, a smile breaking over his face while tears spring to his eyes. “Let me call the doctor in,” he says, reaching over for the little button next to you.

“Oh, good, you’re up!” the doctor smiles at you. “Doctor Grady by the way. How are you feeling?” he begins to examine you.

“Like shit,” you manage to rasp out.

Bucky had jumped up to grab you a cup of ice water with a straw and brings it up to your mouth.

“I want to keep you here for another day or so for observation since your body has been through the wringer,” Dr. Grady tells you while Bucky pokes the straw gently in your mouth. “If you are good and out of the woods, we will transfer you out of the ICU and they’ll determine when you get to be set free.”

“Drink, doll,” Bucky demands gently.

“You got very lucky,” Dr. Grady begins.

Dr. Grady spends the next hour explaining everything they had to do to save your life, not leaving out any detail as Bucky keeps a hold of your hand. You try to listen carefully, you really do, but all you can pay attention to is how nice it is to have Bucky holding your hand. His lips even gently press against your knuckles, and you can’t even be sure if he is aware he’s making those actions or not. The doctor leaves after checking your vitals and making sure that you get some lunch ordered.

Exhaustion hits you as you shift uncomfortably in bed, trying to get in a new position. Bucky stretches, his bones and joints cracking as he does, and your eyes can’t help but stare at him. You missed him. It sounds silly, you know it.

“See something you like doll?” Bucky smirks at you. 

Your face reddens, you know it does, but you don’t care anymore because you could’ve lost all chances at seeing his handsome face ever again. There is a knock on the door just before it opens showing Sam walking through with a look of surprise on his face.

“You’re awake!” he smiles. “Next time you decide to dip out on us, do me a favor and take Mr. Brooding here with you.”

Your laughter is short lived as you begin coughing, tears welling up in your eyes from the pain shooting through your body. Sam comes walking up to the side of the bed and carefully slides your legs over to sit on the edge.

“How you feel short stack?” Sam asks seriously.

“I’ve been better,” you tell him.

“Nat got every video and document uploaded.” Sam has been curious as to how you would react to this news.

“Sam!” Bucky hisses harshly, his eyes hardening.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” you whisper sadly.

“No! You need to rest,” Bucky all but growls at you as his eyes glare holes into Sam’s face. “We don’t need to be talking about this right now,” he says definitively.

Reaching out your good hand, you are able to grab Bucky’s hand in your own and squeeze for comfort. Your touch grounds him, pulling him back down to you once more allowing him to breathe better. Yawning lets the two men know just how tired you are as your eyes begin to droop closed on their own accord.

Since you had such damaging injuries and especially having to be revived multiple times, you had to stay at the hospital for nine days just to be safe. Bucky never left your side. You had to tease him that he’d be the one getting a scrub down by a nurse if he didn’t go shower every couple days at least and you didn’t mind one bit. Right now, Bucky is driving the two of you home and you can’t help but feel a little nervous as just days ago you had fled from the very apartment leaving nothing but all your things and a note.

The two of you hadn’t spoken about anything related to your ex and whenever Natasha Romanoff or Clint Barton- who was the man you hadn’t known tried to ask you some questions or nonchalantly probe you for information while Bucky was in the room, he kicked them out automatically no matter what.

You needed to heal and relax and answering their questions right then wouldn’t allow you the healing and much needed rest your body still needed. So lost in thought, you hadn’t notice Bucky had pulled into his normal parking spot and had been watching you now for five minutes. Swallowing thickly, you turn your head to face him.

“What’s going on in that head of yours doll?” Bucky questions, his voice slightly raspy. 

You shake your head slightly. “I just,” you feel the tears well up in your eyes. “I didn’t think I’d be coming back here.”

Bucky frowns at you. “You haven’t gotten rid of me that easily,” he lightly jokes, clearing his frown quickly.

“No, I meant… I didn’t think I’d be alive to come back,” you whisper looking away.

“Did you forget who you live with,” Bucky arches an eyebrow. “Even if you had simply skipped town on me,” there is an edge to his voice, something you can’t quite figure out as he continues, “I would’ve found you and convinced you to come back.”

Letting out a broken laugh, you shake your head while unbuckling your seatbelt. Bucky makes sure you’re settled inside the apartment on the couch with a bottle of water while he brings up your guys’ bags. You can’t help but feel at home once more in the comfort of the apartment- subtract the fact that it is in fact your home, you would have thought it wouldn’t feel the same.

“Still in dreamland, hm?” Bucky’s voice draws you out of your head, making you look at him with a startled expression. He can’t help but laugh at you. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I wish I knew what went on in that head of yours.”

You breathe a laugh with a shake of your head. “If I make your head want to explode now, imagine how much more it would feel like exploding if you got just an inch inside.”

Plopping down beside you, Bucky carefully shifts your body to lean against his gently. “I suppose you’re right doll,” he recedes. “Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be worth it though. Now how about a movie marathon with my best girl?”

Later in the evening, when the two of you had gone to your respective bedrooms, you lay awake glaring at the door waiting for something- someone rather, to barge in to kill you. You lay away until one in the morning until you groan and shuffle your way to Bucky’s bedroom. Timidly you knock on his bedroom door three times as you struggle to hold your body upright.

Bucky hadn’t fallen to sleep unbeknownst to you, in fact, he had stayed up just in case you needed him but were too afraid to do anything. He was ten seconds away from saying ‘fuck it’ and going to your bedroom to check on you when he heard your groan just before the shuffling of your feet towards his bedroom. You don’t even have to say anything for him to know what you want, instead, he ushers you inside his room and guides you onto his bed.

Something about being engulfed by this man’s scent comforts you, and the way his body tucks around your own as if the two of you were made for one another is out of this world. Bucky tucks you securely into his chest facing away from him, his arm draping over your torso to reach between the valley of your breasts and palm your face. There is nothing sexual in the way the two of you are laying you remind yourself as butterflies begin to form and you exhale contently, allowing your body to relax.

“Night, Bucky,” you whisper just before exhaustion overtakes you.

Bucky has to readjust himself a couple of times to keep from waking you up throughout the span of the half hour he remains conscious. He had decided while Sam and himself were on their way to get you, that he’d tell you how he felt, he wouldn’t hide anymore. You were too precious to him. It took too long for him to realize it but, he did.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky whispers thickly in your ear just as he allows sleep to overcome his body.

Waking up the following morning, you stretch as best you can which is a bit difficult as Bucky has not only his thick muscular arm wrapped around you still, but his leg is draped over you as well. Twisting in his hold causes him to shift slightly and grumble.

“You’re disturbing my peace,” he mumbles while scrunching up his nose.

You giggle. “I couldn’t help it, you’re basically on top of me.”

“Not my fault you kept freaking out in your sleep,” he peeks an eye open to gage your reaction.

Flashes of your nightmare rush through you making your breath catch in your throat. You can’t help but feel bad. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, diverting your eyes to his uncovered chest.

Had Bucky been shirtless all night long? You suddenly wonder what he tastes like and erase the thought to lick him like a lollipop. In a move so quick that you’re not sure how he does it, he has the two of you sitting up with you between his legs facing him.

“Woah, Buck,” you say grabbing ahold of his arm to steady your spinning head. “Warn a girl next time will ya?”

Laughing he nods in agreement. “Sorry doll. How about I go make us some breakfast and we sit down for a talk?”

“…A talk?” you question hesitantly. Is this when the floor is ripped out from underneath you?

Bucky’s eyes softens as he cups your cheek gently. “Nothing bad. Chocolate chip?”

“S-sure,” you stutter.

Bucky places a lingering forehead kiss on you, causing a ripple of butterflies to breakout in your stomach. Your face heats up as he pulls away and gently shifts you onto the bed once more before leaving the room. Letting out a breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding; you make your way to your bedroom for a shower, trying to clear your head of what Bucky had unintentionally done to you.

By the time you are dressed and your hair is towel dried, you can smell the food wafting from the kitchen making you stomach to grumble. Bucky hears the sound of your footsteps walking towards the kitchen just as he is plating up the food he made. Chocolate chip waffles, bacon, and eggs with coffee already brewed and a cup of orange juice already on the table. You definitely don’t deserve a guy like Bucky Barnes. But that doesn’t stop the thoughts of wanting him… of needing him. Of course, you’d never tell him as to not ruin your friendship and besides, you really don’t want to move again.

“Feel better doll?” Bucky shoots off as soon as you round the corner.

“Much…” you reply softly. “I’m sorry I woke you up last night.”

Bucky turns around holding the two plates of food, motioning you to sit down, not saying anything yet about last night. Poking at your food, you decide eating small would be best as you don’t know what your roommate wants to talk about. You do, however, drink your body weight in coffee by the time he’s done with his first cup. By the time your food is cold and you feel like vomiting what little you did eat along with the abundance of coffee you funneled, Bucky is taking the plates and quickly washing up all the while you’re positive he is getting off on the way your heartrate is doubling in pace and you can feel a panic attack setting in. Turning around, Bucky frowns at the state you’re in and is spreading your legs slightly to kneel between them… innocently unfortunately.

“Deep breaths for me doll,” he instructs in a soothing tone.

Oh. Oh! You had stopped breathing all together in your panic, not realizing that was contributing to why you began your downfall. You suck in a much-needed deep breath. Now you’re just embarrassed. Can’t even remember to oxygenate yourself without a reminder. No wonder Bucky is going to be dumping you out on the streets. He never said that! What else would he want to talk about?

“Concentrate…” Why is Bucky’s voice sound like it’s under water?

At this rate you just know he is looking up the nearest fire station to drop you off at. He lied when he said it wasn’t a bad talk he wanted to have, of course he did, he wouldn’t want me- Bucky isn’t him!

“Fuck it,” Bucky mutters under his breath before smashing his mouth against yours.

This is what he wanted to talk to you about after breakfast, he didn’t want to wait any longer, but this isn’t exactly what he had in mind when he thought that. It’s just… well, with you so far in your head and unable to listen to him… Bucky did the only other thing he could think of and kiss you. He moans as soon as he gets a taste of you. You’re his doll now. As you had been in a full-blown panic attack, it takes a few moments for your brain to process what is happening and during that time, Bucky pulls away only to reattach his lips. Finally! Your own small moan is let out and suddenly your hands are tangled in his hair tightly, his body being pulled forward closer to your own by you.

