#the kind that haunt your dreams incessantly

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Vampire!Jason now lives rent free in my head and I am now cursed with so many prompt but do not have writing skill to do it T_T (also thank you for answering my last ask I’m honoured🤭)

Vampire Jason!!!! The things I would for him or too him

[justwinginglife]

Always You

Based off of the song "Dream" by one of my fav artists ever, Keshi. Definitely check him out if you don't know him, his songs are so good.

There was a limit to how much one could lie to themselves, how much one could distract themselves. And Soshiro was hitting his.

He'd been dating the same woman for 5 years, and they were a happy 5 years. They were filled with love and adoration. Communication was never an issue. Romance never died, he made sure of that. He'd take her out for a date at least once a week, even despite both of their busy schedules. And the sex- the sex was great. It was the perfect relationship. Or it would've been. But it wasn't you.

She had finally given him an ultimatum- he needed to marry her or take his indecisive ass elsewhere.

For 5 years, he thought he could do it. He imagined marrying her, giving her kids, chasing them through the backyard, teaching them how to drive, walking them down the aisle. He knew if he married her, she'd be the best wife. She'd be supportive, be encouraging, be strong, be gentle, be everything he needed her to be exactly when he needed her to be it. And he wanted to need her. He wanted to want her. But she wasn't you.

He did end up buying a ring eventually. But when he pictured himself getting down on one knee, it wasn't her that he imagined gazing down at him fondly in his dreams. It was you. You, holding your hand out to him, all giddy as he slides the ring on you. You, calling everyone you know, to tell them you just got engaged to the love of your life. You, kissing him incessantly as he picks you up and spins you around and around in happy circles.

He never told her about all the times he thought of you, of course. You were a ghost from his past. It wasn't even like he thought about you all the time. He was a good man, he would devote his entire self, or he would try to at least, to one person for the rest of his days. And right now, that person was her. But some nights, when the drink hit a little too hard, when he was a little too alone, he'd think of you. You were a nightmare, come back to haunt him. But you were the most gorgeous nightmare he'd ever seen. It killed him to fight off the mirage of you. But he'd do it for her. He'd push the image of you away so many times that he'd hope he'd forget what you looked like.

But his lips couldn't forget what yours tasted like, even after all these years. He couldn't forget the crinkle of your eyes when you smiled. Couldn't forget the sight of you laid beneath him. Couldn't forget the sounds you made. The sounds he coaxed from you. It seemed like all he did to forget you just provoked your ghost to keep appearing.

At first, he could just lose himself in her. She did make him happy after all. He didn't have to be stuck on you, didn't have to even remember you. But the more she talked of a future with him, the less he wanted that future with her. And then, more and more, he'd begun to think of you so frequently that he didn't even recognize the woman beside him in bed anymore. It wasn't something he could fight, because he had tried to fight these feelings before, but this time it was a fast-acting poison. It was something that had taken hold of him, paralyzed him before he could even remember how to struggle.

She'd tell him where she wanted to honeymoon and instead, he'd remember all the vacations he'd taken with you in the past, all the little slices of paradise he'd been privy to just because he was with you. He could find paradise in a shitty back alley somewhere if you were with him. But you weren't with him anymore. She was. She'd tell him about the house she wanted to buy, and his ears just wouldn't hear her. He'd remember instead how you told him you didn't care what kind of house the two of you shared as long as you could raise up a garden nearby. And when she told him she hoped he'd give her sons, he thought about how you always wanted daughters. You'd even picked out all their names already, you were so sure you were going to be the one for him. He was sure you were going to be the one for him too.

How did it come to this? How could happiness land itself in his lap and yet be unrecognizable if it wasn't you? She was everything he'd ever wanted. He wanted her to be the one so badly. But she wasn't. It was you. It was always only ever you.

When he fidgeted with the ring box in his hand, contemplating how to tell her he couldn't marry her, he noticed that even the ring he'd chosen was for you. It was gold. She hated gold. But you loved it. He wasn't sure how he'd gone into the shop with her in mind and came out with something that could only be for you.

Suddenly, he felt he deserved the gaping hole in his heart that came from losing you. Every stabbing pain, every aching regret, he deserved them all. He didn't deserve to be happy. He felt like such a terrible person, forcing someone (a good someone, a kind someone) to waste half a decade on him when his heart had only ever been yours to begin with.

Of course, he hadn't known it at the time. He'd been happy with her, after all. How could he know that you'd still have a chokehold on his heart? That you'd still visit him in his dreams, in his lowest moments, in the darkest of nights. That even when his mind told him he'd moved on, his heart stayed rooted in place. He thought he'd at least given her something of himself, even just a little bit, after all these years, but now he knew that every single part of him was always only ever yours.

And now that he knew, now that he remembered what you were to him, what you are to him, he didn't ever want to stop thinking of you. Didn't want to lie to himself anymore, or pretend. He didn't want to know a version of himself that wasn't yours.

So he finally set her free, and set himself free in the process.

[lightdancingwords]

One Day - Part Three of ?

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character

Series Summary: You were rescued by Dean Winchester a long time ago. Over time, you kept bumping into each other.

Word Count: 2948

Tags/Warnings: Violence, profanity, angst, argument, monsters/supernatural, grief and death

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! This story is AU as it does veer a bit from the history we see in Season 1 of Supernatural. There will be references to episodes and seasons, but it'll change as the chapters come. Enjoy the ride!

Dividers: credit to @talesmaniac89

Chapter Three: The Psychic of Missouri

Dean Winchester tightened his grip on the Impala’s steering wheel as he navigated through Lawrence, Kansas. Beside him, Sam shifted in his seat, restless. Dean was tense—returning to their childhood home dredged up memories he didn’t want to face. Yet, Sam had been persuasive in convincing him to come back due to some uneasy dreams.

Christ. Psychic dreams. His baby brother… was a fucking psychic. What the damn hell. God.

Still, he was happy to have Sam back, if not under ideal circumstances. John went on a hunt and went missing. Though it was more or less clear that John was choosing to avoid his sons, Dean was convinced something was wrong.

Sam had been reluctant to help out at first. That all changed when the same creature that killed their mother also killed Sam’s girlfriend, Jessica. Now both brothers were determined to find out why their father was avoiding them.

What Sam didn’t know was that Dean had been calling his father incessantly, leaving voicemail galore. Worst of all, John wasn’t responding. It was killing Dean that his father essentially abandoned them… again.

“Look, man, I don’t know what you’re expecting at this house,” Dean said to Sam, trying to convince his brother to drop this nonsense. He really, really didn’t want to see that house again.

“I know, Dean,” Sam said, fighting to explain it in a way Dean would understand or even just accept. “It’s just… we have to be there. Something’s wrong.”

Dean sighed, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel. “All right, fine.”

The Impala’s engine growled as Dean pulled up outside the house he once called home. He had a few small memories that he remembered outside of watching his mother burn on the ceiling. Some of them were actually nice, like the apple pies his mother made him. Her warm hugs. The way she’d touch his cheek.

His heart ached at remembering Mary. It’d been 22 years and the grief never left him. All the beer, all the women, all the hunts… it’d never leave him.

“All right… let’s go.”

Learning that Sam had been right about something off in their old house, learning from Sari that something was haunting the house, had not been on Dean’s bingo list. More, discovering that John consulted psychics galore to track down the who and what that killed Mary was another shock.

Just what the hell was John keeping from them? Except Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to confront his father, not really. That always had been Sam’s thing… and God, Dean envied him that strength.

Missouri… was an interesting woman. She clued in on Sam’s grief, scolded him for mentally cussing her out, and even threatened him with a spoon if he put his boots on her coffee table. Christ, he’d never been so spooked before and he faced a goddamned Wendigo.

Then the other surprise hit him in the face—at least, not literally this time.

“You can come in now,” Missouri said to someone just over her shoulder.

Sam and Dean looked up, confused. Then Dean’s eyes widened. He was about to say something when Missouri scolded him again.

“What did I say about swearing?”

Dean stopped, swallowed hard, and sat up straight. “Y/N… what are you doing here?”

Exasperated, Missouri rolled her eyes at Dean. “Lord help me, I don’t know where you get your manners. She’s here because she needed my help, same as you.”

Sam glanced back and forth between Y/N and Dean, confused. “I’m sorry, could someone fill me in?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Dean, turned to Sam and offered her hand. “I’m Y/N. I met Dean a couple of years back. He helped save me from a vampire. Then a few months ago we bumped into each other again.”

Sam shook her hand. “So you’re another a hunter?”

“Yes—”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “She’s just playing at one.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at Dean. “That’s not what you said at the asylum.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. You’re not a hunter. You should go back, go home, pretend none of this stuff happened,” Dean said, irritated.

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like we could forget everything that happened to us?”

Y/N nodded at Sam. That made Dean even more grumpy. “That’s not the point, Sam. Y/N’s only been in this shit for a couple of years. We’ve been in it our whole lives! She remembers what it’s like to be normal!”

The penny dropped for Y/N. Up until that moment, she hadn’t been sure what Sam was in this equation. Now she knew: he was Dean’s brother.

“So you lied to me,” Y/N said angrily. “You said you understood why I couldn’t go back.”

Dean scowled. Before he could say anything more, Missouri spoke up. “That’s enough out of you, all of you. We have business to attend to.”

Sam nodded. “Our old house. There’s something there. Something inside.”

Dean huffed. He was pissed. He was pissed and he was scared and God, he hated it. Sam was becoming increasingly weird. His father was avoiding them. And seeing that damned house….

Y/N glanced at him and something softened in her gaze. He wondered what she knew. He certainly didn’t tell her anything, but what if Missouri did? God…

Sam was relaying to Missouri what he sensed and dreamed. The older woman nodded and declared, “Let’s go see that house.”

“What about Y/N?” Dean asked, testy. He was so not having this.

“She can come with and don’t you sass me boy,” Missouri said, cutting off his protest. “This is a good learning experience for her. Plus, I think it’d help her solve her problem.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He was in Hell. Sam nudged him and pulled him close so they could talk quietly.

“Hey… what’s going on? What’s the big deal about Y/N?” Sam studied his older brother, the way he was clenching his jaw, evasive with his eyes.

Dean’s nostrils flared as he fought to keep his temper. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea she’s coming with. She’s practically a kid, Sam.”

Sam glanced over at Y/N, saw the way she carried herself. She was straight-backed and lean, with the measured movements of someone who learned to husband her energy.

“Is it true?” the younger Winchester asked.

Irritated, Dean scowled up at Sam. “Is what true?”

“That you accepted her being a hunter.”

More scowling. “Shut up, Sam. Let’s go.”

Seeing the Winchester house again so soon after their first visit must’ve been weird for Jenny, the new owner of the house. Missouri did everything she could to reassure the young mother, but Dean could tell Jenny was freaked.

Y/N on the other… While Missouri did her psychic crap, the young female hunter stayed quiet, looked around, even chatted up with Jenny.

So why the hell was Dean so mad? Well, that was unfortunately easy for him to understand. It was the house. It was seeing memories, ghosts of Christmas past.

He remembered his mother being upset with John on the phone and came over to reassure her that it would be okay. He’d hugged her, tried to take his mother’s heartache.

He’d been a goddamned child. He shouldn’t have had to do that, but he felt so responsible for them all.

Seeing Y/N in the midst of it was like a knife in the gut. He didn’t want her embroiled in any of this shit. Instead, she was, and he wanted to tear his hair out over it.

“You gonna tell me why you went to Missouri?” Dean asked, his voice low and rumbly. Y/N looked up and gave him a flat look. God, it should be a crime to look that hot while being coldly furious with him.

“I needed a psychic,” she said at last. “Missouri’s come up often when I looked into them. And she definitely nailed the issues I had before I even said them out loud.”

His smile was fleeting. Given how Missouri nailed Sam with the statement about his loss and got to Dean without him ever saying a word, he was inclined to believe Missouri was the one to talk to regarding the house’s history.

Missouri came back downstairs briskly. “There’s definitely some bad energy here. We got work to do.”

“What? Her too?” Dean asked in open exasperation regarding Y/N’s involvement.

He saw Y/N’s spine stuffed and was pleased at seeing her temper. Good. Maybe they could fight it out and it’ll turn into a make out session.

Missouri bopped him upside the head. “Act like a gentleman,” she said sharply. “I know your daddy didn’t teach you to be this rude.”

Dean cringed, rubbed his head and stared at Missouri. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“But you were thinking it,” Missouri retorted. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of that girl that way.”

He scowled at Missouri. Sam actually smirked as he came back to them. He liked seeing Missouri put Dean in his place, just a little bit. Dean scowled.

God. After this, he was going to want to drown a bit in beer and breasts. Maybe Y/N’s breasts. Then Missouri glared at him and he grabbed his libido and shoved it back into a box. He seemed to have to do that a lot when Y/N was around.

Y/N’s gaze shifted between Dean and Missouri and smirked. “Do I want to know?”

“I’d say something but she might smack me again,” Dean grumbled. He wanted to flirt. Something to distract himself. However, Missouri was putting a kibosh on all his favorite activities and distractions.