Once you had registered Bucky’s lips against your own, you said ‘fuck it’ as well. You’ve wanted this moment to happen for a while it finally is, not in the moment you would’ve liked however, it is happening. When Bucky’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip seeking entrance, you oblige. His tongue dominates yours quickly but you don’t mind, you would rather him be in charge especially of your body right now…

Suddenly you are lifted into the air and into Bucky’s arms where you are quick to wrap your legs around his mid-section. Next you are laid down on a pile of blankets, your head resting comfortably on what smells like Bucky’s pillow. Bucky is careful to not allow his raging hardon to not come between the two of you, he’s not sure how… reciprocated that would be even if he can smell your own arousal.

It seems like hours that you two are in a deep heavy make out session, before you have to pull away for proper air. Bucky’s lips don’t leave your skin though. They find themselves skimming across your jawbone, your ear, neck, peppering kisses all over your face. Bucky files away your small mewls and bodily reactions to certain spots everywhere his mouth wanders.

When you’re calmed down enough Bucky returns to your mouth with a much more tamed kiss. Slow and sensational, dragging it out just in case you reject him which even he thinks is a long shot at this rate. With one last kiss to your now red and swollen lips, Bucky presses his forehead against yours as a content smile plays on his own lips.

“So,” you pant softly, your face not only red from improper use of your lungs but, excitement as well. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

Bucky chuckles, his own face slightly heating up, his ears definitely getting painted a pretty shade of pink to show off his slight embarrassment. He hadn’t wanted to do this the way he felt he had to in the moment, it’s just he felt like he had no other option. He couldn’t stand seeing you in such turmoil because of something he had said even though he had told you it wasn’t anything bad. This wasn’t the first time seeing you like this, let alone hear it and not being able to do anything about it aside from trying to be someone you can talk to. This time was different. This time he wasn’t going to let you suffer alone while he watched and did nothing and while he would’ve liked to have at the very least had a first date before kissing you senseless, he can’t say he regrets it.

“Well,” Bucky begins almost shyly. “I wanted to- well I mean – you see,” he huffs, suddenly tongue tied. “Wouldyouliketogooutwithme?”

You smile brightly at Bucky, almost squealing in delight. “I’d love to go out with you, Buckaroo.”

Bucky groans at the nickname you’ve given him but it is quickly silenced with your lips pressing against his own. Yeah... you're definitely stuck with him now.

[isa-ghost]

God, it's no fucking wonder Ghosties get so defensive of him whenever people get too heated about his rp characters and stuff.

I've had plenty of spats with Ghosties who have gotten a bit too toxic about that kinda stuff (let's not even get into what Purgatory did to all of us Bolas & Soulfire watchers, or the current TRSMP stuff......). I'm sure even now I have some blocked and I just dr who on my blocklist is a Ghostie that maybe deserves a second chance. But Jesus Christ, ever since QSMP's fall from grace I've gained so much sympathy for Bad, and I understand why you guys get so vicious now. Even if I still condemn it and wish those who Do get way too mean would step back and realize they're mad about friends playing Minecraft.

Like I can be aggravated by the aggression without blaming y'all for it, if that makes sense? Some Ghosties do 100% need to chill the fuck out, but there are plenty of people who attack y'all and Bad to an unreasonably degree that also need to chill the fuck out too. I wish more people recognized it's a two way street, and realized where a lot of this defensiveness comes from. Bad and his community have put up with this kinda shit for going on 5 years, maybe even longer.

Even 1-2 years ago I was openly posting Bbh crit for a couple reasons, but I don't think I'd say I ever genuinely hated him? I'd like to think the crits were really fair of me, and even if things I've said have been emotionally charged, I've never said like. Fuck that guy, hope he dies, or whatever, y'know? It's always been genuine and nuanced at its core, as I try to be with all the discourse I weigh in on.

Like even during peak Purgatory when tensions between us Bolas watchers and Soulfire watchers (esp Ghosties, given Bbh did most of the work sending Bolas into manic hysteria) were UNBEARABLE and I was genuinely frustrated by things, I still didn't hate him. I actually have a post that TO THIS DAY gets notes thanking Bad for being a little shitgoblin the way he was because it gave us Bolas watchers such a weirdly special and chaotic thing that a lot of us still hold dear, even despite the boiling hatred we have for Purgatory and all the bullshit it caused as a whole.

And in the wake of everything between DSMP and QSMP, I don't think I could ever hate him now. Hearing things from Ghosties and even non-Ghosties is just solidifying that further. When the eggs were in and out of hiatus in 2024, and then Shade & Lumi left the team, I felt so fucking awful that Bad had to watch everyone else get their kids back while he had to "make do" with basically all the other eggs instead of his own (I know he was an honorary Richas parent and all that, but you get what I mean.) And then he lost Richas too. I'd argue he was the one holding out the hardest for QSMP to work itself out, and it just. Didn't. He got burnt by it all so fucking hard, I've felt terrible for him ever since.

I may not really watch him, and I may still get frustrated by his rp characters at times, but I don't hold anything against him. Especially because I see what a good person he is overall, and I've never forgotten how much shit he's had to put up with, even from some of my faves.

Bad puts his heart and soul into EVERYTHING he does, he has patience levels I couldn't even dream to have myself, and the lengths he goes for people he cares about are astronomical. And that's just what we know he's done, while everything he's done behind the scenes is implied. I think sometimes he's straight up too nice and forgiving for his own good, but that takes strength in itself in a way.

As he moves further and further away from the Dteam, I feel much more confident in standing up for him (the association was the main reason I've kept my distance). Same goes for the Ghosties who are cool and capable of talking about tension in a civil way.

So long as y'all are chill like that, I have your backs. I totally understand why you guys can get so prickly, and to a certain degree you guys deserve to be.

I wouldn't call myself a Ghostie exactly but I've been around since 2020 and I think we need to talk in detail about how Bad has been legitimately used and abused by the Dr*m Team. Especially now that he's making more noticeable moves to get the hell away from them.

Given I'm just on the outskirts of his community, my only starting points are their weird obsession with constantly threatening and joking about harming his dog (like during Jackboxes back in the day), and giving him 0 credit or acknowledgement for hosting the DSMP server.

But there is so so so so so so much more and I want this post to be a sounding board for the hardcore Ghosties who are sick of watching their guy get treated like shit constantly.

Go ahead and use this post to air them out, guys.

[drdtfuitgumies]

teruko plays among us: episode 07 // the power of friendship (and chekhov's knife)

six players remain, with two imposters still alive. if the imposters kill a single person each, the amount of crewmates and imposters will be equal, thus ending the game in the imposters' victory. it is in your best interest to eliminate the imposters in any way possible, be it through an emergency meeting... or by taking initiative.

knowing the stakes, i give you an option.

previous // return to episode 01 // next (????)

i remembered last-second not to spoil the other imposter in the "dead chat page", but their identity can be kinda intuited. Especially if you remember canon. i'm still letting you people choose though. b

this marks the end of my free time, two posts a week, and the certainty of this thing updating weekly :(( but i PROMISE that i will finish this silly little comic eventually. if not for anyone else then for me and my own PRIDE!!

anyhow! Everything happened all at once, so here's a few elaborations that will be helpful sooner or later: -) yes, xander Fakes sucking at card swipe. it usually works well! -) david did follow j to electrical and see teruko, xander, and whit hovering over j's body. he just made a conclusion based on what he saw. but he also happened to be executioner for teruko, and he just Wins if he gets teruko voted out! so things worked out like clockwork for him... if it weren't for... -) swapper is a crewmate role that can swap the votes of two people. the swapper should work in the interests of the crew, but there are so many things that can go wrong (especially in the hands of this cast) that some call it a neutral killing role -) arei voted for teruko because she respected david's haterism and found the concept of "teruko losing to david executioner on her for her very first game" hilarious -) whit also wanted to vote for teruko for the same reasons but his intuition told him something crazy would happen, so he voted for david instead -) guessing is a mod-only mechanic where all imposters AND the crewmate role "vigilante" can try to guess another player's role. here, imposters can only guess crewmates, while the vigilante can only guess imposters and neutral roles. if they're correct, their target dies (like an assassination); but if they're incorrect, the guesser dies. most real-life and therefore Sane players limit the maximum amount of guesses someone can do (to stop someone from theoretically winning from only guessing roles), but this cast is Not Sane in the slightest and allows "unlimited" guesses. if this seems easier to see in practice, worry not! This will be relevant within the next 2 episodes -) incidentally, xander voted for teruko last-second but he was really hoping a vigilante would guess david as executioner (which would kill him) then get teruko voted out right after (since david can't win off teruko's unjust execution anymore), which would bring a safer victory -) as a reminder, sheriff specifically has a faster kill cooldown than imposters, and teruko has done Nothing to reveal her role as sheriff. teruko will be safe!

teruko: sheriff (crewmate) / alive david: executioner (neutral) / dead arei: ??? (???) / alive whit: jester until proven otherwise (neutral?) / alive ace: ??? (???) / alive j: engineer (crewmate) / dead eden: swapper? (crewmate?) / alive charles: spy (crewmate) / dead xander: ??? (imposter) / alive min: altruist (crewmate) / dead

[hewasverycinematic]

Psychological warfare has been committed

So in-ho is my second favourite character from S2 of squid game (After the salesman cause daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn)

anyway

he's so complex and layered so I thought I'd list all the times I noticed him just fucking with Gi-hun

Sang-woo styling

So the first one has been said before many a time and it's how he's obviously styled his hair similar to Sang-woo. This works in two ways; One being that he's showing familiarity to Gi-hun, making him instantly comfortable around him, but ALSO that he should not be trusted in the same way Sang-woo definitely shouldn't have been. But also in a way that's so subconscious to Gi-hun that he wouldn't even register it. The other way this works is that the fluffiness makes him seem literally soft just from looking at him, making not only Gi-hun trust him but the rest of their little squad. So even if Gi-huns sub-conscious kicks in with the "maybe lets not trust him, he looks like that dude who betrayed me last time and he's got that same number as someone else I shouldn't have trusted" he would look insane (Rightly so.) This also makes Jung-bae not telling him he's suspicious of 001 even more painful.