Her smile widened and her eyes sparkled. Y/N really had gorgeous eyes. He’d forgotten. “You’re scared of her. More scared than you were with the vampire or the ghost.”

“I’m not scared,” he protested.

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not!”

Y/N was laughing as she walked away. Damn, she had a nice ass.

It didn’t take much to convince Jenny to get her to take the kids out for a movie and give them time to cleanse the house of the stubborn poltergeist.

Seeing Y/N walk around his childhood home gave Dean a funny feeling, like his chest was being compressed. He didn’t like it. He honestly did not do well dealing with feelings. Like John, he just sat on it until he blew up.

He couldn’t do that this time. He couldn’t blow up, he couldn’t sit on it. It festered and gnawed at him. God, he couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

Y/N kept looking at him and he twitched under her inscrutable gaze.

“What?!” he asked, snapping irritably.

Y/N shook her head and that made it worse.

“Then quit looking at me like that,” he said, grumpy as Missouri mixed whatever the hell it was they needed to cast the poltergeist out.

“Dean,” Sam said, trying to deflect and calm his brother.

“It’s all right, Sam,” Y/N said gently. She looked back at Dean. “It’s about your mom, isn’t it?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “How the hell did you know that? Did Sam tell you?” God, if his baby brother blabbed, Dean was gonna punch him one.

Missouri rolled her eyes at the toxic display of machismo and kept on working. Her mix was almost ready.

“God, no,” Y/N said with exasperation in every breath. “I read up on it. I…” She glanced over at Missouri, then back at the brothers. “I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

“Great. Another book nerd.” She really was like a female Sam.

Y/N was undeterred. “Things about poltergeists and ghosts and how they connect to what’s left behind. Which meant reading about traumatic deaths, murders… unusual deaths.”

Comprehension dawned in Sam’s eyes. “And you found out about our mom.”

“Yes. I knew this was your home,” Y/N said gently.

Dean’s jaw clenched tightly.

“I went to Missouri for more information about spirits in particular. I guess I wanted to understand the afterlife or at least life after death,” Y/N said carefully.

Missouri looked up at Y/N and there was a look that read she knew more about Y/N’s motives than she was admitting. Dean saw it, knew it’d take a stallion or something to drag it out of the psychic.

“The Winchester fire and… what happened to your mother… came up in my reading,” Y/N said finally.

“So what do you think?” Sam asked curiously, like an eager puppy.

Y/N considered it. “It’s not your mom,” she said at last. “I think there’s another reason why there’s a poltergeist here. Maybe it was drawn to the violent death, drove out all the previous owners and tenants.”

Missouri quirked a brow. “Are you sure you’re not psychic too?”

“No offense, Missouri,” Y/N said with a weak smile. “I really hope not.”

“Same. You don’t wanna know what’s in that boy’s mind,” Missouri said with a nod to Dean.

Dean bristled, but kept quiet. Sam nudged him as if to convince him to talk, and Dean shoved him back hard. Sam laughed.

Y/N gave Dean a thoughtful look and somehow he felt naked in that moment. Not a good naked; the scary kind where he was 4 years old again and watching his mother die.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “Let’s go get to work,” he said roughly.

They thought it was over. Sam knew better. Despite Dean’s misgivings, the brothers—and Y/N—were camped out in the Impala. The initial cleansing worked, Dean insisted. Sam believed otherwise.

Y/N offered to come with because she was curious about them. Dean was super-irritated. Bad enough he had to help wrangle his brother free from a cord choking him, smash holes in the wall and dump Missouri’s poltergeist dust into the wall. Oh no, they had to come back and keep a watch out because Sam had a ‘feeling’.

So much beer after this.

Then they saw it: Jenny pounding on the upstairs window. The trio spilled out of the Impala running for the house. Dean had to kick in the door, barked an order for Sam and Y/N to grab Sari and Richie while he grabbed Jenny.

Dean got Jenny out quickly, only to realize Sam still hadn’t come back down. He was about to run up when Y/N came out with both kids.

“Where’s Sam?” he demanded from Y/N.

“He handed me Richie and told me to run,” Y/N said, breathless. “Dean, something has him!”

Dean wasted no more time. His father’s voice echoed in his head, ordering him to take Sam and run. He’d been tasked to keep his brother safe and by God, he would.

Y/N was right behind him. For once he was grateful to not face this alone.

Before they could regroup, a woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Leave them alone!”

The figure of Mary Winchester appeared, her presence radiant and protective. She stood between the trio and the poltergeist, her gaze fierce.

“Mom?” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Mary didn’t look at him, her focus solely on the spirit. “You don’t belong here,” she said firmly. The poltergeist shrieked, its form twisting and writhing as Mary’s light engulfed it. With one final cry, it vanished.

The room fell silent. Mary turned to her sons, her expression softening. “Dean. Sam.”

Dean stepped forward, his voice breaking. “Mom?”

“You’ve grown so much,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you both.”

Sam’s voice trembled. “Why are you here?”

Mary’s form began to fade. “To protect you. To protect them.” She glanced at them, her eyes full of love.

And with that, she was gone.

The silence in the room was deafening. Dean’s hands clenched into fists, his emotions warring within him. Sam placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Y/N broke the silence. “We should check on Jenny and the kids.”

Dean nodded, his jaw tight. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Missouri was waiting for them at her home that night. Her knowing eyes met Dean’s, and she nodded. “She did what she needed to do.”

Dean’s voice was rough. “She shouldn’t have had to.”

Missouri placed a hand on his arm. “Sometimes, love is stronger than anything else. Even death.”

Dean was mulling that as he walked Y/N to her car. Her vehicle was a Honda Elsment, compact but designed to use space well. “So… how much you wanna punch me?”

Y/N actually snorted. Absurdly, he found that appealing. “Earlier, I really wanted to.” Her gaze softened, just a bit. “Not so much after that.”

“I still don’t like you being a hunter. I’ll be honest. Don’t do it, Y/N.” Dean looked pained, “Go back to your life.”

”I can’t, Dean,” she said quietly. Damn it. She had that soft voice that just cut through him. “I can’t live in ignorance or pretend this isn’t happening.”

He shook his head. “You’re stubborn.”

“Back atcha, Winchester.”

He quirked a half smile. “First time we met, you kissed me. Second time, I let you walk away.”

Her brows swooped up and she smiled. “And the third time?”

He barely let her finish before he framed her face with his hands and captured her lips in a kiss. In the midst of it as he explored her mouth, tasted her, he felt her hands slide up his chest.

When he eventually broke the kiss, when he finally let her go, he smirked at her. “Can’t wait to see what happens when I see you again, Y/N.”

She let out a breath, her cheeks flushed. “What makes you so sure we’ll see each other again?”

He grinned. “Call it a hunch, sweetheart.”

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl

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[tobiasdrake]

I would like to tell you a story. It's the story of two people who are very near and dear to my heart.

The story begins with a young enby named Willow. Willow was an unwanted child. Their father was a well-off businessman who was worried about what a child would do to his prospective future. When their mother wouldn't abort like he demanded, he pulled up stakes and moved to Minnesota, abandoning both mother and child.

Thus Willow was born to a single mother who resented them. As they grew up, abusive stepfathers came and went, leaving siblings in their wake. The middle child became their mother's favorite and was doted on incessantly, while their mother never forgave Willow for the crime of existing.

Things didn't get easier for Willow when, at the age of 7, they were diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and synesthesia. This translated into psychological and pharmaceutical bills, which translated into more resentment.

It was a hard condition for a 7-year-old to manage. Hell, it's a hard condition for an adult to manage. They would spend the rest of their life plagued by hallucinations. Haunted by intrusive voices and thoughts that hated them, urging self-harm and suicide. Insomnia that kept them from sleeping more than a few hours at night, and night terrors assailing them in their dreams.

It was not an easy childhood. More than once, Willow would go hungry to ensure their sisters ate. More than once, Willow left home to panhandle on street corners to try and help their mom make ends meet. And more than once, Willow would spend weeks or months finding friends to stay with, to escape their mother's mistreatment.

That's where I met them, in fact. We had met at a Magic: The Gathering event. They were 17 pretending to be 19 to avoid uncomfortable questions about why they can't go home. I was in my early 20's and had a poorly furnished one bedroom apartment, but I offered them my couch to crash on, and this stray cat I took in wound up becoming a dear friend for life. But this story isn't about me.

Life did not get easier for Willow when they became an adult. They graduated high school and entered college, only to find out the hard way that the adult world didn't want them. Few jobs will give your resume a second look once they see the words "paranoid schizophrenia" on your record. College was going to be a lot of money for a degree they weren't allowed to use, so they dropped out.

Their mother had racked up debts in their name, which destroyed their credit and made it impossible to get an apartment or a loan. Medicare, for reasons I still cannot fathom to this day, denied them coverage for their mental welfare. The lithium antipsychotic they'd been on was poisoning them, forcing them to go off meds and seek another way to manage their condition. They were wracked with insomnia during their waking hours and night terrors in the short time they could sleep.

They entered adulthood only to find every door closed to them and even more thorns than childhood had wrought. Even into their 20's, they were forced to crash on couches and lean on the charity of others. The world did not want them any more than their family had.

But they weren't alone anymore. They had friends, some fickle but others who cared enough to offer sincere help. And more than anyone, they had her.

Her name is Ally, and she became the love of Willow's life. A bottomless well of generosity. She didn't have much in terms of material wealth to share, having also left college for financial reasons and resorted to working at a supermarket to make ends meet. But she took Willow into her home and introduced them to a boundless love the likes of which they'd never known.

In Ally, Willow discovered kindness. They found patience. They started eating, and Ally, a woman whose greatest passion was to cook and to provide, made sure with every day that they were fed well. They found someone who could help them when the hallucinations got too hard to bear, without ever judging or making them feel like a burden.

In Ally's arms, they could finally sleep. The comfort she provided soothed away their insomnia. The night terrors were still there. They would always be there. But it was sleep nonetheless.

In Ally, Willow finally found a home. A place where they were wanted. A place where they were loved. Ally worked three jobs to make sure they would always have a roof over their head, and still cooked wonderful meals night after night to keep them fed.

Ally and Willow married in 2016. And they have had so many great years together. As someone who's known Willow for almost 15 years, I can honestly say I've never seen them happier.

I wish I could say this is where the story ends.

Early this year, Ally, this wonderful woman, was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. She's been put out of work and is undergoing chemo before surgery and radiation, and she's struggling to make ends meet.

Once upon a time, Ally dreamed of owning a food truck where she and Willow could work together. Now she goes to weekly chemotherapy treatments while trying to figure out how she's going to continue to support her beloved disabled spouse. And it gets harder with every passing month.

I'm doing everything I can for them, but it's not enough. They need more help than I can provide. Ally's GoFundMe can be found here. She's not asking for much. We all have our struggles and I wouldn't ask anyone to give any more than they're able. But if there is anything you can do, please help this story find a happy ending.

[wheretheresaway-theresawilliam]

Chapter 28: The Truth Unmasked

Word Count: 1220

TWs: Murder mentions, allusions to a panic attack, mentions of strained parent-child relationships

⛤⛤⛤

The third night, he went straight for Prize Corner. He utilised his daytime downtime by spending hours at the local library, reading multiple books on paranormal activity and even using their computers. So, Freddy’s was haunted.

“The victims are the animatronics,” he stated when the Marionette came out of its box to greet him.

“Well done, Michael. So, last night wasn’t a dream, was it?”

He shook his head. “But… how? Why?”

“How do you think?” Its posture became rigid and disgusted.

“Because they died on Freddy’s property??”

“... In a sense, yes.”

“Why won’t you just tell me? You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“I told you, Michael. It’s me. I know your face, but… I can’t remember my name. The others can’t remember themselves, either, but I know something they don’t. I know.”

“Know…?” Michael suddenly got excited, “You know who killed you?”

“Try not to sound so ecstatic. It was a man. He drove a purple car.”

He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “A purple car?”

“Yes. Quite the detail, don’t you think? But death… it does things to your memory. I can’t picture his face. The rest of them only have memories of a yellow rabbit, who spoiled them with gifts. Next thing they knew, they had new bodies, and an infinite amount of time to do whatever they wanted… so long as they stayed here.”

“I didn’t want it to be true…” Michael whispered, pulling his knees up to his chest as he sat on the prize counter. The Marionette tilted its head.

“Didn’t want what to be true, Michael?”

“You… don’t remember the rabbit?”

Seconds passed between Michael’s question and the Marionette’s answer. “I don’t think so.”

Michael buried his head between his knees, shaking. “Fuck. I… how do I…?”

“You’re upset.”

Michael said nothing, lost in his head. It was him. It was him. It was his own father. The Marionette moved to sit beside him and began to hum a soft melody. It diverted his focus, bringing him back into the present. And then he began to apologize incessantly, unable to say anything more.

“Michael. Michael.”

“What???”

“When did you start using an American accent?”

He couldn’t help but laugh in shock. “It’s… a long story, kid.”