Mingle

Then grabbing his best friend in the mingle game. Not much to say on this one, I originally thought it was odd bc why Jung-bae? It makes itself clear by the end of the season that he needed Jung-bae to stay alive for the gut punch at the end. It's also very clear, however, that Dae-ho would 100000% have paired up with him, so why did In-ho need to take him specifically? Well, he knows there's not being enough rooms for everyone. So he knew he would probably have to kill someone and this also makes sure Gi-hun doesn't see this side of him and cause tension/distrust early on. (He saw his reaction with Sang-woo and the glass bridge remember)

X O

He originally votes to continue the game, telling Gi-hun that he did it because of him. This really is a double blow, because he's basically shifting the blame of the games continuing onto Gi-hun. If he hadn't been there to give faith to "Young-il", he possibly would've voted X and this set of games would have ended. But he's also, once again, makes Gi-hun believe he has the power to make change and help people. The tone in which he speaks to him, whilst also being a bit told off, makes him come across as meek and clueless i.e. harmless. He does this alot in front of Gi-hun, the amount of times he apologises and says he must've misunderstood or didn't know adds to this.

The second time he votes, he changes to X. And, again, says it's because of Gi-hun. Repeating the same steps as before backwards, but getting the exact same result. Gi-huns ego is boosted (literally showing he can change O's minds) and appearing powerless as a follower.

Late night talking

Narratively, I love this scene, we get to hear directly from In-ho his motivations for going into the first game. But we also get to see how messed up he is that he's lying about something so deep and personal. Using it as a way to get closer to Gi-hun, appearing to let his guard down, I honestly think In-ho needed that conversation as he seemed to have disappeared to Jun-ho before he could properly grieve and process. Then again there's a gap in his history that we as the audience do not know about. After he won and before becoming the Front Man (I'll probably make another post on my theories for S3) In terms of Gi-hun this conversation is probably the one which solidifies his trust in 001 as he's showing he does care about someone so much he is willing to risk his life and ensure others death. The reasoning mirroring Gi-huns in the first series, they are one and the same in that aspect. But it's so evil because In-ho knows all this and uses their shared grief against him.

"We'll have to hope more of the other side died"

After the Mingle game, Gi-hun suggests counting how many people are left on each side, and In-ho responds with "We'll have to hope more people from the other side died". This instantly made me think of the scene in the first season where Ji-Yeong is mock praying that they can send more people to their deaths for their own survival. This is so on the nose that I'm surprised Gi-hun didn't pick up what In-ho was putting down. He's slowly drip-feeding into Gi-hun that he's thinking the exact way the hosts want them to. Us vs. them as opposed to us vs. the machine, which is a direct link to when the frontman tells Gi-hun that the games won't change unless the world does. He's also got a slight smirk in his eyes which is essentially him internally going "I told ya so"

"Is that really what you want?

Before the third vote Gi-hun & co are discussing how to make sure they win the vote. Whilst Gi-hun wants to go over to try and persuade them to change from O to X, In-ho says "If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote. Is that what you want Gi-hun"

And then after the tied vote and during the conversation of The Plan™ Gi-hun asks "Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want Young-il?"

This is so ironic because they're saying the exact same thing back to each other "Are you sure you want to fight?" Which has sooo many layers. Yes, they're talking about the players being split into X vs. O but what Gi-hun doesn't realise yet is that he is the O (player) and In-ho is the X (host). As In-ho says as the frontman, the games only work if there are players. And the games stop if there's no one to host (If society changes and there's no wealth disparity making VIPs obsolete).

And that's just the literal meaning of what they've said. The fact that this is the first time Gi-hun has repeated In-hos' behaviour, in a somewhat catty way and not in an "I'm just like you, you should trust me" way. It still shows how similar the two are. I think this is why people theorise that Gi-hun will be the next front man. I think the point is that during the rebellion, he already is the frontman, just to the players following his orders.

Also, can I just add the cinematography of the beam separating the two is *chefs kiss*

Repeating Jung-bae

So we all saw the jealous look In-ho had when listening in to Gi-hun and Jung-baes conversation. I, actually, think he saw it as another way to toy with Gi-hun later on as we see. In the conversation with Jung-bae they're laughing about how much of a cheapskate Gi-hun was when they were friends. In-ho is in a totally non 457 way showing he can be the same as his best friend, but with it being such a common thing to say, if this wasn't a show it'd be something to easily overlook. With it being a show, I cannot overlook the parallel.

Rebellion things

Smaller things I noticed:

When discussing the special game he only said "you" instead of "we" - "How are you going to get the guns" etc.

Until he says "Small sacrifice for the greater good? In that case, I'm with you" - Further pointing out how similar they have become.

He didn't shoot the guards when they were in the stairwell/corridor unless he was speaking. Possibly to cover up the fact he wasn't shooting - Was he saving ammo? Doubt it - Says he's nearly out of ammo without checking - Not wanting to be hit in the crossfire? Maybe

Saving Gi-hun

So he saves Gi-hun twice, once when he's about to be shot and again when he shoots Jung-bae instead. I don't believe this is just because he's grown fond of him but because, as Gi-hun said in the limo, the games are so much more entertaining for the VIPs with him in. Unfortunately, I have to speculate that him being in there has caused more money to be donated by the VIPs, further upholding the games. The reality is Gi-hun was never going to be killed. He has plot armour both for us and the VIPs watching.

The final fuckery from In-ho as Young-il is the "Are you sure" with the most suspicious look on his face. People kept saying that that was the ammo that shot Jung-bae, but it wasn't, it wasn't even the same gun. It was really the last of the ammo they had, and giving it to In-ho was just leaving them defenceless, being the catalyst to the retreat and end of Jung-baes life.

Other sass

Joking about the umbrella dalgona as if he wasn't watching

"Besides, we've got a previous winner with us" as if he wasn't also a winner

Making dad jokes about his name

Disappearing in mingle to reenforce to Gi-hun that he cares about his wellbeing

unrelated note: people saying why would he kill his own guards, as we see with no-eul, they're seen the same as the players. (trash) he doesn't care about them either

[schrijverr]

This is a little snippet of the Chris finds Eddie's HS diary fic that I'm hoping to finish soon (like I keep telling myself I'm nearly done writing, but then more stuff happens). However, I thought posting a little bit wouldn't hurt :D

~~

Now getting upset, he tugs harshly at the chair, forcing it to move, but the wheel doesn’t want to work with him. He makes the same face Eddie does when he’s angry, but he is fortunately not aware of that right now, as he glares at the wheels to see what is up.

It’s not the wheel. Well, it is, but it isn’t. The wheel is not cooperating, because it’s caught on a loose plank, not because it’s being annoying this time. Hm, that’s a tripping hazard, Chris notes mentally, before he realizes that it opens to a space under the floor. It’s a hiding spot.

In the month he’s been here, this is the most exciting thing that has happened to him – bar catching up with his Bisabuela – and he carefully drops down.

He doesn’t know what he expects to find, but he hopes it’s good. A hiding place under the floors is so cliché, but finding something his dad wanted to keep hidden? That’s just too good. Chris hopes it’s something embarrassing.

Reaching in, he also hopes that it’s not too gross and there aren’t any spiders in there. That would really make this whole thing worse. It’s dusty, but no critters attack him, so he lets out a breath as his hands closes around… a book?

Confused, he pulls it out and looks at it. It’s not a book, but it is a thick notebook, worn around the edges and a little battered looking. For a second, Chris just frowns at it, wondering what could be so secretive about it. Then it hits him; he found his dad’s diary.

Oh, this is almost too good, Chris grins to himself, blowing the dust of it and coughing a few times. If there is anything more embarrassing than your teen diary, then Chris hasn’t heard of it. This will probably be full of things to hold against his dad. To tease and bully him with.

… When Chris starts speaking to him again, of course. He isn’t doing that now, content to let dad stew in his own shit for a little while longer. He’s told grandma some things to pass along, but he never hangs around to listen when she calls dad.

Hm, he’s not actually sure she calls dad, or just texts him. Either way, he doesn’t care. He just found papery gold.

The start page is full of the usual stuff, having shit such as EDDIE’S PROPERTY!!!!!! and SECRET! DO NOT TOUCH!!!!!!!! It’s kind of funny how little his dad’s handwriting has changed through the years, still that scrawl like chicken scratch that Chris can only read because he’s always had to.

[magicshopaholic]

Late Night Call

Summary: Chaeyoung helps Hoseok in a vulnerable moment. In the dead of night, Miso and Yoongi finally have a long overdue conversation.

Pairing: Yoongi x OC, Hoseok x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 11.2 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of a panic attack, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of blood and violence

A/N: It's been a long time since I've posted - in the k-pop world, this might be known as a comeback. But I kid. Thank you for being patient and I hope this fic is worth it. This fic is set around two or three months after Interlude: Hyung Line.

Tagging: @bbl32 @ quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive  @faearchives @margopinkerton  @dreaming-with-happiness  @confessionsofamarshlily  @purpleseoul7 @sumzysworld @jihopesjoint @xjoonchildx @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids

Listen to: "just the two of us" by kauai45 and sweet cocoa

yoongi masterlist | hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

Yoongi pours a large pint of beer into two glasses and takes them out to the dining table. He places one in front of Hoseok with a soft thud, making him jump slightly.

“Cheers,” offers Yoongi, raising his own glass.

“To what?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A night off. Your album launch?” He nods when Hoseok exhales heavily and drops his face into his hands. “Headlining Lolla? That’s a huge fucking deal, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” he mumbles, voice muffled in his hands. “Huge deal. Huge set list, huge crowd, huge risk of it sucking.”

Yoongi sits across from him and frowns, clinking his glass with Hoseok’s which is still sitting untouched in front of him. “Since when? You were practically giddy during the meeting about it earlier.”

Hoseok gives him a look. “I can’t be negative about it in front of them,” he says with a grimace. Catching the look on Yoongi’s face, he hurries to continue. “Not that I’m negative… exactly. It’s just… everything’s going to be different now.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer immediately, instead taking a large sip of his beer. Hoseok isn’t buzzed enough for his feelings to tumble out freely, but Yoongi suspects he isn’t referring just to their solo ventures.

“It’ll be good for us,” he says eventually, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah? You think?” 

“Sure.”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, evidently expecting a more emphatic response. “So you’re not worried about your tour at all? Because I got to tell you: sneaking shots backstage before performing as a group was fun. Doing it yourself is just… depressing.”

“You underestimate me,” mutters Yoongi, but flashes him a smile to let him know he’s joking… kind of. “You should be less nervous, though. Your album release was a success. Sales-wise and PR-wise, especially after the listening party.”

Hoseok hums, drinking his beer. It’s unusual for him, Yoongi reflects, to seem this anxious, almost as though he’s lost. Somehow, aside from Namjoon’s responsibilities as leader and Seokjin’s general disposition to look out for them, if there’s anyone who’s level-headed and goal-oriented to the point of being a co-leader of the group, it’s usually Hoseok.

“If anything, you’ve given the rest of us the confidence that people will care about our music even if we aren't together,” says Yoongi after a moment, hoping it will encourage the younger member.

Hoseok nods, although he seems far away. “There’s too much at stake,” he murmurs. “It can make or break the rest of our careers.”

Yoongi frowns slightly, for he's not wrong. But before he can join Hoseok down this rabbit hole, Yoongi hastens to bring him out of it. “Everything you did for the listening party worked. It was a hit. And you seemed to be having fun with Chaeyoung.”

He'd added that last detail as casually as possible, but it catches Hoseok's attention. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Hoseok stays silent for a few seconds. “Do you think it's weird that I invited her?” he asks suddenly, his tone different and his torso leaning forward slightly.

“No,” answers Yoongi. “Why? Do you?”

“No. I don't know.” He clicks his tongue, looking deep in thought. “I think she did. But I can't be sure.” 

“Did she say something?”

“She seemed a little surprised, I guess.” Hoseok shrugs uncertainly. “It's hard to tell. We're not in a very… forthcoming place right now.”

“So why don't you say something to her?”

“I did,” he reminds him forcefully. “On Sooah's birthday. I told her it was a bad idea and we couldn't be together but we were still hanging out and… eventually hooking up again,” he adds, a bit abashedly, “but after what I said, I don't know how to move forward without making a mess of everything.”

Yoongi, not one to pry, waits for Hoseok to reveal more information, for he certainly isn’t going to ask. “You guys seemed close at the party,” he remarks.

“Yeah. We always have fun together. Not that kind of fun,” he adds with a face, as Yoongi chuckles behind his glass. “Not just that kind of fun,” he amends, his ears reddening slightly.

“But you're hooking up,” he confirms seriously.

“We haven't had sex, if that's what you're asking,” informs Hoseok, a little defensively. “If it's anything serious… she deserves better than an awkward friend-relationship for that,” he admits in a mutter.

Yoongi doesn't reply except to lightly clink his glass with Hoseok’s. He's certain his friend doesn't know this, but Hoseok in love is a predictable machine. The last time this had happened was when they were still trainees; that entire situation had had the distinct desperation and immaturity of teenage hormones and insatiable hunger. 

Now, with the wisdom that age is bound to bring, Hoseok is more restrained and thoughtful, but still the same nevertheless. The emphasis on fun (a baseline requirement for him), the overthinking about whether she felt comfortable or weird about something, the subtle ways he kept her on a pedestal - they’re all classic signs. Had it been a simpler situation, such as one where Hoseok had no lifelong loyalty to her older brother, Chaeyoung would be the most affectionately courted young woman in Seoul right now.

As it is, Hoseok is staring into nothing, a frown between his eyebrows. “There's just… way too much on my mind right now. Even sleep is hard to come by sometimes. I don't know - what do people do when they’re stressed? What does Namjoon do?”

“Wallows, mostly,” says Yoongi. “When he's in a productive space, though, he goes to the gym.” He shrugs. “We could go to the gym.”

There's a pause before both of them snort.

“Feels good to laugh,” chuckles Hoseok, chugging a quarter of his beer before abandoning the rest. “I'm driving,” he adds, “but I wouldn't mind a snack, honestly.”

Yoongi makes a face but doesn't argue, pouring the remaining into his own mug as Hoseok stands up and shuffles into the kitchen. As he hears the cabinets opening and closing, the doorbell rings. Not quite expecting anyone except an Amazon package that usually gets delivered to the lobby downstairs, Yoongi peers through the peephole first. He frowns - for his eyes have to be deceiving him - and opens the door, an incredulous expression on his face that fades when he takes in her appearance.

Kang Chanel pushes her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, her shoulders hunching. “You said I wasn't a project, right?” she reminds him lightly, as though she's referring to an argument about ramen toppings. “Well, here's your chance to prove it.”

Yoongi stares. It's probably rude that he hasn't invited her in yet but he can't help it. Her clothes are wet - he realises now that it's raining outside - and as she pulls down the hood of her sweatshirt and shakes out her wet hair, he notices at once that it's shorter than before.

But that isn't even what he's looking at.

“What - what happened to you?” he murmurs hoarsely, before snapping out of it and standing aside to let her in. She takes a couple of steps and stops, droplets of water pooling around her feet on his clean, tiled floors.

“Well, it's raining,” she answers, making a fuss of wiping her wet hair off her neck and retrieving her phone from her hoodie pocket, clutched tightly in her hand, all the while averting her eyes from his. “It was a drizzle when I left but I didn't think it would get so bad -”

“That's not what I'm talking about,” he interrupts her. She pauses, clearly aware, but doesn't elaborate and doesn't quite meet his eyes either. “What happened to your face?”

Miso takes a deep breath and looks up at him, and he can almost make out the wheels turning in her mind as she evaluates how to answer this. At that moment, however, Hoseok appears in the hall with an energy bar in his hand.

“Is someone at the - oh.”

Miso's eyes widen. “Oh, I didn't realise you had company. I'm sorry, I should've called, I guess,” she mutters, turning her face away slightly, Yoongi knows, to hide the gash from Hoseok's view. 

“It's fine, he was just leaving.” Yoongi meets Hoseok's horrified gaze and gives him an imploring look, hoping he will understand. To his credit, despite knowing nothing about Miso's background, the kindest person Yoongi knows nods wordlessly, the opened energy bar in his hand forgotten.

Both he and Miso stay silent as Hoseok hurriedly pulls on his shoes and moves to the door. “Is - is there anything I can do?” he asks when he's at the doorway.

Yoongi glances at Miso before turning back. “I don't think so,” he says. “But, Hobi -” He pauses as Hoseok meets his eyes again, and this time Yoongi shakes his head a miniscule amount.

Hoseok nods. “Of course,” he says in a small voice, before closing the door behind him.

Just the two of them now, Yoongi turns to Miso, ready to speak more freely now. But she beats him to it.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” she asks quickly. “I’m freezing. I mean, I know it's unexpected. We're… colleagues. Like, I know it would be weird for sure if I showed up at Donghyuk's and asked to shower -” She breaks off when she catches sight of his expression, unmoving. Her words are tumbling out of her mouth, her tone jerky and her shoulders still hunched, as though expecting to be caught at any second.

Yoongi has so many questions, but if there's ever been a time when she's seemed more like a hunted animal, he can’t think of it.

“Bathroom is down the hall to the right,” he says at last, noting how she nods in barely masked relief. “Fresh towels are on the rack. I'll, uh… get you some clothes.”

Miso nods. Her mouth trembles slightly; whether it's the cold or something else, he can't tell, but when she wipes her face with her hand and winces upon touching the cut, smearing blood further across her pale cheek, any further words die in his throat.

He waits in the living room until he hears the door to the en suite in his room close and the shower start. He rummages in his closet to find dry clothes for her, a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, all the while trying not to let his mind wander down dark paths, for he will learn what happened soon enough. There’s no point, he thinks stoically, as he yanks a hoodie from its hanger with force, of imagining something that may very well have not transpired at all.

The shower is still running when he knocks softly at the door. “Miso,” he calls, as gently as he can. “I'm leaving some clothes on the bed. I'll be outside, in the kitchen,” he adds after a moment. “The door will be closed. The bedroom door, that is.” Cringing at himself, he turns to leave when he hears her voice from inside, unmistakable even through the water.

“Come in.”

He freezes, for surely he must have heard her incorrectly. “Um -” He clears his throat and cranes his neck so his ear is to the door. “What - what did you say?”

“Come in.”

There it is. It's muffled through the water but the words sound exactly the same. “It's - it's Yoongi. Uh, Min Yoongi,” he adds for good measure.

“Yoongi,” she states, but he can’t make out tone or mood. “Come in.”

It occurs to Yoongi that she’s said it three times now; any more and he becomes the Neanderthal who can’t follow a simple request. Hesitating a little, he opens the door to the en suite and steps in, unexpectedly relieved that the glass door to the shower is still closed and fogged with steam.

He places his folded clothes on the basin slab and turns towards the shower, not moving a muscle. For some reason, his palms and the soles of his feet feel tingly, almost as though they’re bracing themselves for stimulation. But it feels wrong, too, and Yoongi wishes Miso would tell him clearly what to do.

“You can come in.” 

Her voice is softer now, as though she knows he’s closer. The steam rises from above the glass door and it takes a certain effort for Yoongi’s feet to leave the floor. His stomach leaping, completely off rhythm with his steps, he places his hand on the handle. Wildly, for a moment, he wonders if he should take off his clothes, but immediately dismisses the thought. Tonight doesn’t seem like that kind of night.

Yoongi opens the door slowly, his heart slowing when he doesn’t see Miso where he was expecting - standing in the middle of the shower - and instead spots her on the floor, sitting under the stream of water, fully clothed and hugging her knees to her chest. She looks up when she sees him.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “The hot water felt really good.”

Still in the doorway of the shower, droplets splashing onto his t-shirt, Yoongi debates what to do. Miso doesn’t say any more but the fact that she’d asked him not once, but thrice, to come in tugs at his heart. She’s never looked more alone; part of him wonders if she’s testing him, to see what he will do next. 

The steam is starting to make him sweat now. After a moment, he slips out of his sliders and steps into the shower as well, sitting on the floor opposite her. The water is scalding; he hisses as it hits the back of his neck and shuffles on the floor until he’s sideways with his back to the wall, the water now mostly hitting his track pants. He looks up to see her mouth twitching slightly at this spectacle, but doesn’t comment on it.