He didn’t go straight home at 6:00am, but instead went to sit in the parking lot of Circus Baby’s. He had to talk to Elizabeth. There was no possible guarantee she’d come with her father to work that afternoon, but it wasn’t like he could just show up at William’s house and expect him to be civil about it. Even with the fury, sadness, and fear coursing through his veins, he found himself drifting off. He dreamt of Evan, and all the others he had bullied. The pleasure he had derived from hurting them. But oh, the guilt that glutted itself on his pain ever since the accident. He tried to be numb about it as a teenager, but it burned him alive, now. He was startled awake by a knock on his window. He rolled it down. A familiar face was staring back at him.

“Everything alright, son?”

“Do I know you, sir…?”

The man laughed. “Wow, I’m surprised you remember me at all, Mr. Afton. Harvey Pierce, I tried to talk to you about your brother’s accident all those years ago, but your father wouldn’t have it. You’ve really grown into that face of yours, haven’t you?”

“Oh… oh shit, yeah, I do remember. I mean, that night is kind of hard to forget…” Michael cleared his throat. “But, er, yeah. I’m fine. Just dozed off, I guess.”

“I seem to recall you having an accent…?”

“And I seem to recall that I used to be an asshole, but you don’t hear me bringing it up.”

Pierce frowned. “Right. Sorry, can’t turn off the nose for questions, even if I’m off-duty. Close to retirement, actually.”

“Good for you. Hey, do you know when this place opens?”

“It opened an hour ago. I only pulled up because somebody called about a man sleeping in his car, I thought you might’ve been homeless. You aren’t, are you?”

“No, sir, I’ve got my own apartment and everything. Thanks to Henry, mostly… I was in his will, and since… well, I got most of it, to say the least.”

“God rest their souls,” Pierce placed a hand on his heart. “Isn’t your father well-off?? Why didn’t he--”

“First of all, none of your business, Mr. Pierce, second of all, that bridge has been down since I turned eighteen, so I suggest you lay off it.”

“There’s that accent… sorry, seems I struck a nerve.”

“You did. Anything else I can help you with, officer?”

“No need for such formalities…”

“Wait, wait, wait, didn’t you just say you were off-duty? How’d you know somebody called about ‘a man sleeping in his car?’”

“Well, I was planning on clocking out after I checked the call out. Simple as that.”

Michael shook his head. “Why don’t you get out of here before I report you to your boss for being a nuisance?”

“Good thinking. Take care, Michael.”

“I won’t.” He rolled his eyes as Pierce went back to his car, then checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, held up by heavy purple bags. Horrible, horrible shift. Fuck you, William. He brushed some lint and what-have-you off of his slightly dishevelled clothes and got out of his car, entering the circus-tent-shaped building. Despite the facility’s name, the restaurant portion was the lesser of its draws. For having only opened an hour ago, the place was already beginning to crawl with children and their guardians. An employee approached him as he stood there, temporarily disarmed by seeing everything for the first time.

“Welcome to Circus Baby’s Pizza World, sir! What Big Top Fun™️ can we serve up for you today?” She beamed in that way only others in her position could understand. Michael glanced at her nametag.

“Ah, well, thanks for the warm welcome, Frances. Truth be told, I’ve never been here before. I was just wondering if your boss brought his daughter with him today, I’m a family friend and I wanted to surprise her with a visit.” He was sure to calm down and put his American accent back on as to not attract suspicion.

“Elizabeth Afton?”

“That’s the girl.”

“I’m sure you’ll find her in Circus Baby’s Circus Ring Room! Your name, sir? Just in case Mr. Afton asks about you.”

“Mike.”

“Fantastic, let me just stamp your hand so other employees know you didn’t just sneak past the front desk,” Frances retrieved an ink pad and a stamper depicting Circus Baby’s face. “Any particular colour you’d prefer, Mr. Mike?”

“Red, if you’ve got it.”

“Sure thing!” She swapped the ink pad for one with red ink and stamped Michael’s hand. “Have a Clown-tastic day!”

“Thanks.” He lowered his voice, “I know how rough it must be to work in a place like this, so have a drink on me when you get off your shift. I’d say you’ve earned it.”

Frances nodded with an appreciative expression and handed him a map. With that, Michael set off into the labyrinthian facility, so much bigger than Freddy’s in every sense.

[moonlit-doodles]

When he breathes to speak next it is ragged in his throat, bitter on the back of his tongue. “...Yusuke. What was that for?”

The easel stands with its painting while all other supplies are primed for transit home. “You must understand, Akira. I think of you incessantly. Even in my dreams I am haunted by your visage. Often I wake aching for those fantastic projections, aching to paint over your skin with my own hands.” He shakes his head. “But I fear there are many who share my sentiment, and I fear you are too kind as to outright reject any one person’s affections; and, I arrogantly expect that I have learned you well enough to come to this understanding:” He looks over and smiles. “That you would give yourself wholly to the first person audacious enough to demand you. And I believe you deserve better than to feel that you must leave your own happiness up to a lucky draw.”

“Yusuke...”

“This past year...” A soft shake of the head. “No. Since beyond then, I’m sure. Akira, you have endured relentless cruelty and negligence. You have endured abuse beyond my comprehension. Throughout it all, you have held your ground. You are a beacon. You are hope, justice, faith, light. You are all anyone has ever needed you to be, and more. You are everything.”

No. But he can’t understand, can he? The meaninglessness of that final card, hard-won and yet erased just the same as all of the others? I’m only a fool.

“And you are evasive,” Yusuke presses, “when others express concern for you.”

“Because it’s unwarranted.”

“You are still wearing these glasses.” He reaches out and his palm is cool against Akira’s cheek, cool and slightly damp from the condensation on his drink, and he peers into Akira’s eyes recklessly, as though there is nothing he cannot find, nothing that will hurt him if he is to dive in too deep. “Akira—Joker. Leader. Akira. Tell me, and tell me the truth. Is there anything you will allow me to give you without first sacrificing yourself?”

i need to disappear because work is hell this week and esp today but pls take this while I'm on my shukita brainrot

“When did I lead you to think I’m something to be earned?” is what he asks, not yet withdrawing.

Yusuke looks at him, measuring him, and slowly his lips curve into a cogitative smile. “Ah, that is the very thing. You test my resolve in ways unlike any other. If I thought my answer would satisfy you, Akira, I would provide it.”

“You don’t need to satisfy me.”

“I want to,” swift and easy.

Akira closes his lips around a straw, garners himself a few seconds to steep in it. “...Then, have I not made my invitation clear enough?”

There is an answering hum. “I’m not convinced it was an invitation, Akira. More an allowance.”

What do you mean?

“...Do you think I lied, Yusuke?” A stab of apprehension, I wasn’t lying, I wasn’t, even if this is more than I... “I don’t think I did. Do you?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

He shakes his head. “I have no answer that will satisfy you.”

Any answer, then. But Akira does not chase it. He twirls his straw around his cup and watches as Futaba tackles Makoto over and the splash war begins. Morgana is curled up asleep in the cradle that is Akira’s bag, sitting half open on a beach towel carefully insulated from the sand, having dutifully groomed himself clean after Ann shaped the fur atop his head into a mohawk.

And Yusuke continues to paint, and Akira is simply...here.

An allowance?

But he’s right, isn’t he?

Yusuke lifts his head to watch a gull coast by, and a thin line of deep grey makes its way onto his canvas.

“What was it like?” he asks.

He is testing the waters. “Missing a subject, Yusuke.”

“Prison.”

What is he testing for?

Akira steps closer to peer at the canvas, and points up at a solitary speck of light poking through burnt orange and sienna. A pale yellow star is born from the tip of Yusuke’s brush.

It looks lonely.

“Boring,” he answers.

Yusuke clicks his tongue. Wrong answer.

“Barren. Lifeless.”

Closer. Warmer.

“Isolating,” Akira concedes, the word grating against his teeth.

[harbouredsoulss]

LURK

Author's note: You have no idea how happy I am to post again! 💞

I've been working on this for a while and am so excited to finally share this with you all. This is set to be a series, with the current number of parts unknown (though I'm currently working on that).

I also appreciate every single person who helped me when I was trying to work out how long my posts should be! You were all super helpful 🥰

warning(s): violence. mention of stalking. blood. a hint of smut. friends x lovers! panic.

pairing(s): ez reyes x [OC] ivána

word count: 2.3 k

summary: Ivána has a secret. She is in danger, and has kept this from everyone including her best friend Ez. What happens when this danger finally comes for her?

Nights alone were truly unbearable, though Ivána knew she was never truly alone.

There was always that heavy feeling -an inexplicable feeling that haunted her, to the point where she knew that he had to be out there watching her each and every move. The feeling clung to her, never abating.

Her home was locked down with the doors bolted shut, and windows sealed and secured. She had made it into a fortress since the first time he had made his intentions clear. She knew his kind; had seen it before. They liked to toy with their prey, and strike fear into their hearts, not long before they consumed them, body and soul.

Ivána knew she was just biding her time before the games would truly begin. The intimidation thus far had been nothing but mere warning of what was to come.

She lay in bed, tossing and turning, thoughts all consuming. She knew what she could do to make the problem go away. The police would be the best place to start and a smart move at that. Though that wasn’t who she was really considering turning to.

There were people she knew and trusted enough to protect her from harm. She had connections with people from all walks of life, some of which she grew up with, some of them considered family.

Her best friend, the one she had been secretly in love with for the majority of her life, Ezekiel Reyes, would do anything for her and she knew that. But she couldn’t bring herself to drag him into her mess. He had already gone through enough; he doesn’t need her problems added to his list.

At some point in the night, she did fall asleep. She fell to the faint pitter patter of the rain, which was rare for Santo Padre. It soothed her restless thoughts, and nudged her slowly to an unbroken sleep.

For once her dreams were not filled with terror, though there was still a flicker of anxiety as her thoughts shaped and manifested to their final form. In her dreams she spoke to EZ, hands caressing his face softly, lips barely a breath a part, whispering to him, telling him the truth, and allowing all her fears to be released. She allowed him to protect her. He encased her in his arms creating a barrier that separated her physical form from all the uncertainties her life was set to face -that plagued her mind incessantly.

Her mind gave in to her desires, ones she not would let happen in the real world. It allowed her a glimpse at what safety and love would truly feel like.

Unlucky for her, the dreams did not last, it was the arrogant sound of her alarm which happened to choose that precise moment, when her thoughts morphed into something more illicit, to interfere with her reverie. The idea of snoozing the alarm was tempting, as was remaining in bed hidden within the confines of her room. Though she knew she would be missed, and staying here, locking herself inside forever, would arouse suspicion.

The hospital would be nothing more than a brief reprieve from the game she had been made part of.

At least that’s what she told herself.

It wouldn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder as she made rounds, checking each bathroom stall, and cataloguing each individual in a waiting room. She was in a minefield and was sure to explode if she made the wrong move.

He had been doing this for quite some time now, though usually he left her alone at work. He left toying with her for when she was alone with no one to reach out to for help. He knew her hours, when she would begin her shift and when it would end. She figured he had someone hack into the hospital’s servers and access her roster. She also knew that if he was not going to be physically present, there would always be someone else from within his inner circle there to stalk her.

She stood in her bathroom, scrubs gripped tightly in her hands, eyes glaring at the fabric as she debated her choices. Her skin was like ice, with goosebumps coating her flesh as she stood there naked in the room, allowing her mind to tick over like a clock. She didn’t want to leave, and it took every ounce of strength she had to force her body to cooperate.

Her mind was at war with itself. Different parts of it were broken up over what she should do. Parts of her wanted to run and hide, whilst the other parts wanted her to stay, too scared to step a toe out of line and be killed.

Her eyes remained locked on her reflection, fingers tracing the length of her skin, up and down, from the curve of her breasts to soft bump of her waist. Her eyes fluttered closed as the soft movement of her fingers pulled her into trance.

It was kaleidoscope of colour that flickered beneath her eyelids as her body began to relax. Soon the mirage of colour transformed in to one whole image of Ez and herself.

Their limbs were intertwined, sliding against one another intimately. His breathing hot against the crook of her neck, fingers torturing her in the most delicious way possible. Sliding down the slope of her body, caressing her breasts, kneading her tender flesh as they ventured lower. They slipped between her thighs, and began rubbing her gently and softly. Edging her, at a leisurely pace, to her release.

It was a sound reminiscent to that of a gunshot that shook Ivána from her fantasy and filled her to the brim with terror.

She moved as fast her body would allow, though it resulted in her tangling herself in her scrubs, tripping over her own feet as tried to dress herself. She could hear the thrum of her heart pounding in her ears as she made her body move towards the living room, grasping onto the baseball bat she kept hidden behind her couch.

It was at that point she came to the realisation that it was not a gunshot she had heard, only what sounded like one. What she had heard was actually the sound of someone banging themselves against her front door.

She had every intention of calling out and demanding the name of whoever it was that was trying to take down her door, but it was the fear that froze her where she stood. She knew with every fibre of her being that the person on the other side of the door was not a friend.

It was only when she took a few hesitant steps away from the couch towards the entryway that the wood began splintering and a large crack struck through the length of the wooden panelled door.

Particles of dust and wood chips scattered across the floor as the banging continued. Her knuckles turned white; her circulation sure to cut off as she continued to grip the handle of the baseball bat, tighter and tighter.