Yoongi can’t hold it in any longer. “What happened, Miso?” he asks quietly.

Miso sighs and runs a hand over her wet hair, causing it to stick to one side of her neck. “My mother had one of her… meltdowns, I guess you could call it. My father is abroad on a business trip and she started drinking a little earlier than usual today and couldn’t find one of the thousand pills she takes…” She trails off and shakes her head, but Yoongi isn’t about to let this conversation end.

“What kind of pills?”

“Just pills.” She shrugs and continues, a deliberate nonchalance in her tone this time. “And she was suddenly convinced that I’d hidden them from her and when I denied it, she accused me of lying and said I was ungrateful after all she did for me, hiding my colour blindness from my father…” She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Anyway. Then she started throwing things.”

She says it with a note of finality, as though that’s all there is to say. Yoongi reaches up and touches her cheek with his knuckle, where the blood has been washed off and the cut is now just a thin red line. He hesitates before making contact as gently as he can, light as a feather. Miso closes her eyes momentarily at his touch before opening them again.

Yoongi’s mind races, thinking of knives, daggers, mirrors, shards of glass flying through the air -

“Diamonds,” she says, and Yoongi knows she’s guessed the direction of his thoughts. “She usually has these episodes when my father gets distant. More distant,” she amends as he lowers his hand. “She flung a hundred carat necklace in her anger and it hit me. She didn’t intend to do… this.”

Yoongi stays silent. He isn’t sure what he might say if he opens his mouth, and the last thing he wants is to put her on the defensive and start a fight - or worse, for her to leave.

“You need to get dry,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “There’s ramen - or whiskey. Whichever warms you up faster. I can put your clothes in the dryer,” he offers. 

Miso nods, her eyes flickering to the floor. But she gets to her feet and Yoongi mirrors her, holding her hand to make sure she doesn’t slip. She peels off her drenched hoodie, her t-shirt rising slightly and sticking to her pale torso. She adjusts it with a slender arm and raises her eyebrows at him.

“I’m going to take my clothes off now,” she says. “So unless you want to watch…”

Hoping the heat on his face is only due to the steam and nothing else, he returns her wry hint of a smile and holds his hand out for her sweatshirt. “I’ll be outside,” he confirms. “Possibly checking myself for a couple of second degree burns.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be in here. Not drowning myself,” she clarifies.

Despite the situation, Yoongi can’t help but chuckle. Stepping out of the shower and closing the door behind him, he exhales. He needs to change his clothes, too; without thinking, he takes off his wet t-shirt and shakes out his hair. Hearing a movement behind him, he turns to see her jeans thrown over the top of the door, followed by her t-shirt. Another, almost inaudible movement occurs inside, but no more clothes appear.

Mouth feeling a little dry, Yoongi reaches up and tugs lightly at her jeans. “They should be dry in an hour, probably.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Taking that as assent, he pulls her clothes down. He should leave; it’s too fucking weird to be standing out here while she’s inside, naked and bathing. But he doesn’t move and she doesn’t ask him to either. The door is still opaque with steam; he isn’t even sure if the vague silhouette he’s seeing is real or if he’s imagining it.

“Yoongi?”

He moves closer to the door, automatically. Her voice is soft again, barely audible over the shower. If he thinks about it, they can’t be more than two feet apart, at best. But something tells him they’re even closer. Hesitating, he touches his fingertips to the door, careful not to wipe away any steam, waiting with bated breath to hear her voice again. A droplet of water falls from the ends of his hair and trickles down his bare chest as he stays there, his heart thumping against his rib cage. 

“I…” Her voice is definitely closer than it was before. “I’ll have a whiskey,” she murmurs eventually, but it’s enough for Yoongi. Nodding wordlessly, he steps away and leaves the en suite, giving her her privacy.

—

Hoseok drives through the cold, misty streets of Seoul, the image of Kang Miso, pale and drenched, in Yoongi’s hallway. He’d had an inkling that Miso wasn’t just any colleague in Yoongi’s orbit at Big Hit, but evidently they were far closer than any of them knew.

It occurs to him only about ten minutes into the drive that he doesn’t have a destination in mind… but somehow, he’s found himself on a familiar route, one he’s come to associate with anticipation, excitement and a not unpleasant fluttering in his stomach.

Predictably, it returns the moment he begins thinking about it, about her. He hadn’t been lying to Yoongi; it was genuinely getting harder and harder to stay away from Chaeyoung. It was easy with her, easier than he’d ever thought possible because she was like a fairy: a cute, fun fairy who made his day better just by existing and had the softest skin and smelled like berries. In fact, there had been more than a few moments over the last couple of months where he’d seriously considered whether it was worth forcing this distance that was basically just for name’s sake at this point, and whether his friendship with Chanyeol was strong enough to survive it if he decided to take the next step. 

Hoseok parks across the street from her building in his usual spot; just far enough away to not lead any stray cameras or phones to Chaeyoung’s residence (Kaya’s incident last year had shook them all to some level). Chanyeol. It’s the only part of this whole situation that turns the pleasant fluttering into an uncomfortable mess of twitching and flapping. As if on cue, his mind goes to the only thing worse than Chanyeol finding out, which is Chaeyoung eventually deciding that this state of limbo is too much for her and walks out of his life.

He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them. It’s been a busy, stressful few months, with his album recording, the release, the music videos getting filmed and rehearsing for his appearance at Lollapalooza. Chaeyoung had been there through all of it, but it isn’t over. He appreciates Yoongi’s attempt at trying to make him feel better but Yoongi hasn’t reached that juncture yet, the one where, suddenly, there aren’t six other members to ride and die with on stage but just him, alone and exposed. Every crack in his voice, every glitch in the sound system, every off-beat step will be glaring, and anyone who had ever said, all the way back before he’d debuted, that the group would be better off without him would be proven right.

Where would he go from there? If it was proven, beyond doubt, that his solo music and his solo performances were subpar and that everything he was - everything he is - is just because of the handsome, talented people he’s surrounded himself with, then where would he go? How would he ever show his face to the world again? To his family, his friends, his members who would look at him with pity and comfort the lagging member? 

After all these years of travelling and performing and working constantly, he can feel his chest and shoulders and back physically ache at the thought of it all culminating in the clarity that he shouldn’t be here at all. The exhaustion makes his lungs constrict, his heart beating so rapidly that it’s starting to hurt now. Hoseok clutches the sides of his seat, his vision starting to blur and his breathing reduced to dry, uneven gasps.

Even as the blood rushes to his face and his arms go hot and then go cold, as though his skin isn’t even connected to his body anymore, somewhere in the back of his mind it occurs to him that he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had one in a long while but he also hasn’t been here in a long while, in a place where the future is so uncertain and the stakes are so high and all the decisions are his and his alone and there’s no room for error because if he messes this up then where would he go?

He’s trembling now, he can feel it. A loud sound almost makes his heart stop but then he turns his head slightly in the direction of the sound to see Chaeyoung outside his window, waving at him with an angelic smile. She’s saying something but he can barely hear her; there’s a roaring in his ears like waves crashing and he can’t breathe. The thought makes him panic but his limbs won’t move. Outside, Chaeyoung is knocking on the window again and her voice is higher now, more worried and he forces himself to turn to her, registering her wide eyes and her palms banging against the door and pointing frantically to something below.

It’s almost euphoric when he realises he understands her; with one shaking hand, he unlocks the car door and hears the click. A moment later, a blast of cold hits him like a freight train but is almost immediately blocked when Chaeyoung peers inside the car.

“Oh, shit! Oppa, are you okay?” she asks, sounding a bit frenzied. “Oh, God - okay - wait, take this off -” She leans over him and clicks unbuckles his seatbelt, returning to her original position. “Okay, oppa? Hobi - can you hear me?” 

Hoseok meets her eyes and nods vigorously, so relieved she’s here with her presence of mind and her sweet-smelling hair. She takes his face in her hands and he almost cries at being able to feel something, and tries to focus all his energy on her cold, slim fingers on his cheeks.

“Hobi? Breathe. Breathe,” she repeats calmly, keeping her big eyes locked on his. “Breathe,” she says again, inhaling slowly. He tries to copy her, his breath still coming in jerks and getting stuck in his throat. But he hangs on to her voice, telling him to breathe, breathe, breathe.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, nodding in encouragement. Placing her knee on the seat between his legs, she hitches herself up and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Keep breathing,” she continues, rubbing his back, her voice like honey in his ear.

Hoseok nods, feeling his chest start to expand with oxygen. The panic he was feeling starts to fade and he clutches the bottom of her tan sweater in his fist and presses his face to his shoulder. Breathe, she say  and he obeys, breathing in her scent. Focus, and he does, on the only tangible thing in the world right now, anchoring him to the very ground. 

As his breathing starts to normalise, he closes his eyes, because the question that had sent him spiralling - where would he go? - seems like it might have an answer.

—

Hoseok taps his foot on the floor as he sits on Chaeyoung’s sofa, waiting for her to freshen up and return. Now, with a clearer head and calmer breathing, he’s starting to feel a bit silly. Stress was something he’d learnt over time to manage over time, be it in private or public. But he wasn’t expecting it to crash over him like this out of the blue - and he definitely wasn’t intending to get caught.

Chaeyoung appears from inside her room, now in a hoodie and joggers instead of the sweater and jeans she’d been wearing earlier. She gestures at him to continue sitting when he notices that she’s on the phone.

“I know, Dad, I am,” she says, giving him a look as she makes a beeline for the kitchen. He hears a cabinet opening and closing, sounds interspersed with more murmurs, mostly “yes, Dad”s and “I know, Dad”s. He hears her say goodbye to him after a couple of minutes after which she enters the living room again, holding a tall glass of water and a spherical object wrapped in gold foil. She hands him the glass and waits until he takes a sip.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You’re welcome.” Chaeyoung takes a seat opposite him on the coffee table and crosses one leg over the other, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder. With all her perfectly subtle make-up wiped off, she looks younger all of a sudden. No, not younger - unencumbered. 

Hoseok finishes the water and places the glass down and it’s only then that Chaeyoung holds up the foil-wrapped chocolate.

“Here. Sugar is good for you,” she adds when he hesitates. “Especially if you’re feeling light-headed.”