She could hear whoever it was grunting as they continued to throw their body against the door.

It went on for a limited time, mere minutes, before she saw her front door fly off its hinges, bang against her hallway table, and land right before her feet.

A jolt of surprise and dread iced her veins as she took in the scene before her. It was only one man.

It took only one man to break into my home.

Recognition sparked as the cog wheels in her mind began to turn.

His face was red, with beads of sweat clinging to his flesh, soaking his brown hair, and plastering it against his face.

Ivána had seen this man before.

He smiled at her faintly, chest heaving, struggling to catch his breath. He held up his hand, his index finger pointed upwards.

“One…. Moment…” he rasped out; face still flushed as he struggled to catch his breath.

Her eyes were fixed on him, as he stood there both hands pressed on either side of the door frame, his head hanging low. It was a surprising sight for her. One that took an edge off the fear that was gripping her.

There was no awareness of time as she stood there like a deer caught in headlights. All the awareness was honed in on the man before her and his breathing, and how much easier it was starting to become. She knew she was running out of time, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything.

It didn’t take too long for his demeanour to change. No longer was his mouth agape with salvia bubbling at his lips, slipping down his chin as he tried to capture his breath. He brought his hand to his mouth and begun wiping it slowly, removing any hint of weakness as he did so.

Finally, he took a step towards her, entering her home, stepping on the broken door.

“Let me guess,” she started, taking a step back, “you’re one of David’s men?”

Her fingers curled tightly around the handle of the bat, using all the strength within her, to hold herself up right. The target she’s had on her back, the dread, anticipation, never quite knowing when he would strike. It was always clear that he was waiting for the right moment, which had now come.

The intruder nodded in return, making sure to smile at her wickedly.

“Matteo.” He answered, though she had no care for his name. Being one of David’s lackies was all she needed to know.

Ivána ignored him and instead widened her stance, preparing her body for the inevitable swing that she would take.

Matteo took another step towards her, chest heaving. The knock down of the door had clearly taken a lot out of him, although he tried to show her otherwise.

He didn’t appear to be too old, though she could tell he was not in his prime.

“You know why I’ve come; I assume?”

“To finally take me?” She guessed with a slight shrug to her shoulders, stance still wide, arms ready to swing, “though after that little performance, you shouldn’t feel too confident on your mission being a success.”

He wasn’t fazed by the scorn notable in her voice. He just stood there with his hands on his hips; a smirk plastered on his face, pure excitement gleaming in his eyes.

His gaze remained locked on hers, never wavering, though that was not before he allowed it to lingered down her body slowly, zeroing in on the weapon in her hand. It transformed his smirk into something more wicked; sickening.

“Oh, baby girl,” he said, voice thick and husky, almost as if the mere sight of her holding a weapon turned him on. He licked his lips, clucking his tongue as he did so, with an evil gleam now luminous in his eyes, “surely you must know that it’s a massive turn on when you think you can fight back.”

“You’re disgusting,” she spat; voice laced with venom, “you and your entire crew are nothing but pigs. If your boss wants me, he can come and get me himself.”

He laughed, a hearty kind of laugh. One full of promise.

He began his attack.

_____________________

Blood trickled down the sharp edges of the blade at an unhurried pace. Each drop leaving a faint echo throughout the room one might miss if they weren’t listening out carefully.

Ivána stood there frozen, arms rigid, and glued to her side, clutching the kitchen knife. Her breathing ragged, chest heaving with every painful intake of breath. Her body was battered with cuts, and bruises which, unbeknownst to her, had already begun developing across her flesh. There was no mistaking the red, angry, marks on her skin that were sure to ache, leaving a clear reminder as to what had happened. Perhaps the physical marring of flesh would clear, in time. Though that moment, standing frozen over her assailant’s body, knife caked in blood, would never fade.

Her body convulsed, though she was unaware, as the shock washed over her like a tidal wave. The knife slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as she fell to her knees. Her body was wracked with loud uncontrollable sobs as the image of the attack flashed through her mind at a hastened pace. Her hands crimson, caked in his blood. Her breathing grew erratic and the panic began to set in, eyesight blurred with tears.

“Yo! Hermana.”

Confusion triggered an innate reaction within her at the sound of Angel’s voice, one that she was not ready for. She jerked forward and frantically began trying to clean the mess around her. Hoping to hide the mess - afraid of anyone else seeing it.

Had she been in a rational state of mind, she would have stopped herself. The attempt she was making was needless given the fact that all she was doing was using her hands to rub the blood around her.

“Ivána…” Voice trailing off, Angel stood within the threshold of the doorway, gaze locked on Ivána as she continued to frantically clean her kitchen floor.

Crouching down he reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, his voice softly urging her to stop. As he touched her, she let out a shrill scream, and lashed out at Angel. Her body and mind were still locked in the fight of her life.

She mistook Angel for another one of David’s men, come to finish what Matteo had started.

“Please,” she begged, voice cracking as her sobs turned heavier, shaking her body further, “Please.”

“I’m here,” Angel murmured softly, attempting to soothe her, “it’s me… Angel.”

“I’ve got you.” He murmured again as he reached towards her, both arms open in attempt to pull her body towards his in an embrace.

She allowed him to take her, his heart shattering when her body went limp in his arms.

If you have stuck through with this part thank you so much! I am really excited to make this a series and worrying about it being a flop! Especially given this part doesn’t really have EZ it, merely mentions of him. I have honestly read and reread over this so many times it’s gotten to the point where I hate it lol. Please leave feedback (if you wish 😂) and pleeeease let me know if you are actually excited to see where this goes. Any guesses? Again, thank you so much if you have actually read all of this and didn’t give up! I appreciate you so much! 💞 I am truly sorry if this was boring!! It’s just the set up so pleeease stick around

TAGLIST (OPEN): @appropriate-writers-name @thesandbeneathmytoes @abby-splace @tartanbumsters @noz4a2 @sesamepancakes @montanaraed

[holden-caulfield]

Explosive I

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟐 - 𝟑)

Summary: reader ends up in detention and is forced to spend it with Draco Malfoy.

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x reader (can be considered an enemies to lovers kind of au)

Warnings: there could be a swear word but i'm not sure honestly.

Word Count: 3280

//

"DETENTION!" shouted a rather angry Snape as you froze on the spot, staring into his dark eyes.

You had just messed up a potion. Again. And it had just exploded. Again. And it had hit Snape, something he didn't quite appreciate. He wasn't very fond of you to begin with but now he surely despised you.

You gulped down nervously as you watched his face contort in anger, cleaning up the mess your failed potion had just made.

"You'll be serving detention for three weeks, miss y/l/n. Every day after the lessons."

"What? Every day?" you asked incredulously but you immediately regretted it upon seeing the scowl already etched on his face getting prominently deeper.

"Every. Day. Starting from today, i'll see you here at the end of your lessons and you better be on time."

The bell rang and you made your way outside of the class not once looking up. The rest of the day went by without mishaps, but the constant fear of Snape's detention was enough to incessantly haunt your mind.

Your feet seemed to walk on their own as they brought you back in the dungeons, the fateful moment having arrived.

You entered the gloomy classroom and saw Snape sitting at his desk, a foul expression painted on his face.

"Sit." you did as you were told and sat down without a single word, looking at your table.

Just then, another figure entered the class and you looked up to see. You didn't know him personally but his reputation preceded him: Draco Malfoy.

The boy nodded to Snape who simply acknowledged his presence and returned his gaze to you.

"You'll be organizing every single item in this room without making anything explode. Although i'm aware it's a very difficult task for you, miss Y/l/n."

The blond boy snorted lowly while making his way to the cauldrons present in one of the corners of the room, but you couldn't retort, having way more serious matter at hand at the moment.

"Is it clear?"

"Yes, professor."

Much to your surprise, Snape made his way outside of the classroom, his robes floating after him.

"If i see you slacking around, i'll be sure to detract points from your house as well. Get to work." and with that he exited the class, leaving you alone with the blond boy.

You were quite dumbfounded but a snooty voice reminded you of your task.

"You better get going, these vials won't rearrange themselves."

You shot him a glare and he simply smirked, turning around and settling his cauldron on one of the tables.

You got up and reached the first closet, analyzing the items present: a bunch of ingredients, many you'd never heard of.

You began dividing them in alphabetical order, it being the most logical division, but that same arrogant voice resounded in the room once more.

"You have to catalogue them first."

"I didn't see him putting you in charge of this place." you retorted under your breath, hoping he wouldn't hear you.

"You're the one in detention, not me. I was just trying to help." helping obviously wasn't what he was trying to do, however annoying you seemed a much more plausible answer.

"I didn't ask for your bloody help, did i?"

He chuckled darkly as he reached you, taking some of the ingredients for himself and knocking down a few in the meantime.

You managed to catch them in mid air, but he didn't seem too bothered. You simply ignored him, silently rolling your eyes and deciding that that would have been the best way to endure the long hour that was awaiting you.

"What did you do anyway?" he asked once he had returned to his table, setting the containers on the wooden surface.

You ignored the question and he just laughed, obviously amused by the whole situation.

"Did you speak during his lesson? He usually assigns detentions for that." he commented.

You kept on organizing the colorful bottles, keeping your back to him.

"Did you cheat? I saw one try and they say he never came back from here alive." you rolled your eyes at his attempts at getting you to speak and continued with your task.

"Did you try to seduce him to get a better grade? I didn't take you for the type but i'm not judging." he chuckled to himself. You took a deep breath, the urge to just turn around and choke him very strong but having an already lengthy detention was enough, you didn't need Snape catching you while trying to kill your annoying schoolmate.

"You put the Asphodel in the wrong place." you finally turned around, visibly pissed off, and saw him slouched on his chair, arms behind the nape of the neck as he looked at you with a pedantic air.

"And why would that be?" you asked, annoyance audible in your voice.

"You put it with the liquids when it should obviously be with the powders."

"I'm not dividing by consistency."

"Well, you should." you rubbed your temples in an attempt at calming yourself while turning around towards the shelves once more. "Did you hear me? I said-"

"I heard what you said and i do not care. Will you be talking the whole hour?" you asked marching towards his desk and slamming your hands on the table.

"I don't know, will you do something right and arrange them the correct way?" you were fuming. A scowl planted on your face while a grin appeared on his.

"I don't know, i usually don't take advice from arrogant know-it-alls."

"And i don't usually help oblivious girls with anger issues but i was feeling nice today." he grinned, inching closer to you with the same smug smirk on his face.

"Oh you stupid little-"

"Miss Y/l/n, i thought three weeks were enough for you but apparently they aren't." Snape barged in right at that moment and you quickly stopped, jumping backwards and back to the shelves.

"I'm sorry, professor. It won't happen again."

Snape sat at his desk, picking up some pieces of parchment you imagined were essays and began analyzing them.

The hour passed by agonizingly slow and when Snape finally released you, he stopped you before exiting the room, making you walk up to his desk.

"How did you organize them?"

"Alphabetical order, professor."

"You'll be rearranging them tomorrow afternoon. I want them divided by categories." and he waved his hand dismissively, signaling for you to go without even a second glance.

You walked past Malfoy's table and he whispered, "Told you."

"Shut up." and you finally made your way out, exhausted, relieved, mad and already tired at the prospect of the next detention.

The following day, you got ready as always and sooner than you expected, the dreaded hour had arrived. The only solace: not having to hear Malfoy's tiresome remarks every second.

"Good afternoon."

A complacent smirk greeted you as you arrived in front of the classroom. You couldn't help but stare and narrow your eyes at the bothersome boy that sat on one of the tables, obviously waiting for Snape to arrive.

"Do you live here perhaps?"

"Do you, princess? Or were you just missing me?"

You passed by him and sat down at the farthest desk from him you could find, setting down your bag.

He got up from his previous place and sank down in the chair next to you.

"Oh come on, do you still think you can ignore me?"

You remained silent and simply side-glanced at him, uninterested in participating in his games.

Draco was about to say something when Snape finally arrived, causing him to get up and set his cauldron just like he had done the former day.

"Miss Y/l/n, i suppose you already know what to do?"

You reluctantly stood up and started reorganizing all the products you had so neatly arranged the day before, but unlike then, you worked in complete silence, Draco obviously not commenting with Snape present.

When the hour finished, you started to get out but Snape stopped you once again. You turned around, already fearing having to change the order for the third time.

"I decided you'll be practicing from tomorrow afternoon in order to prevent another... accident. Mr Malfoy here will tutor you."

"What?!" you shrieked and Snape didn't seem to appreciate it.

Draco seemed as dumbfounded as you for he had a rather shocked look plastered on his face.

"But-"

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" Snape raised an eyebrow inquisitively and Draco shut his mouth after muttering a single "Nothing."

"But professor, he's-"

"He's at the top of the class so you'll finally learn how not to make everything you touch explode. Hopefully."

You rushed out of the room after seeing Draco's lips curling the slightest bit upwards and made yourself a mental note to curse him right after Snape whenever you had the chance.