He observes it for a moment, then unwraps it. “Split it with me?”

To his surprise, Chaeyoung nods immediately. “I wanted it, too, but… I can’t justify eating an entire one myself,” she says matter-of-factly as she pops her half into her mouth.

Hoseok frowns slightly, although the chocolate feels comforting and creamy. “You don’t need to diet,” he tells her.

Chaeyoung licks the tips of her fingers, finishing the last of the chocolate, before looking at him. Their knees brush against each other as she leans forward slightly. “Are you okay?”

He sighs and nods. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

She shrugs, but her eyes soften. “I just recognised your car.” She pauses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later? I’m just… stressed. About a lot of things.”

“The album?” she guesses.

“Yeah.”

“And Lolla?”

“That, too.”

“Enlistment?”

He looks up at her and tilts his head, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused. “Am I that transparent or have I just been talking about myself that much lately?”

She smiles. “Maybe a bit of the first. And maybe a third option, which is just that I know you that well.”

“That’s probably true.” Wrapping his hands around her calves, he jokingly tugs her a little closer. “You’re the smartest person I know, caterpillar.”

“And you’re the happiest person I know, oppa,” she counters, pinching his cheek. She lets go but her fingers stay and she gently smooths the side of his hair before lowering her hand.

There are words on the tip of his tongue he hasn’t said in a long time, but he reins it in. Leaning forward, he kisses her. Her lips are soft as always, shy at first, and he discovers the stomach flutters are back. He brushes her hair back as they continue kissing until she pulls away, biting her lip with two light pink spots on her cheeks.

“I love you.”

It’s the way her eyes widen, like a deer’s, and her smile fades slightly that he realises he’s said the words out loud. Aside from the realisation that hadn’t been able to rein it in for quite as long as he thought, Hoseok searches for something else: panic, regret, annoyance. But he finds none of them.

“I mean it,” he says softly, before he can talk himself out of it. “I don't know where I'd be without you.”

He searches her face this time for a clue, but his heart sinks slightly when she leans away and sits back. “Why?”

“Why?”

“I mean… why are you telling me?” She purses her lips before shrugging slowly, deliberately. “I don't mean that in a bad way, but…” His expression must tip her off about something, for she quickly shakes her head. “Like… I get it. I love you, too, I guess. We're practically family.”

Hoseok's heart seems to settle somewhere around his abdomen. Before he can respond, a sound startles him and they both turn towards the door with a jerk. It opens to reveal Sooah and Jimin entering the house with shopping bags and a large transparent glass each with a straw, sipping matcha tea together. Hoseok uses the few seconds of chaos in greetings to quickly shake it off and breathe in, trying to swallow the lump threatening to creep into his throat.

Sooah immediately begins showing Chaeyoung the things she bought and Jimin joins in as well, and the moment is gone. Somewhere in the middle of it, Chaeyoung's eyes meet Hoseok's eyes briefly and he holds her gaze until she looks away.

—

Yoongi smells his own shower gel and lotion wafting into the open kitchen but stays where he is, by the bar and on his phone, wanting to give Miso a chance to come to him on her own time. It proves to be a good decision because after a few minutes, when she doesn’t, he peers out to see her in the balcony, sitting on the sofa with her knees to her chest. 

He wonders if she’s cold - she must be - but also somewhere understands the appeal of the freezing wind, with its unique ability to numb. She’d asked for whiskey; taking an executive call, he takes two bottles in one hand and two glasses in the other and joins her.

The air is as biting as he’d expected, but something  about the way she’s wrapped himself in his hoodie, her hands pulled into the sleeves and the hood pulled over her head, makes his heart float. He sits next to her, noting that her hair is mercifully dry and pours himself a drink while leaving her glass untouched.

“Is that rum?” Miso asks.

“Yep. Great for cold nights.” He takes a sip of his drink and sighs in satisfaction. “You can try it if you want. Or there's whiskey, as you asked,” he reminds her, pointing to the other bottle.

She holds out her hand for his glass, her fingers warm as they brush his, and takes a sip. “Wow,” she says, coughing a little. “That's -”

“Too strong?”

“Sweet,” she finishes, returning the glass to him. “I wasn't expecting it. But it actually seems to be working.” She frowns, looking disproportionately subscribed. “What is this and why have I never heard of it?” she mutters, reaching for the bottle to read the label. “Old Monk?”

“Mhm. A friend gave it to me, last time I saw her.” Yoongi takes another loud sip as Miso begins making a glass for herself. “She always buys it from the duty free section, but she let me have a bottle to try. Namjoon hated it,” he adds as a side note.

“It's nice.” She takes a longer sip and sits back on the sofa, looking decidedly more comfortable. Yoongi decides he can finally ask her something that’s been on his mind since she turned up an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tenses automatically. “What?”

“I don’t mean this to sound weird or like you can’t come over or something - because you can, whenever you want - but just out of curiosity -“

“You’re rambling, Min Suga.”

He pauses abruptly. “Guess you just bring it out in me.”

She raises her eyebrows and half-chuckles. “You were saying?”

“Yeah. How, uh… how do you know where I live?”

“Oh.” Miso looks down at her glass a little guiltily. “Well… I asked Donghyuk. But technically, you gave it to me, a long time ago,” she reminds him quickly. “It just got deleted from my phone. Remember your new year party last year?”

“Of course. The one you didn’t attend?”

“The one you only invited me to because you couldn’t leave out just one person in the team,” she corrects him pointedly, but he simply nods sheepishly. “Having said that… I’m sorry I barged in on your night. And I'll apologise to Hoseok as well. I just - I didn't know where else to go.”

Yoongi bites his tongue, trying to think of the right thing to say because there is so much he wants to say. Finally, he shakes his head gently. “Don't be.”

“I won’t make a habit of it. I mean, I can’t,” Miso shrugs when he gives her a curious look. “It's a lot easier to leave the house when my father is abroad and I'm nowhere on his mind. But it is good to know that Seungkwan has no actual personal interest in where I go,” she adds.

“Did it really get that bad?”

Miso bites her lip. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to evade the question or just not answer but he wonders if anyone has ever asked her this in the first place, point blank. But she came here, he reasons with himself. Why would she if she didn’t feel safer here than in her own house? 

He waits it out, though. Finally, after finishing her drink and placing the empty glass on the table, Miso sits back and hugs her knees again.

“My mother hasn't had one of these episodes in a long time,” she says, not properly meeting his eyes. “But I guess a lot of things came together this time… Father’s on a business trip and I think they had a fight before he left, one of her socialite friends insinuated that he’s having an affair which he probably is, she and I got into an argument about when I’m going to get married and not embarrass her anymore, I told her I have a actual career and she flipped out…”

Yoongi doesn’t interrupt her, although he has so many questions. How many times has this happened? How did she get hurt? What does she mean by episodes? He tries to picture Kang Sera, always the picture of elegance and finery, unraveling while she screams at her daughter. Finally, he prompts her gently. “You fought?”

“That’s an understatement. She accused me of stealing the last of her pills, I told her to go get a life, she called me ungrateful -“ She shakes her head and exhales tiredly. “If I’d known my colour blindness was a thing she was going to use as an argument for the rest of my life, I would’ve foregone the contact lenses. She acts like she fucking saved my life.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” argues Yoongi. “She’s your mother - it’s her job to take care of you. She hurt you, Miso,” he reminds her, unable to keep it in anymore and hearing the hardness in his own voice. “All because she’s insecure about herself and is imagining that you stole from her?”

“But I did,” she admits, surprising him. “I did steal her last pills because she was getting on my last fucking nerve. And they aren’t even prescription,” she clarifies immediately, defensive. “I was just really pissed off. Maybe it was petty.” She looks straight ahead, eyes far away, and Yoongi wonders if she’s seeing a diamond necklace fly towards her face. “I guess in a way I deserve this,” she says, pointing to her face.

“No, you don’t. What are you -“ Yoongi breaks off to keep his glass on the table and scoots closer to her. He needs her, so badly, to hear this that he wishes he could grab her shoulders and make her face him. “You don’t seriously believe that.”

“You know what - forget it,” she says, shaking her head and turning away. “It’s complicated and we don’t need to talk about -”

Fuck. “No, no - wait. I’m sorry,” he interrupts, grabbing her arm to make her turn to him. “I’m not judging, I promise. You’re right, it is complicated. But I want to listen, if you want to talk about it,” he says, his voice softer now. He touches her cut again with his thumb, hoping he isn’t hurting her. “Do you want a band aid or something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good. But… look, I know my parents are awful. And being around that my whole life… it’s - it’s completely fucked with how I interact with them now. My mother is a shrew who hates me but - but in a way, she’s even more trapped than I am. Her parents never let her work a day in her life, she didn’t really get a choice in who she married, her kid is nothing like she wanted  and now she’s stuck with my monster of a father who -” Her voice breaks and Yoongi knows for certain that she’s never said it out loud before because the loathing in her voice is transparent. “I feel bad for her sometimes. How weak of a person am I?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

Yoongi doesn’t reply for a few seconds. He raises his hand slightly again and even though she doesn’t back away, he lowers it before he can touch her . “Miso,” he says quietly, bowing his head. “I’m sorry about what I said in that motel. I’ve felt so shitty about it because… you’re nothing like him.”

She gives him a look. “I just told you I stole a pill from my mother.”

“From what you’re telling me, I would’ve done the same thing,” he clarifies. “And it’s really none of my business if you’re taking over his company one day. I’m sure you’ll do a great -”

Miso shakes her head. “I’m not taking over his company, Yoongi,” she interrupts. 

“I thought you said -”

“Yeah, I know what I said. That’s the official party line, that I’m his heir.” She meets his eyes and shakes her head. “But I don’t think he’s ever giving me his company. And to be honest, I don’t want it. I mean, I worked for him for a year after I returned from Australia and it was… God, I hated everything about it. The way it was built, the way he was running it, the culture, the clear… monotony of it all. There was nothing there, they weren’t working for anything, or creating anything. It was just money and power and being ruthless about everything.”

Yoongi bites his lip, for he wasn’t expecting this. “But… you haven’t told him all this.” The moment he says it, he realises how stupid it sounds.