You long pondered about not showing up, faking a sudden cold, but you wouldn't have been able to avoid it forever so the next day you presented yourself. You sat down at the table and took out your Potions book from your bag, opening it in front of you.

Snape eyed you, displeased as usual, but said nothing as you waited for Draco to arrive. It didn't take long and when he did enter the room you didn't even glance up at him.

"I suppose that won't be needed today." Draco had moved to pick up a cauldron but Snape interrupted him. "We don't want the class to blow up just yet."

You were expecting a laughter, a chuckle, but it never came. Draco sat down next to you and took out his own book.

"I have more important matters to attend now. By the end of the week, I expect you to actually learn something, Miss Y/l/n, or detention will be the last one of your problems." and with that he stormed off, his usual black robes swinging behind him.

"I didn't mean to laugh yesterday, just so you know." there was almost a hint of remorse in his voice, but you knew better than to trust whatever came out of his mouth.

"I don't care."

"Are you always this sour? I was apologizing to you." the usual contempt came back.

"Are you expecting me to be happy about this situation? Oh my! My dream of being tutored by Hogwarts' most arrogant twat has finally come true!"

"Do you think i asked for this? We are in the same circumstances!"

"You can walk out of that stupid door whenever you like, i can't!"

"Just because i'm smart enough to know how to brew a bloody potion doesn't mean i don't have to stay here!"

Your cheeks were burning with anger and after his last comment with embarrassment too. You returned your angry gaze towards the book sitting in front of you.

"Where are we starting then?"

"I didn't-"

"Where are we starting?" your tone was firm even though in your head all you wanted to do was collapse on your bed forever.

"Which one have you had the most difficulty with?"

"Every one. Every. Single. One." you replied through gritted teeth, angrier than before.

"I'm just trying to help you but i can't do it if you don't cooperate!"

You closed your book shut and shoved it inside your bag, slinging it across your shoulder and striding out of the classroom.

"Where the hell do you think you're going? You can't go out!"

"Thanks for the information, Mr Obvious."

You knew you would have been in great trouble with Snape but you couldn't bare Draco Malfoy for another minute, not like that.

You considered just telling Snape you couldn't do it, that you would have preferred to fail than have him tutor you, but knowing Snape, he was already aware of that and assigned you Draco Malfoy exactly because you couldn't stand him.

"Miss Y/l/n, Mr Malfoy here has told me you made great progress yesterday and I expect the same thing today. I give you permission to make practical work but i want everything in order when i get back. Can i trust you on that, Mr Malfoy?"

He nodded firmly while you still tried to figure out how in the world the conversation you just witnessed could have happened and Snape left you and Draco alone.

"Well, we better get to work and get that progress done or else we're both doomed." he waved you over impatiently but you were still staring at him, brows furrowed as you tried to understand his logic.

"What game are you playing, Malfoy?"

"Do you really think Snape would have appreciated it if i told him you decided to ditch detention?" he asked raising his eyebrows at you. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, i didn't do it for you. Come here."

You sat down at the table, still suspicious, and started to skim over the pages.

"Amortentia."

"What?"

"That's the one that made Snape almost blow up."

"How did you manage to make an Amortentia explode?! That's impossible!" he exclaimed while laughing, but there was no superiority in his tone this time.

"Not for me apparently..."

Draco stopped laughing and the two of you began studying.

He was actually more bearable than expected, still a little vexing, but you finally began understanding Potions. Suddenly, those concepts that you thought you could never grasp became completely comprehensible.

And his personality was a surprise too: you and him actually talked together, without any sort of malice.

"Do you think you're ready to brew it?" asked a slightly smiling Draco as he looked up at you from his book. He wasn't the obnoxious asshole you thought. Well, he was, but not entirely.

The two of you were relatively nearer than you were before due to the fact that he had come closer to read with you and explain carefully every single passage. You were so close you could feel his warmth. You were so close you could see that there was a light tinge of blue in his otherwise grey eyes, making them appear almost silvery.

"I suppose we can try..."

He stood up to gather all the materials you'd need and you did the same to collect the ingredients, making sure you picked the right ones, reading carefully the notes you had just taken.

He set everything on the table and looked at you, waiting. You placed the ingredients and looked at him, waiting.

"Well?" he asked, crossing his arms in front of him. "We don't have all day, you know."

"I have to do it?!"

"Yes? I already know how to do it." he replied, chuckling lightly.

"Because you're smart enough to do it?" you asked raising your eyebrow playfully. His smile faded slightly but you quickly changed the topic. "It'd be better if i just watched you do it, don't you think so?"

"I'll be here all the time and believe me, i do not intend on visiting the hospital wing because of second degree burns." you sighed softly and filled the cauldron with potioning water, setting it on a low flame.

You began adding peppermint flower heads, neatly pestled, and peppermint leaves under the watchful gaze of the blond boy.

You went on slowly with every passage, looking up at him from time to time only to receive an approving nod until the bell rang and you had finished.

"We'll have to leave it here overnight and stir it every day. It should be ready in a week or so..."

"So it's ok? It's a potion and not a potential weapon?" you asked gleefully.

"It should be once done, if you've done it correctly." he raised his eyebrow defiantly and you smirked, gathering your things and getting ready to leave the classroom.

"Are you sure it's the fifth time i stirred it?"

"Positive, just two more and we can work on another one."

Working with Draco was incredibly easier: he wasn't as strict as Snape and he was by far more enjoyable now that he didn't act like a prick. You could even say you were becoming friends.

In these few days with him, you learned more about potions than you had ever had in years and years with Snape. You were able to recognize the different ingredients just by looking at them and remembered all the passages clearly. You learned an awful lot about your tutor too: his interests, his friends, his family and the meaning behind his name, which was as fascinating as the boy that bore it.

It was now the thirteenth day of detention, which meant that the brewing time had passed and that the potion was most likely ready.

You felt slightly uneasy at the prospect of uncovering your Amortentia and discovering whether or not what you had learned was effectively correct. Nevertheless you made your way to the Potions classroom after the lessons like every other day.

Snape wasn't present: he would have tested you at the end of your three weeks detention, but you still felt nervous at the thought of disappointing Draco. He had helped you immensely and it would have been highly dismaying for him if you hadn't been able to brew an Amortentia after all his teachings.

Still, you pushed those thoughts aside and joined Draco, who was already in the classroom. His face lit up when he saw you and stepped closer, but stopped himself from hugging you.

"Are you ready to see whether you made a potion or a bomb?" he asked playfully, successfully breaking the tension.

"You're hilarious, really. You know that, blondie?"

"I've been told. Come on... princess." he added the last word with a smug smirk displayed on his face and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Finally asserting my superiority, are you?"

"You wish."

He set the cauldron on your usual desk and stared at you, signaling for you to uncover it. You took a deep breath and removed the cloth that was shielding it, revealing a smooth liquid with a mother-of-pearl sheen. Spiraling fumes started rising from it and you quickly covered it with the cloth once more.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, confused by your reaction.

"It's fuming. It's not a good sign in my experience." he giggled slightly and took the cloth from your hands, brushing them in the action.

"It's supposed to be like this, in fact, i think you just brewed a perfect Amortentia."

He removed the cloth once more and at his words pride took over your features.

"Smell it, it's different for-"

"It's different for everyone, i studied." you eyed him proudly and inched closer to the exhalations emitted by the draught.

"So? What is it?" he asked impatiently and you smiled widely at his eagerness.

"Mint... something similar to shoe polish i think... and honey..." you looked up at him, his eyes never once leaving yours. "Your turn."

He leaned in, placing his face closer to the brim of the cauldron and inspired deeply.

His eyes met yours again.

"Tell me, what are you smelling?"

You had moved closer to him, itching to know what he most desired. The distance separating the two of you almost inexistent.

"I told you, you have to-"

He cut you off by grasping your face in his hands and connecting your lips together. You melted in his touch but something inside you made you pull away.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at you with panic in his eyes and started to back away. You tried to grab his arms but he receded even more.

"I'm sorry."

And he ran out of the classroom, leaving you alone with one question: why did you pull away?

//

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[cdroloisms]

Do you think c! Quackity are skilled on the mastering of "necessary convincing" on a person? And man the stream yesterday was so intense dark theme.

hello ! 

this is testament of how behind i am in asks, haha, considering this was sent basically at the beginning of q’s visits and it’s been ,, uh ,, several months since then ASJKFLJAS - but im going to try to answer it now while pretending that we dont have months proving that c!quackity is very willing to do whatever the hell it takes to get the revive book from someone.

i think that the ,, technicalities? of the torture were never an issue - everyone in the dream smp universe has to know how to use a weapon in its most basic form, after all, just to defend themselves from mobs and stuff, tho some people are clearly more adept at using them than others. torture is ultimately just hurting someone until they do what you want them to do (way oversimplified, but this definition works here) - physically, if you’re able to kill a zombie, there’s functionally little different with inflicting harm on a defenseless unarmed human with no means of defending themselves.

the real challenge, as with most things in the minecraft roleplay, comes from the mental side - how far is c!quackity really willing to go? obviously he *can* hurt someone, but doing so also tends to go against a lot of our most basic instincts as humans. defying that becomes the real question to consider - and c!quackity, in his increased willingness to hurt not only c!dream, but everyone as he’s manipulated people more and used people more for his own gain in the last few months, seems to providing as much of an answer as we’re going to get. 

this obviously isnt to say that he isn’t conflicted, or that he’s pure evil !! but c!quackity, by his own admission, seems to hold little trust for other people and ideals anymore. his main goal is Las Nevadas and whatever he needs to make it great - anything and everything else is either a means to his end or an obstacle in his way. i dont doubt that there are chinks to this mindset to exploit, things that he cares about enough to take his single-minded focus off of Las Nevadas. as of now, though, i don’t think that torturing c!dream and the violence it’ll require of him will be that breaking point.

anyway, have a really dark snippet exploring c!quackity some more !! he’s really fun to write, though i don’t think i’ve really mastered his voice yet - practice makes perfect, i guess. heed the warnings and hope you enjoy! 

tw: torture, abuse, blood, injuries, branding, violence, death mention, abuse apologism, mental deterioration, dark content, dark imagery, very dark portrayal of c!quackity, pandora’s vault/prison arc

There’s a certain learning curve that comes with torturing someone.

It sounds obvious, thinking back, as much as it sounds morbid as all hell, but it’s not like he’s in any position to judge. Quackity swipes another stack of iron from a chest, momentarily grumbling about the cost, before melting down three ingots for the blade of his next axe. He could just do it in a crafting table, but there’s a degree of calm in the monotony of doing it all by hand, slowly watching as the iron begins to glow red hot in the heat of the furnace and then hammering it into shape on his anvil. He hadn’t been good at it before, had let Sapnap do the majority of the smithing for the three of them in the past, but. Well.

When you’re eating through several sets of iron tools a week, either from bending them out of shape against unforgiving obsidian or melting the blades past saving in lava or burning them all entirely, when he’s too tired to be bothered cleaning off the blood and simply chucks the used tools after a session into the molten rock outside the cell, you kind of have to figure out how to make your own shit so others don’t get suspicious.

He beats the metal into a block, humming softly over the clangs of his hammer. There’s definitely a learning curve to crafting weapons, too - he’s pretty proud of the ones that he can make, now, even though he’s still no good at any of the fancier furnishings and finishes (nor does he particularly care about them). Figuring out how to torture someone effectively was a similarly slow process - finding their limits and how far to push before something, inevitably, gives. He hadn’t exactly handled it the best in the first few visits, usually retching into the nearest wastebasket at the smell, at the feeling of blood coating his fingertips, at the screams ringing incessantly in his head. It wasn’t all that long before he forwent sleep altogether, devoting all of his time on paperwork and calls and anything that would deafen the cries that would’ve haunted him otherwise. He was no good with his tools, either - more than a few times, in those early visits, did he end up slicing too deep or going too far and needing to cut the session short for Sam to come in and administer health pots before Dream died and rendered all of their efforts useless.

(Sapnap had been the one to first teach him how to wield an axe, correcting his stance and his grip with gentle, calloused hands. He remembers them training on the newly laid dirt surface of Mexican L’manburg, sweat dripping down his neck from the sun beating against their heavy armor, Sap laughing at his unbalanced, heavy-armed swings and demonstrating with his own weapon, movements fluid and graceful as if it was an extension of his own arm. In the cell, he thinks of Sapnap’s voice, firm in his focus - feet at least shoulder width apart, hands braced on the axe handle, left sitting just above the end and the right just a few inches below the head - and swings.)

It had been...a process. A bloody, often painful process - his hands are calloused, now, in ways they never were before, from the constant handling of his many tools. His back aches constantly from bending over, and his shirt - more often splattered with blood than not - now bears some permanent pink stains that he can’t get out no matter how hard he tries. (The laundry, he thinks wryly, had been a hell of a learning process as well.) He picks up the metal with a pair of tongs, easing it back under the fire’s heat until it glows a soft pink, and then places it back onto the anvil to work - slowly beating the metal into shape.

He’s had to learn a lot. The lessons are fascinating, in a gruesome, morbid sort of way. He’d brought a brand the other day, painstakingly carved into a fancy, curlicued Q all on his own, used in his work at Las Nevadas originally to finish furnishing a few pieces of leather furniture he had scattered around the city. As Dream struggled under him, skin blackening under the white-hot metal, he’d immersed himself in the sight, far more similar to his past leatherwork than he might’ve originally expected. He almost wanted to do it again, just to compare, but the stress of it all had been enough to knock the prisoner into shock, which had put a significant damper on the rest of his visit. He watches the iron glow contemplatively from his anvil, not nearly as hot as he works at it.

Another dip in the furnace later, it’s heated just enough to work out the finishings, and he carefully knocks the ends into a blade. Picking it up with a pair of tongs, he holds it up to a nearby piece of glowstone, grinning at the finished axe head. There’s still quite a bit to do, technically - he still needs to sharpen it along with the other ones he’s finished, as well as fasten them to their handles, but even so - it looks good. He examines it, back and front, against the light. It’s probably his best one yet.

Quackity smiles to himself as he puts it down with the rest, pulling out his calendar from behind him and carefully marking another red X over the date. Learning to torture someone takes a hell of a lot of time, but. Well.

He has all the time in the world.

[johnkrrasinski]

So It Goes... 

full masterlist

Pairings: Rock star/Bassist!Bucky Barnes x female!reader (AU)

Word count: 7,149 

Warning: fluff, SMUT! but mostly just me falling in love with bucky, really.

Summary: natasha romanoff aka your annoying roommate coerced you into the howling commando’s live performance at a divebar near your dorm. little did you know, it was going to lead you to the man of your dreams aka the charming rock star boy/bassist, james buchanan barnes.

a/n: this one’s written for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​‘s “Little Darlin’s Mysteru AU” challenge. i chose band/rockstar au. here’s another love letter to bucky barnes because i love that man with my entire heart and every fic that i write about him is basically just me expressing my deep affection for this man. hope you guys enjoy this one cause i certainly do! also, rock star/boy band bucky is such a concept omg i’m in love

You laid in your twin-sized bed as you heard the chirping sounds of the birds outside of your window. They were singing cheerily as if they knew what you were feeling and they were celebrating with you. It felt like you were in a Disney movie that you used to obsess over as a kid, where you are the lovestruck princess because you just met a handsome prince who swept you off your feet at first sight.

The birds outside of your window are your animal pals who swoon over you swooning and they spontaneously harmonize and dance to this newfound joy. You couldn’t resist the smile taking over your face. It was too early for you to be awake on a Saturday morning. You were always up by 10 AM. No more, no less. But it was currently 8.45 AM and you still had at least one more hour to get up and be productive.

But not today. Today, you were going to welcome this exhilarating sensation in your bones, and you were going to savour every second of it. Because you couldn’t shake away those baby blue eyes and that suave, boyish charm. The way, they electrified you by first glance and made you tremble when those pupils dilated. You could still feel the way his soft, plump lips hypnotized you last night. And the raunchy way he held you at the bar.

Even when all was said and done, he found a way to haunt you in your dreams.

And you didn’t mind one bit.

-

You were currently in the middle of a crisis due to your upcoming final week. If there’s any word to describe you as a college student, it would be ambitious. The idea of failing or getting less than B+ makes you go ballistic. You were an active student. You joined multiple organizations that expanded your social life. You got along with mostly everyone in your classes and you had your professors’ respect too for your excellent grades and polite manners.

But your lack of dating life irked no one else more than your roommate, Natasha. You loved Natasha with your entire heart, really. She was like a sister to you. You were an only child so you cherished her older sister role in your life. She was, in fact, several months older than you and she always protected you like her own. Starting from the asshole that broke your heart in high school, despite only knowing him through your story, to incessantly pushing you to stop being such a nerd and have more fun.

Natasha was the kind of woman you don’t wanna mess with. She was loyal, brave and quick-witted. She knows how to keep her GPA high, whilst also maintaining a fun social life. She managed to do it all so effortlessly. 

“C’mon, y/n! Just one night! You need to let loose and release all tension on your shoulders, baby. It’s good for your brain before finals start!”

“Noooo, Nat. Rock bands are not my thing and I’d have a higher chance of acing the tests if I study now, okay? Just go. Have fun without me and tell me how it goes.”

“But my boyfriend’s performing, y/n. And I want you to meet him! I promise they are really good. Even if you're not into the music, you can still go for the drinks, right? Also, they’ve got other cute members available so, you might find your own rock band boyfriend too if you go.” She winked. Her smirk was menacing.

“Ugh, I’m not interested in finding a boyfriend, Nat.”

“I know, but wouldn’t hurt if you do, right? Then we can go on double dates and have them write songs about us. Oh God, it’s going to be awesome.”

“Whoa, slow down. I haven’t even learned their names, yet and we are already discussing double dates?”

“Alright, let’s just start with putting on your sexy clothes and meet them yourself. Then we can move onto picking one gorgeous beast for you.”

“What makes you even think that they’d be interested in me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, y/n. Have you never owned a mirror? You are a total babe. You just need to get yourself more action.”

“Ugh, I don’t know, Nat…”

“You are going. And I’m not leaving until you get up and put on something cool. I have patience, baby and I’m going to annoy you all night if you stay. What do you prefer? Going out and have fun and meet some cute boys or me annoying you all night so you can’t study productively.” She glared at you. Her tone indicated that there was no compromise.

“Alright, I’m going. But that’s only because I wanna meet your boyfriend, alright? Not because I wanna find a boyfriend or whatever stupid shit you’re thinking.”

“Yay!” She jumped in excitement. Her face was content with joy and satisfaction from succeeding in persuading you. “Alright, let’s dig through your clothes.” She started rummaging your shared closet and observed meticulously each one of your outfits. “Hmm… Let’s try this one!” She picked up a strapless black sequin dress that you hadn’t worn in forever. You didn’t even remember packing it up in your baggage and brought it with you to your dorm.

You began stripping yourself out of your oversized hoodie and high-waisted shorts. You didn’t feel embarrassed changing in front of Natasha, you had seen each other naked many times. You were roommates after all and sometimes, you just had to be comfortable with the fact that you had private body parts underneath and within the course of four years, eventually, you had to get used to flashing one another at some point.  

You put it on as you started to feel a little uncomfortable. You weren’t used to wearing skimpy dresses. Already wearing it for less than three minutes, you were constantly lifting the hem of the dress to prevent it from exposing your boobs and revealing your inner thighs. And the material felt itchy on your skin too. “Nat, I’m not sure about this. Let’s just wear a leather jacket and jeans.”

“Nonsense! You look bomb! Give your leather jacket and jeans a break, alright? Okay, turn around so I can see your behind.”

You twirled as she said, restlessly.

Tonight was going to be a longspun night…

-  

The air felt crisp against your skin, as the breeze swept through your freshly curled hair, causing a few strands shading your sight. You struggled to walk steadily in your 7-inch heels that belonged to Natasha because you didn’t have a pair of your own. You were cool with wearing ankle boots pairing them with a sparkly dress. But Natasha didn’t think it was a cute look.

“What? Boots and dresses don’t go along, honey. Oh my, you need a serious makeover!” She was derailed.

You eventually settled with a silk red dress with a seductively low cleavage on the front, exposing the globes of your breasts. You were already as uncomfortable as it is, this dress didn’t make it any easier to act normal.

So you had to endure walking in these deadly shoes of torture, whilst clad in nothing but a scanty material with makeup painting your entire face. Great. What had you gotten yourself into? Damn you, Natasha.

You and Nat were walking arm in arm to the bar where “The Howling Commandos” were performing. That’s the name of the band that Natasha’s boyfriend was in. They have been a group for 5 years now, they had been doing this since they were in high school. Clint and the rest of the members were several years older than you and Nat. As soon as they graduated, they decided that they wanted to keep making music rather than working mundane, dead-end jobs.

Yep, Natasha told you that much.

Clint and Nat had been dating for two years now. They rarely saw each other due to the band’s packed schedule. Although, they would FaceTime each other every night, talking about each other’s days. You heard it all, from their most disgustingly adorable flirtations, to the most inappropriate, not so PG-13 confession.

They would literally pretend to smooch one another through the screen when you were doing your homework or when you had your nose deep in a book. You’d try to cover your ears by putting on your earbuds and turning up the volume so you could give them privacy but also, you didn’t wanna hear them talking about what they wanted to do to each other if both of them were here.

You knew Clint well enough to not feel like you were meeting a complete stranger. Natasha would often tell you to say hi to him and she had told you a lot of wonderful things to Clint. Clint would often talk about the band too on the phone, how someone called “Bucky” would piss him off by stealing his leftover sandwich. Or someone called “Sam” would often interrupt their chat by reminding him that it was soundcheck time.  

“I gotta go, babe. Sammy’s not gonna stop yelling.”

“Aw, okay, tell the boys I say hi! Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

It’s like a daily podcast for you every night.

The dive bar where The Howling Commandos were performing thankfully wasn’t that far from your dorm. Natasha was super thrilled when Clint told them that they were going to perform here. They were finally able to see each other after a while, and because this was going to be their last gig until they come back with a new album, he said he was going to stay and spend some time with Nat.

You were happy for both of them. You’d never say it out loud but, a part of you was secretly jealous of their love. They managed to maintain such a fun, loving, and healthy relationship despite the distance and differences. Natasha once told you that she was never one to settle with a man for too long but, Clint changed the game for her. You smiled at the thought. They were genuinely in love. If you were to find yourself a boyfriend, you wanted the type of love that they had.

But not tonight. You were okay with being single. Just because a part of you wanted what Clint & Nat had, doesn’t mean that you actually need it or you’d die. You were too much of a goal-oriented person to be chasing over something that should come naturally. You had grown so comfortable in being alone, that you stopped desiring love so much. It wasn’t getting you anywhere. So you lived your life, being grateful for your friends and family. You invested your time in your education and passion. You were content.

When you arrived at the bar, the room was full with a crowd. You walked in with Natasha trying to make a space for yourself so you could walk through them. You could barely anything else due to the number of bodies blocking your view. Natasha held your hand as she took the lead and fought through the crowd to get to the front, where she could get the best view.

There was a blonde-haired woman standing on the front, so close to where the band were going to play. When Natasha slightly grazed her whilst trying to stand next to her, she didn’t look the slightest bit happy. She glared at Natasha as Natasha noticed. She glared back at her.

“Excuse me, there’s more space in the back, maybe you can stand there instead of cutting through the line.”

“Excuse you, miss. I’m dating the band’s drummer, so I can stand wherever I want, thank you very much. If you don’t like that, then the exit is right there.” She pointed to the door of where we walked in from.

The blonde woman rolled her eyes as she folded her arms against her chest. After you stared at her reaction, you realized that you actually know her. She was in the same social science class with you. You had never really talked to her because she often sat in the back and immediately left after the class was done, but you remembered her name. Her name was Dottie Underwood. Your classmates called her Dot. The ones that she liked anyway.

You decided to stay quiet and let it pass. It’s not like she even recognized you even if you start a chat with her. You don’t think it was a good idea either since she and Nat literally just snarked at each other. You directed your sight to the stage and waited for the famous Howling Commandos to appear.

One of the spotlights turned and highlighted a man walking on stage before he talked into the microphone at the centre. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, a group of brilliant lads, that make all the ladies go feral wherever they go, and their showstopping music are going to make us sing and jump tonight. Please welcome, The Howling Commandos!”

The crowd roared with cheers, the sounds of their enthusiasm filled the atmosphere. Their claps were jovially in sync as four, drop-dead gorgeous young men stepped into the stage as their presence shifted the energy in the room.

The first one was a blonde-haired with breathtaking bone structure, forming a ridiculously handsome face. His hair shone under the spotlight like the sun amidst the clear sky. He had an amiable demeanour about him. His smile was gentle and welcoming. He waved to the crowd and stood directly behind the microphone.

The second one to walk in was a dark-skinned man with an undeniable charisma oozing out of him. He had a neatly trimmed beard that only added to his spicy appeal. His smile was radiant as he also waved the crowd. He stood on the left side of the stage, a couple of steps behind Steve who was apparently the lead singer.

The third one to walk in was Clint. He was everything Nat described him to be. Placid and nonchalant. His smile was amenable as he greeted the crowd. He walked directly to the background, where the drumset was placed. He sat down on the drummer’s chair as he picked up the sticks he was going to play with.

The last one to enter was a literal Disney prince coming to life. His prominent boyish charm completely bedazzled you. His blue eyes gleamed under the spotlight as they lingered on you for a second. He immediately shifted his gaze as he kept walking towards the right side of the stage, but you swore that when he caught you staring dumbfoundedly at him, you could see the flash of a quick smirk on his face.

He only nodded to the crowd as he confidently picked up the bass guitar that was previously placed on the floor and put on the leather straps around his neck. His eyes turned back to you as you found yourself still bluntly staring at him. Something about him just enchanted you. He had that boy-next-door charm about him but also, a bad boy persona that was irresistibly enticing.    

That flash of smirk that you saw earlier resurfaced and it was getting harder for you to pay attention to anyone or anything else in the room other than him. His gaze grew more intense as the noises of the crowd faded into the background. You were lost in this lethal game of eye contact until Natasha accidentally elbowed you by screaming her lungs out to respond to the lead singer’s introduction.