Miso scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a conversation that would go down well. But I don’t even think he’s going to give it to me. He keeps me so far away from it, he’s completely okay with me working for a company he’s invested in on the side… I don’t think he has any intention of having me take over.”

“Then why does he keep calling you his heir? Why hasn’t he just told you either way?”

She shrugs, palms facing up. “Maybe he wants to sell the family-owned business, chaebol image. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be certain so he can continue using it as leverage whenever he wants. I don’t know - why does he do anything?” She runs her hands through her hair, the shorter length seeming to surprise her for a moment. 

“I don’t care anymore, Yoongi,” she murmurs, sounding defeated. “I just can’t care. I can’t…” She takes a deep breath and Yoongi realises with a start when she sniffs that her eyes are wet. “I’m just so tired. I hate waking up in the mornings. Every time I open my eyes, I… I just want to go back to sleep. I’m so tired,” she finishes, her voice barely even a whisper anymore.

At the same time that she moves towards him, he does the same and wraps an arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, and Yoongi wishes helplessly that he could make this easier, that it didn’t need to take a blow-up with her mother for her to end up here.

They stay there for a while, neither of them saying anything. Yoongi’s cheek rests against the top of her head; he feels at a loss to do anything for her. Aside from a shower and a drink, is there really nothing else he can do for her, to help her escape her family? 

He fingers the ends of her hair on her other shoulder and he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but Miso relaxes into his side. “Your hair is shorter,” he remarks. “Is there a story there?”

“Um…” Her tone is slightly different. “I tried to cut my hair into layers,” she confesses, sitting up straight and rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why, I’ve always sucked at it. But then I had to correct it and I ended up cutting more of it… are you seriously laughing at me?”

Yoongi purses his lips and shakes his head, but he’s restraining himself. “I’m not laughing. I’m amused,” he allows, his arm still around her for he’s not ready to let go just yet. “It’s just not something I pictured you doing. I always imagined you got fancy overpriced haircuts at those luxury salons in Gangnam or something.”

“Not all of us have personal stylists, Min Suga,” she reminds him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the Chanel lavender and rose hips lotion you have in your bathroom. You’re fancier than I am.”

“That was a gift,” he points out. “And I can smell it on you so don’t pretend you didn’t use it as well,” he adds, realising only when she stiffens next to him what he’s said. He wants to slap himself, but Miso doesn’t seem uncomfortable.

“I did use it,” she admits after a moment, shifting slightly next to him. “It’s nice. I like how it smells.”

Yoongi nods. It shouldn’t, but his mind immediately pictures her stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and peering at his lotion, possibly snickering to herself before applying it on herself. His shower. Something warm courses through him that he hopes is the Old Monk; it’s occurring to him now just how close in proximity they were to each other while wet and partially naked. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut; his body should not be reacting right now.

“It may have been worth it, though,” she continues wryly. “My mother saw my hair and freaked. It would’ve been kind of funny if it wasn’t so deranged.”

Yoongi is glad to hear her chuckle; even if she doesn’t mean it, he’ll take anything that improves her mood even slightly right now. “I like it,” he tells her, smiling when she half-scoffs and half-laughs before sighing hugely.

“We’ve been talking about me for a while,” she says, looking up at him. She doesn’t usually look like she wears much make-up but with her bare face right now and her short choppy hair, she looks strangely vulnerable and otherworldly, almost androgynous, and Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful.

“I don’t mind,” he manages to say. 

But she begins sitting up and, to his regret, moves away a little so she can tilt her body towards him. “How’s it going with you?”

“Uh…” Yoongi shrugs. His problems of fame and living his dream don’t seem appropriate to bring up right now. “It’s okay. The usual.”

“The usual?” Miso raises her eyebrows. “I heard the company got a huge cash infusion which they’re using to fund your tour.”

“Yeah - how did you know that?”

“I work for the same company you do, Min Suga.” She taps his knee with the back of her hand. “Are you looking forward to it? Oh, have they set a release date for your album? They’ll have to give it at least a month between -”

But her voice gets fainter, for a wonderful idea has occurred to Yoongi.

“Come with me,” he says abruptly. “On tour. Come with me.”

Miso, who looked a little miffed at being cut off, now falls silent. “You’re asking me to -”

“Come on tour, yeah. We’re both producers, part of the same teams,” he reminds her. “It won’t even look out of place. I can - I can talk to the management, get you on the team and we can just… you can get away, from everything. Just for a while. Just… travel around the world, come to the shows, work on music…” 

Miso’s eyes soften. “That… that sounds amazing. Honestly.”

“Then do it,” he says immediately, quickly, because he can already feel it slipping away. “Come.” With me.

“Um… I can’t, though.”

It takes all of Yoongi’s strength to not to say yes, you can. Instead, he grabs her hands, slender and ice cold. “I’ll speak to whoever is needed. I know I can get you on the team. Last year, we invented a position on the team for Jimin’s girlfriend to come along to a show so I know that I can -”

“No, I can’t, Yoongi,” she interrupts gently, retrieving her hands and squeezing his. “I can’t because… my father has my passport.”

A few moments of silence pass, during which Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t immediately understand why; he just knows how his own passport is a constant accessory, almost always on his person. 

He stares at her. “He… what?”

She nods. “He has all our passports, under lock and key. I’m pretty sure I know which lock exactly, too, in his study, but…” She bites her lip, all traces of humour wiped off her face. “Yeah. Could be problematic.”

No shit. Yoongi tries to process this, every single instance of him telling her to leave and to live her own life coming back to him in vivid detail, along with a sense of frustration and regret because he sees now that he had no idea how confined she really is.

“Is this how he’s keeping you here?” he chokes out. “Because… I mean, how can he do this? I’m pretty sure it’s not even legal to keep your own documents from you. How - how is he -” But he breaks off, unable to find enough words.

Miso winces thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s initially what he intended… butit’s probably an added bonus. A few years ago - the year I worked for him, actually - someone hacked the Kang Industries internal network,” she explains, folding her legs. “They even attempted identity theft but thankfully, it didn’t work. But it completely shattered my father. He was… outraged. Someone caught him by surprise and almost took everything he’d built away… he became completely paranoid after that. It’s only just started getting better, but… yeah, that’s when he locked up all our documents.” She shrugs, her eyes falling to her feet. “Too bad it’s limited our options in the process.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise that by “we”, she’s referring to herself and her mother. “He still doesn’t have any right to keep it from you,” he says eventually. “You’re an adult. You’re - you’re a person. I know he’s beyond normal human emotion but this is… God, what the fuck, Miso?”

Miso nods calmly, which only infuriates him more. But he can’t let it show, not any more than he already has. Not tonight. Not if there’s a risk of her leaving again.

“Look, the thing with my father is… he doesn’t look at it like that,” she begins, then pauses. She’s concentrating, and Yoongi guesses she’s working this out as well. She opens and closes her mouth several times, as though trying to find a good metaphor to explain a maths problem to a teenager. 

“Look, for him… I am no different than any other twenty-nine year old woman in Seoul,” she states, her eyes blank. “He doesn’t care that I’m his daughter, there’s no specific attachment there. He just doesn’t understand that. He cares about money and power and control. Those are the things he knows. And I’m not saying this to defend him,” she adds, almost knowingly. “I’m saying this because I have spent years trying to figure out how to get to him and I realised, finally, that… there’s nothing parental there. The only thing that separates me from everyone else is that I have his name and his blood. It’s fact, it’s ink - and he’s in control.”

Yoongi doesn’t care much for a psychoanalysis of Kang Jaesung right now. He swallows, trying to quash the rising feeling of defeat in his stomach. She feels so far out of reach again, like he’s zooming out and seeing her for where she is, far and small in the distance.

“So… what? You’re stuck here forever?” he asks, trying to keep the bite out of his tone.

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “He’ll never admit to that. The last time I needed to go abroad, I asked him for my passport and he gave it to me. Granted, I was travelling with him,” she adds after a moment, looking down.

It’s late, probably around the same time of the night that he and Miso had yelled at each other in the motel while it poured outside. It was raining earlier tonight, too, but it was nowhere near as bad. It felt peaceful and hopeful for a bit and Yoongi struggles to find it again.

“Yoongi.” Her hand eases up his thigh until it reaches his own, and she squeezes his hand. She’s trying to comfort him, he realises, and it seems absurd. But he lets her because, as he discovers soon enough, he could use it.

“I can still ask,” she says after a moment. “It’s work, technically. It’s an artist tour, it’s publicity, it’s…” She trails off.

“It’s my tour.” By the look on her face, he knows he’s said what they’re both thinking. 

“That’s the tough detail.” Miso gives him a small, hollow smile. “After the last stunt you pulled in front of him, my father may not be so agreeable.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to recall; despite knowing exactly what she’s talking about, he can’t remember actually making the decision to come in between her and her father. It had been entirely instinctual, but he wonders now if it may have been the wrong move.

His heart skips a beat when she leans forward suddenly. The scent of his own shower gel gets stronger as she presses a kiss to his cheek, slow and deliberate.

“Thanks for asking,” she says softly, sitting back. “I’m sure you’ll be amazing on stage. A force to be reckoned with.”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to that. It just occurs to him that he’s leaving for three months - three whole months during which he’ll be away and she will be here, still in the clutches of her father and her life, too far away for him to do anything about it.

She rubs her eyes and looks away. “It’s late.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “The guest room is ready. And… fun fact, but it’s actually bigger than the master bedroom.”

The moment he hears it out loud, he thinks it probably sounds extremely stupid. But if it does to Miso, she doesn’t react. She simply nods and stands up, allowing Yoongi to lead her to the guest room.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says just before she closes the door. He’s finally seeing her properly in the light; his clothes seem to fit Miso strangely well. They're just loose enough that her shape isn’t quite visible, but not so much that she looks like she's in donated clothes. 

Most importantly, she looks comfortable. He’s about to offer her an additional jacket or something but before he can, she mutters a “good night” and begins closing the door.

It’s a complicated scenario. He potters around for a while after, cleaning the kitchen counter, returning some emails and folding the clothes from the dryer, all the while with the sinking feeling that he’s disappointing her somehow. Maybe it’s his inability to be of any help in her circumstances, or the way he seems to be misreading signs and situations in context.