“Good evening, SHIELD’s Nest! How are we feeling tonight?” The lead singer vivified the crowd. They responded with a reassuring reaction. “I’m Steve Rogers and these are my buddies,” he turned his head to the left, as he started introducing the other band members.  “The handsome guy right there is Sam, and in the back, there’s Clint, our brilliant drummer boy and this ladies’ charmer right here is Bucky.” As he pointed to the magnetic man who had held your attention hostage since he first walked in.

“And we are The Howling Commandos.” He paused for a second before carrying on with his prelude. “Alright, so the first song that we’re going to play tonight is called ‘Rusted Love’. Enjoy.” Steve removed his mouth from behind the microphone and started cueing the band to play. “1,2…”

Sam and Bucky started strumming the first few notes as a few people cheered. Then Clint jumped in, flaunting his talent in mastering the drum with his sticks. The energy in the room felt more energized as people started moving a part of their bodies. Then Steve amazed the room with his sultry voice, singing the words that echoed through the Sound system of the bar.

“I’m a flying kite in a hurricane, you paralyzed me with your touch and your lips got me addicted…” Steve shut his eyes, relishing the rune. You had a feeling that those lyrics wouldn’t just stay lyrics tonight…

-

They played another four songs that night. The crowd danced, jumped and screamed the words to their song passionately. You, on the other hand, was probably the most tranquil person in the crowd. You didn’t really know much about the band, let alone their music. So when everyone was constantly pushing you because they were too lost in the moment, you eventually tried to get out of the crowd and sat on the bar instead. Natasha was also too lost in supporting her boyfriend, that she almost didn’t notice you leaving.

Through the vibration of the crowd and the music, you had to really lean in to get Natasha’s attention and to get her to hear you. “Nat! I’m gonna sit in the back and wait there. I’m a little thirsty.” She had a giant smile on her face due to the zest the band inflicted. “Okay!” She yelled back, then carried on with her foxy moves.

You struggled to walk through the crowd, trying to not step on anyone’s feet as you made your way to the barstool. What you didn’t notice was, Bucky’s disappointed on his face when he saw you walking out on him. He noticed that you weren’t exactly as thrilled as anyone else. Although, he noticed your stolen glances as you shied away from him when he stared back. He even tried to wink at you once but you immediately looked to the floor, hiding away your blush. He swore he saw the way your cheeks reddened. Not that he wasn’t used to getting that reaction anyway…

You exhaled a breath of relief as you finally broke out of the congested mass of people. You sat on the barstool as you ordered a glass of rum and you waited as the music still reverberated robustly in your ears. You sat there as you started looking through your Instagram. Nat’s icon was the first one to appear in the row and you clicked it to see what you were expecting. She recorded a video of the band, then zoomed in to Clint, as he was ardently drumming the beat.

She put on a heart eyes and fire emoji with the text; “that’s my man!”. The next one was her and you singing along to the second song they played that night. You were able to actually mouth the words after they played the last chorus and you were a quick learner, so you memorized the repeated words easily after the third time. You scrolled through your feed a few more minutes until your order finally arrived.

“Enjoy, miss.” The waiter winked at you. He was probably in his mid-20s, he had warm brown eyes and a sweet smile. His dark hair was slicked back as you stared a little longer than you should. He was obviously attractive, but, you didn’t say anything back to him. You just smiled back in a friendly manner and uttered silenced thanks.

After sitting by yourself for about a half and an hour, like all good things, the show must come to an end. Steve Rogers concluded the show with a final thank you and goodnight as the spotlight shut down, like the drapes closing over a theatrical show. The crowd clapped and some of them started leaving, while others immediately went to the bar to quench the thirst from screaming along to volatile rock music and jumping up and down, getting lost in the tune.

Natasha patted your back as she jumped on the empty chair next to you. Thank God, she was quick on her feet, otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to get a seat. “Hey! God, I need a full shot of whiskey right now.”

“Yeah, go crazy.”

She scoffed. “Huh. As if that wasn’t crazy enough, back there.” She signalled the bartender to make an order. “So, what do you think? That was fun, right?” The cute bartender from earlier walked to her as he asked her what would she like to drink and she quickly replied.

“Yeah, they’re pretty good.”

“Pretty good? They’re damn talented. Especially the drummer back there. He totally killed it.”

“Yeah, okay, they are amazing. But you know their music isn’t my kind of music, so can’t say  I really enjoyed it that much.”

“Okay, but you must’ve at least enjoyed the view, right? Don’t think I didn’t catch you and bass boy making several eye contacts back there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You took another sip of your glass to cover your embarrassment.

“Oh my God, you totally do! Look at you blushing!”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are! Admit it! You like Bucky, don’t you?” She playfully pushed you to tease you.

“Oh my God, shut up Nat! You’re causing a scene!” You tried to lower yourself, now that you’re able to speak in a normal volume.

“Nope, I won’t stop until you admit it. Don’t worry, y/n, Bucky’s always been a charmer, so I totally get your attraction.”

That caused a peculiar sickness in your chest. It’s not like you were falling in love with Bucky, no. You didn’t even know him enough to like him. He may be an eye-candy but if he’s really as “charming” as everyone is saying, then that means, he’s one of those dangerous fuckboys that you should avoid at all cost. Because that means, he’s probably only going to manipulate you into thinking that he really cares for you, when in reality, he only wanted to get in your pants. Nope, not gonna happen to you. You weren’t going to be a new notch in his belt.

“Well, then that means he is bad news and that gives me even more reason to feel anything but attraction toward him.”

“Oh, no, y/n, I don’t mean it like that. He’s really sweet, and he’s always been the most chill one in the group. Trust me, you’re gonna love him. Just, give him a chance first, alright? I’ve known him long enough to know that he’s into you.”

“Into me? Nat, he doesn’t even know my name.”

“He will.” She winked again, as she took a sip of her whiskey.

Not long after that, Clint appeared from behind, without Nat realizing. He surprised her by wrapping her waist from behind as he whispered into her ears; “how’s my best girl?” Nat was slightly stunned but as soon as she realized it was her boyfriend, her expression instantly turned into a joyful one. “Hi, baby!” They immediately smooched as she wrapped her arms around his neck while standing face to face now.

“Did you like the show?”

“I loved the show, you guys killed it as always. Oh, and by the way, this is y/n, my number one bestie and the best roommate anyone could ever ask for. Now you finally meet her in person!” Her excitement was genuine.

“Hi, y/n! Heard so many great things about you, but you probably can’t say the same, huh?”

“No, actually I can. Nat wouldn’t stop talking about you every night even when I’m blatantly ignoring her.” You joked.

“Well, is that right?” He looked at Nat to assess the truth on her face.

“Yep,” you carried on. “She would say you’re hot, funny and kind, and all these wonderful things. Including the ones that I’m not supposed to hear.”

They laughed. They kissed once more, as Clint stood next to her seat, ordering a drink for himself. Next to you, you could hear Nat saying, “oh, where are the boys? Are they not thirsty?”

“They’re just packing up, babe, they’re gonna join us in a few.”

“Good, ‘cause I think there’s someone y/n would like to meet.” She teasingly wiggled her eyebrows at you, as you sent her a murderous glare. Your lips silently mouthed, “what the fuck?” but Clint picked up her tone and he quickly got the message.

“Oooh, who is it? Is it Steve, Bucky, Sam? Just let me know which one you like and I’ll deliver them at your door tonight, y/n. They’re all single and ready to mingle anytime now.”

You laughed nervously. “No, no, no, no. Nat’s just saying shit.”

She turned her head to her boyfriend and shook it.  “No, I’m not. She and Bucky practically eye fucked on stage.”

You instantly slapped her arm, staring deadly into her eyes. “Ouch!” She put her hand on the spot that you struck, even though it wasn’t even that hard. Classic Nat. Dramatic as always.  “Nat, you can’t just–”

Before you even managed to finish your sentence, she darted her eyes to somewhere behind you as she pointed at whatever got her distracted. “Oh, here they are!” She smirked. She raised her eyebrows at you before she stood on her feet and hugged the anticipated men.

“Hey, guys! Killer show back there!” Nat started hugging Sam and he kissed her cheek, and then she moved onto Steve and the last one to join was Bucky. You muttered ‘shit’ to yourself as you pondered on how you should act. Should you act like nothing ever happened during the show between you two? Or were you going to address the elephant in the room, and just straight up flirt with him, now that he wasn’t being so closely watched anymore?

You didn’t know which would be the best option so you just took a big gulp and drank down the entire glass of Rum you had left. Maybe if you were less sober, you wouldn't excessively overthink. You weren’t even sure whether he was really staring at you or not. For all you knew, he could be staring at another beautiful girl in the crowd that was standing beside or behind you. And if you act impulsively now, this would be like that cheesy moment on Rom-Coms, where a girl waved back to the guy who she thought was waving at her but it turns out, he was actually waving at another girl who was coming from the same direction as her.

Nope, you weren’t going to be that girl.

So you just smiled and nodded along as Natasha introduced you to the rest of the boys. You didn’t want to be rude so you sat on your chair, facing them with an interested look, even though all you wanted to do was just shrink and leave this goddamn place.

“Hey guys, here’s my bomb-ass bestie slash roomie. Her name’s y/n! Isn’t she stunning?”

When Steve was about to offer his hand to you, Sam immediately inserted himself in front of you and Steve. “Well, hello, good-lookin’. Can I buy you a drink?” Sam, being the cool dude he was, he leaned back against the bar counter on his elbows as he shamelessly flirted with you.

“Nope, thank you. I just had one.”

“Oh, you look like you could use another one. Here, let me get that for you.” He cued the bartender to make an order and you instantly tried to stop him, telling him that it wasn't necessary, but it looks like the bartender was already taking his order for you.

And then, out of nowhere, Bucky suddenly stooped in like a hero. “Hey, Sam, why don’t you back off? This one’s mine, alright?” That elicited a questioning look out of you. “Mine?” He didn’t even know you.

“Oh wait, so this is the one you told us about in the dressing room?” What the hell? You thought. They were talking about you as if you weren’t there at all.

“Yep, so why don’t you fuck off and get out of here before I get myself drunk enough to shit on your bed?” His tone was menacing but you could tell that this was a normal, daily conversation between the two.

“Jeez, alright. I’mma leave. You don’t need to wave your dick all over my face.” Before Sam moved to another spot, he patted you on the back and said, “good luck.”

What? What the hell was that for? The bartender came in with your order and served another glass of Rum right in front of you.

“You don’t need to drink that if you don’t want to.” He carefully spoke to you, as if he was trying to not scare you away.

“No, I think I need to. Tonight’s been a pretty crazy night.” You took a sip, the cold drink felt nice on your tongue.

He chuckled. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Oh, how crazy can it be for you? Isn’t this like, what you do, every night?”

“Yeah, but, you never really get used to it, you know? Sometimes you just wanna sit in the bar and have a nice talk with a pretty gal and hide in the booth or something.”

That… Warmed up your heart. Damn, if this is his way of flirting, it was truly working. You could see now why everyone was calling him ‘a charmer.’ He really had a way with words. And stares. His baby blues really know how to captivate you and froze you on spot.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.” He offered his hand to shake yours.

“I’m y/n.” You shook it with a smile.

“Did you like the show?” He asked.

“Gotta be honest with you, buddy, your music isn’t exactly my kind of music. But you guys were awesome.”

He paused for a moment as if he was contemplating what he was going to say next. “Think I got a little distracted up there.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“Cause there was this pretty lady in a red dress that I couldn’t take my eyes off of.” His gaze even grew more intense now. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. Then his eyes darted to your lips, as he licked his. And before you knew it, he started inching his face closer to yours as he held his gaze on your plump, painted lips, while you could feel his breath more and more as the seconds went by.

And then… His lips were on yours. It’s like the clock just stopped ticking and every noise faded into the background and you were the only two people in the room. His lips felt soft against yours, and the way he licked your bottom lip made your head spin. You ajarred your mouth to let his tongue enter as it got tangled with yours.

You were aware that Nat, Clint and Steve who were having a conversation are now watching you like hawks, but you couldn’t care less. Not when Bucky’s hands grabbed your face, so he could have more control over your mouth. You were practically out of breath by the time he looked into your eyes, that are now slightly darker than a few seconds ago. He loved the sight of you, with your lips slightly swollen.

“Let’s go somewhere more secluded.” You could only nod and then took his hand after he offered you his as you got off the stool. He led the way and you couldn’t help but notice the glances that were thrown by several women along the way. They were staring at him with incontrovertible full of hunger eyes, one even shamelessly put her hand on his shoulder, as she coquettishly smiled at him. Bucky only smiled back and nodded at her but he kept walking with you in his hand.

Even if you were practically a pair, you felt invisible. Everyone’s eyes were on you, but not precisely on you. This must’ve been something normal to him, you thought. You weren’t used to big crowds and inundated with attention, and you weren’t used with unquestionably holding a stranger’s hand and letting him take you wherever he had in mind. But you did anyway, and you weren’t having second thoughts.