Finally, he retires to his room, changing into pajamas and getting ready for a sleepless night staring at his ceiling when there’s a knock at the door. Figuring it can be only one person, he scrambles out of bed to open the door.

“Hey,” he says, hearing himself sound strangely breathless. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” answers Miso, running a hand through her short, choppy hair. “I was taking out my contacts-” She holds up her hand to show him a small and thin white box “- and I was just thinking, uh… maybe I will take that band aid.”

Yoongi nods and beckons her inside. She stands awkwardly by a dresser while he rummages around in a different cabinet before finding the first aid box. He goes up to her and hands her the band aid.

“Do you need any help with it?” he asks.

“I don’t think so…” Miso tears it open and peels off the sticker, holding the band aid up to her face. “Hang on, do you have a -”

Yoongi steps forward and takes the band aid from her, cleanly and gently placing it on the thin red line on her cheek. The solitary lamp on the other side of the bedroom barely illuminates her face, but he doesn’t think he can ever forget the sight of the cut on her face, dripping blood as she came to him in the middle of the night.

He knows it’s happening before it actually happens, but the moment he covers the cut, his hands still on their way off her face, Miso leans up and kisses him. It’s instinctive and immediate and Yoongi also knows that despite the hellish night she has had, he kisses her, too. He does. He pulls her in just as much as she grips his t-shirt and he tangles his hand in her hair just as much as she presses herself up against him.

“Miso -” He breaks away for a moment, his heart racing and body reacting. “I can’t -”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, and she sounds fearful. “Not tonight, not -” She shakes her head and reaches up to kiss him once more.

He lets her, just for a moment, but then gently pushes her away again. “I’m sorry. Miso… it’s been a hard night and - and I wouldn’t feel right if I…”

She licks her lips but drops her hands to her sides. “You think you might be taking advantage of me?” she asks.

“I don’t want it to even be a question.” He moves his hands down her shoulders until her hands are in his. “I want this, too.” You have no idea how much. “But not at a time where there’s even the slightest chance you may regret it tomorrow.”

Miso looks away and for a moment Yoongi is afraid, terrified that she will leave again. Then her shoulders fall and she sighs. “Wow,” she mutters wryly, but there’s a tremble underneath, buried deep. “You’re a good one.”

He waits a moment, then two, then steps forward to wrap his arms around her. She lets him, her body initially stiff until, slowly, she relaxes against him, shaking silently. 

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs against her hair. “You don’t have to be.”

He intends to stay there, exactly like that, for as long as she needs. Eventually they separate, Miso’s face slightly redder but her eyes dry once again, softening when he pulls her in by the hand to press a kiss to her forehead. Under the covers, they lie next to each other.

“How did you do it?” she asks after a while in the darkness, almost in wonder. “Somehow, despite my best efforts to keep you out of this, how did you manage to creep into my life?” There’s a movement and he sees her silhouette move to face him. “How did I end up here?”

Yoongi brushes her uneven bangs out of her eyes. “I can be pretty persistent. Although it’s not something I’m really known for,” he points out. “So I’m not sure. I tried to stay out of it, if that helps.”

Miso scoffs. “Not very hard.”

“No,” he agrees. “There’s something about you, I guess.”

“All that privilege and nepotism probably.”

“Not that,” he disagrees, a little guiltily. “I liked how you were a different person during our nights in the studio,” he says after a moment. “I liked that person.”

“I liked that person, too,” she murmurs. She exhales softly and turns back to look at the ceiling. Her features are sharp in the darkness, but her presence is light and fresh, almost like his bedroom was far too big and empty before she set foot in it. 

He wishes he could’ve let her kiss go further. He doesn’t regret stopping it, but for a moment he lets himself imagine a world where she wasn’t hurting, where she was free to kiss a man she was attracted to with no baggage attached and he was free to kiss her back without wondering if he was contributing to her trauma or enabling it in any way.

When she shifts to get comfortable and turns onto her side, facing away from him, Yoongi scoots closer to her and wraps an arm around her again, loosely at first. But she stays and so does he; pressing a kiss to her shoulder, on his own t-shirt that she’s wearing, he holds her close and hopes that tomorrow morning, at least, may be a better one for her.

—

Settled on the couch with a pillow and a purple blanket from Chaeyoung’s closet (which smells of her floral fabric softener, but he won’t think about that), Hoseok stares at the ceiling in the darkness. Next to the blank television, the light from the wifi router glows red and there’s a dim strip of blue underneath Chaeyoung’s door which he knows is a nightlight she can’t sleep without.

He can’t quite believe he’s sleeping over at her apartment. But Jimin and Sooah had been fully enthusiastic about hanging out as a foursome, and the former had peer pressured Hoseok to try a large glass of sparkling wine he’d bought which was strong enough to render him incapable of driving home safely. Later, Chaeyoung had awkwardly provided him with sleeping arrangements on the sofa before disappearing into her room, signalling the end of the night.

Jimin and Sooah had successfully interrupted one of the most revelatory moments of his life but in hindsight, Hoseok wonders if they had done him a favour. Chaeyoung’s response had been disappointing on every level and he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to remain around her if those two hadn’t barged in, full of stories about their eventful day. After Chaeyoung and then Sooah had left, Jimin seemed to notice that something seemed to be bothering the older member, but Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. He’d caught himself off guard with his impulsive confession; he can’t imagine she would’ve been much more prepared with a response.

It’s late now, but Hoseok can’t sleep. He briefly considers waking Jimin from Sooah’s room or calling Namjoon, but he doesn’t think he can handle words of encouragement from them now, especially since Jimin’s will surely be accompanied by his Cheshire cat grin at being proven right about his year-long hunch regarding him and Chaeyoung. No, not Namjoon and definitely not Jimin. If Hoseok is being honest with himself, there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now.

Chaeyoung [01:15] Are you awake?

Hoseok almost jumps out of skin when the phone buzzes next to him. Heart racing, he stares at her message.

Hoseok [01:16] Yeah. You?

Chaeyoung [01:16] It would be really weird if I wasn’t, oppa.

Hoseok [01:17] You know that when I said what I said, I didn’t mean it as family, right?

Chaeyoung [01:18] I know.

Hoseok [01:19] I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.

Chaeyoung [01:20] You didn’t.

Chaeyoung [01:21] I’m just not sure why you said it.

Hoseok [01:22] It wasn’t planned, honestly. But I meant it. Is that not what you’re asking?

Chaeyoung [01:23] It isn’t.  I don’t know how to put this

Hoseok frowns at his screen, rolling over onto his stomach and staring at it with bated breath. He pictures her inside her room in a similar position, brows furrowed and biting her lip, trying to talk to him.

Hoseok [01:25] It’s okay Take your time

Chaeyoung [01:26] I guess I don’t know the point of bringing it up

Hoseok [01:26] The point? I mean… I wanted to tell you how I feel

Chaeyoung [01:27] You just said you didn’t plan it

Hoseok [01:27] I didn’t, but in that moment, that’s how I felt I was spiraling and you were there for me. You helped me feel better. I always feel better when I’m with you

Chaeyoung [01:28] But that’s about how you feel

Hoseok [01:29] I’m hoping you enjoy my company too, since we hang out together a fair bit But I understand. You don’t have to feel the same way, Chae. I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable

Chaeyoung [01:30] Stop saying that, Hobi

Hoseok [01:30] I mean it, though

Chaeyoung [01:31] I’m sure you’ve meant everything you’ve said tonight But it’s not going to change anything. Right?

Hoseok [01:32] Chae You know why I said that

Chaeyoung [01:33] Sure But that’s why I don’t understand why you would bring this up now. If it’s not going to change anything, then what’s the point?

Hoseok [01:34] Do you really want things to change?

Chaeyoung [01:34] I’m not sure it makes a difference

Hoseok [01:35] Of course it does!

Chaeyoung [01:35] Really? Because you didn’t even ask me what I thought when you made that decision. This isn’t about me at all, Hoseok. This is all you.

Hoseok [01:36] I didn’t mean to make you mad, Chae

Chaeyoung [01:36] I’m not mad I heard you and I didn’t expect anything from you But you can’t do this. It’s not fair

Hoseok [01:37] I’m sorry

Hoseok [01:39] You’re right. You’re absolutely right.

Hoseok [01:40] Chae?

Chaeyoung [01:41] I’m here Your friendship means a lot to me, Hobi But I’ve been down this road before and I don’t want to be in this position So if you make a decision, like nothing is going to change, then I need you to stick to it

Chaeyoung [01:42] I’m not mad at you Ish But I’m going to sleep now

Hoseok watches her go offline, his heart sinking slowly. He types out a half-hearted “good night” but he can’t be sure if she’s seen it. She’s right, of course, about everything. He drops his face onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and half-wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth today.

—

The next morning when Chaeyoung wakes up, the sun has barely come up. She slips on a hoodie and brushes her teeth before heading to her bedroom door, taking a deep breath, and opening it just a crack. Her heart stutters for a moment when she sees the pillow and comforter neatly folded on the sofa, the rest of the living room clearly empty. But then she exhales in relief and heads to the kitchen, deciding it’s far too early in the morning to be rehashing the events of last night.

The events of last night. Despite how her night had finally ended, the words, the memory of him saying those words, makes her stomach flip. Chaeyoung lets herself enjoy it for a couple of minutes while she makes her morning smoothie, the euphoria of having an answer to his actions during their dalliance, the victory of having him say it first. She pours the mauve coloured drink into a tall glass and sticks a wide straw in it, taking a long and hearty sip of fruity goodness before dragging her mind away from the good part about last night.

“Nope, it’s too early,” she mutters to herself, setting the glass down and tying her long hair into a high ponytail. She has the rest of the day to dwell on it, to feel hurt and annoyed and wonder if she’d overreacted. Grabbing her glass, she heads back towards her room, when she does a double take.

Hesitating, she steps forward and closes her bedroom door before lightly fingering the two post-its on the door. They’re both from the tiny stationery box on the cabinet in between both bedrooms, set up by Chaeyoung herself, with coloured pens and stickers. The orange one is on top and has a message she’d expected to see at some point today: Went home, didn’t want to wake you.

The second one, a green one, is the one she takes off the door to read.

Can I take you to dinner tonight? Call me if it’s a yes. Actually, call me even if it’s a no.

—

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