Bucky led you to the cramped lavatory and locked the door. The lack of space made it even harder for you to breathe when Bucky was this close to you. He pressed his body to yours, as he kissed you once more. Slowly, but you felt the spell in your bones. “All I could think about on stage was tasting those luscious lips.”

You were spellbound by his magic. You could barely speak another word when his baby blue eyes were looking at you so intensely like that. But you gathered every cell in your body to utter the words anyway, “do it again, then.” You boldly challenged him.

He grinned a Cheshire cat smile. He grabbed your face again and eagerly consume you with his mouth. He then moved his hands to the back of your thighs to elevate you onto the sink. He put his hand on your thigh and the other hand went to the back of your head as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, while still kissing you even deeper.

He pulled away to stare at your distraught state and asked the question, “can I touch you?”

You licked your lips, as you nodded. “Please.” His mouth was on yours again, as the hand that was on your thigh moved to the bottom your dress, delicately inserted his fingers to feel you against your red lace panties. You could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as he motions his fingers in circle harder.

Your breath quickened. Your mind was getting hazy as the second passes by. The right strep of your dress had fallen off of your shoulder, and Bucky utilized that opportunity to pull down the other strap and he began groping your breast, tenderly pinching your nipple. That elicited a petite yelp out of you. He groped your breast once more as he was still toying with your nipple.

He began kissing your neck, shortly finding your sensitive spot as you threw your head back. You shuddered. Your hands grabbed his hair, wanting to feel him closer. “Bu- Bucky… Please. I need to feel you.”

You didn’t wait for his response and immediately lifted up his shirt. You were stunned by the sight under the dimmed light of the bathroom. Clothes really didn’t do this man any justice. He should never be allowed to wear any coverups, ever again now that you had seen him. He was sculpted by the Gods themselves. His biceps felt robust in your dainty hands and the V-shaped line on his hips led to somewhere you really wanted to wrap your lips around.

Your hands quickly zipped down his jeans and his boxer along with it, and you didn’t hesitate in feeling his throbbing member right there, right then. It felt tremendous in your trembling hands, and you felt it getting harder with every stoke of your palm.

“Oh, fuck, doll, don’t stop.” His voice was raspy in your ears. It was the sexiest goddamn sound you had ever heard.

“Yeah, just like that. Go faster, doll.” He sucked your earlobe and his hand fisted your hair, making a mess out of it. You didn’t mind one bit. You wanted to be a mess for him and only for him. You somehow still managed to pamper him with all the senses you had left, even if your mind was clouded with every part of him.

“Bucky, put it in me. Please.” You begged with a quavering voice.

“Your wish is my command, doll.” In a second, he pushed into you and it sent an electrifying jolt all over your nerves. You threw your head back in mingled pain and pleasure. He felt even more full now that he was fully seated inside you. He lifted you from the sink and pushed you to the wall on the opposite.

You circled your arms around his neck as your back was slammed against the concrete. Then Bucky began thrusting vigorously. You shut your eyes and moaned his name. Bucky, on the other hand, didn’t. He kept his eyes wide open to watch you with full attention. He loved seeing the way you were drunk in him. The way you forgot your name more and more every time he slammed back into you.

He loved the squelching noises ringing in his ears, better than the melody he was used to creating in the studio. The sound of your heartbeat was far more gratifying than the way Clint played his drum. Oh, how he could write an entire album solely about you in this state alone.

“You feel so good around me, doll. So. Fucking. Tight.” Your moans became louder with his filthy words in your ears.

“I’m gonna make you mine.” This time, his voice was sultry. It was rather beguiling than mortifying.

His hips kept moving and out of you with a vehement tempo, and then just like that, you crumbled. You screamed your pleasure, not caring if anyone could hear you. Bucky was still moving, trying to reach his own climax. Shortly, he was with you. He unleashed his cum deep inside you, adding the mess that was dripping all over your thighs.

You were a beautiful mess. And Bucky loved it.

After a few minutes, coming down from your high, you breathed into Bucky’s neck, not wanting for it to be over yet. You were a little scared that Bucky was going to walk out and pretend nothing ever happened between you. You didn’t know how many bathroom stalls Bucky had brought different women to and fucked them silly right there. You had a lot do unravel about him, yet, you weren’t certain whether he wanted to let you in or not.

“You okay?” Bucky whispered into your ear. You only nodded, still a little hazy from ecstasy.

“I’m gonna put you down now, yeah?”

“Okay.” He slowly set you on your feet, as he was still staring at your face. You leaned against the wall, trying not to collapse. Bucky picked up his shirt and put it back on along with his jeans and boxer.

“Let’s get out of here.” Bucky offered you his hand, like the gentleman that he was as if he hadn't just fucked you into oblivion in a public restroom.

You took his hand with a smile. You didn’t know what was going to happen after you walk out of the door, but you were going to savour every second of being in his arm if this was going to be last time you’ll ever see him.

-

You went home with a contented smile on your face. You were like a teenage girl who had just been asked to prom by her crush. How could you not, when Bucky offered to walk you home and left a kiss on your cheek before he called it a night?

Natasha was going to stay at Clint’s hotel, so you were supposed to walk home alone. You knew eventually this was going to happen but Natasha and Clint used it as a reason so Bucky and you would spend the night together too. You didn’t mind one bit, though. You wanted to elongate your time with Bucky and your wish was granted.

You offered him to come inside and stay for a little while, you were secretly hoping that you could go for the second round, but Bucky only chuckled and shook his head.

“Not tonight, doll. I ain’t that kinda man. And you need rest. But I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?” Then you and Bucky exchanged your numbers and he waited until you were really gone from his sight.

You walked up to your dorm with butterflies in your stomach and sparks fly all trailing over your footsteps. Thank God, Natasha wasn’t here. If she were, she would’ve relentlessly teased you all night and made you admit that she was right to coerce you to come.

And you would’ve had to admit that she was right. And you didn’t like admitting that you were wrong.

But tonight, you were going to admit it to yourself though. Sometimes, doing something that frightens you the most would endue you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.

And you were going to thank your lucky stars tonight for embedding Natasha Romanoff in your life because, without her, you would’ve stayed in your shell and Bucky could’ve fucked someone else in that restroom instead of you.

That might’ve happened in another universe, but not tonight. Tonight it was you and you were really hoping that you were going to see him again in your dreams tonight. You had one taste of him and it wasn’t enough.

Bucky texted you not long after you took a shower.

“Dreaming of me, yet?” Wink emoji.

“Well, if I were, I wouldn’t be texting you right now, would I?”

“That’s true, but at least you’d be drenching your sheets because of me and I don’t think I have a problem with that.”

“I don’t need you to do that, maybe I can use some toys in my drawers tonight. They seem pretty bored.” Thinking emoji.

“Oh, doll, you are killing me here…” Drool emoji.

“You like it.”

“I do.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight, doll. Thinking of you here.”

You turned off your phone and the screen went black. You changed into your pyjamas and washed off the remnants of your makeup and let the slumber take over you.

Bucky’s face loomed over you, somewhere in a fancy balcony, the view of the city stretching over, added to the beauty of the scenery. He was wearing a navy blue suit with a white dress shirt and no tie. The first couple of buttons were unbuttoned, giving you a majestic picture that he was. His hands that were in his pockets, took yours as you exerted yours to him.

He leaned in with a bright smile under his stubbly face, his blue eyes sparkled like Sirius star.

“Fly with me, doll.”

“What if I fall?”

“Then I’ll catch you.”

[knchins]

Heaven Sent, Hell Proof - Two

Summary: An angel named Keigo is assigned to win over the soul of a mysterious woman for heaven. He quickly finds that he is not the only one with his eyes on her. Can he get to her before his arch rival does?

Pairing: Angel!Hawks x Reader x Demon!Dabi

Rating: M (for now)

Word Count: 3k

Bingo Prompt: Angels and Demons

Warnings: Mentions of noncon, minor yandere themes

Notes: This is only going to be three parts! I figure it was going to be around 10k and it looks like I was right lol. I hope everyone enjoys part two! And stay tuned in the upcoming weeks for the final part that will include some very...steamy scenes.

Part One → Part Two →  Part Three

 Keigo had always been confident in his speed, especially while flying. What he wasn’t confident in, however, was how skilled his demonic adversary was in tailing him. Any time he left headquarters, he would sense Dabi nearby. They were after the same thing of course, but what the red winged angel didn’t understand was why he didn't try to find her independently. Why was Dabi so focused on whether or not he could find her himself?

 On the third day, he finally got sick of it. He coasted back down to the ground where the demon was hiding in plain sight and landed right in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be out searching for my girl instead of sniffing after my trail?” He asked, an indifferent look on his face.

 Dabi smiled in a particularly devious way that had Keigo taking a step backwards. “What’s wrong, Feathers? Can’t take the heat of a demon on your six? Don’t you trust me?”

 “I trust that you have some ulterior motive.” Hawks snapped back, wings flexing behind his back as some sort of show of strength. Not that it had any affect on Dabi.

 The demon shrugged nonchalantly, “Actually, I thought maybe we could team up this time. Just this once. This girl is something special, don’t you think? Half angel, half human, left to live on earth and not in heaven. Definitely the sluttiest virgin I’ve ever met. I can’t wait to rip that flower from her dainty little hands.”

 Dabi noticed the sharp feathers of his wings puff out, standing on end as they tended to do whenever Keigo felt threatened or aggravated. “Don’t talk about her like that. You are not going to defile an angel.”

 “She’s not an angel, Keigo.” Dabi said, his voice turning serious suddenly. “She is an abomination, said so by the gods. She belongs in hell with the rest of us. Do you not read your own holy scripture? What do you think they do with nephilim in heaven, bird brain? You think they let them exist as they are?”

 Keigo was silent. That had been what he was led to believe. That their half angelic souls resided in heaven. That they were given the same treatment as any god-made angel. However, Dabi was right. The scripture did state that hybrids between man and the celestial were not natural. However anything beyond that just fell short from his memory.

 “The pages were missing, right?” Dabi said, seeing the turning wheels in Keigo’s head creaking to a stop as they were met with an impasse. “Ripped out of every version in heaven and earth. Trust me, I know. I know because I’ve been there- and you know that I was. You work for my father, after all. I fell because I wanted answers no one could provide. The gaps in memory. The rules that didn’t make sense. The missing information. It’s all in hell, bird brain. I know everything your daddy wants to keep hush hush.”

 “Why would the creators do something so demonic?” Keigo asked with a huff, his feathers relaxing the tiniest bit. “What purpose would that have?”

 “What purpose?” Dabi scoffed, “What did my father tell you about this girl? That heaven needed her for the apocalypse? Do you always believe everything you’re told?”

 Keigo stared at him with a blank expression, unsure of how he should answer. Why would Enji lie to him? Why would anyone lie to him? Again what purpose would that serve? He was clearly growing frustrated.

 The demon knew exactly how Keigo felt, because he too had once been in his shoes. An angel trying to do the right thing. When would he learn that Heaven wasn’t always about doing the right thing? “Listen, Feathers, the reason she was able to live this long is because no one could find her. Her powers only recently awakened and when they did it was like a homing beacon for everyone above and below. She’s more powerful than the average nephilim because of her lineage.”

 “Who is her father?” Hawks asked, tired of the run around. “If he is so powerful then why could he not find her?”

 “He kept her secret, no one knew she existed until a week ago. Why they sent you, bird brain, I’ll never know. Maybe my dear old dad just enjoys using his little soldier boy to do his dirty work. Maybe you’re just so naive and eager to believe their lies that they thought you could be trusted. What they didn’t count on was me.” Blue flames sprouted from either of Dabi’s hands. “If this is such an important mission, why not send the angel who sired her himself? Why not let him deal with it?”

 Again, Keigo was quiet. Dabi did have a valid point. If something as big as the apocalypse was on the line, then why send a lower ranking official such as himself. “Who is her-”

 The flames grew brighter. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Angels that copulate with humans get dusted. They get thrown down to hell. But this angel is  so   powerful that Heaven wouldn’t dream of doing that. Who is the one angel that that could possibly be?”

 His golden eyes widened, jaw slackening, “Toshinori Yagi…”

  The urge to use her powers had been growing more and more prevalent in the back of her mind. She had lived twenty years without them, so why did she suddenly feel the need to use them at any time she could? Was it simply because of convenience? The thrill of teleporting anywhere in the matter of seconds was just so exhilarating. No more driving, no more waiting at the bus stop, and no more walking. Just pop in and pop back home, that’s it.

 She had lived in isolation for most of her life without the need for others. True, up until a year ago it had been with her mother and at first the loneliness was suffocating, but now it was just simpler to be by herself. She didn’t have to explain why she could do the things no one else could. She didn’t have to worry if they were really an angel or demon in disguise to whisk her away. The only one she could trust was herself and that was the one person in all of the realms that she needed.

 While she had conceded that not interacting with people was necessary, she did admit that it could be quite lonesome. She had found herself watching more and more romance movies as a way to surrogate that feeling of being with someone. Twenty years old and never been touched, what a joke. Virginity had been hammered into her brain since she was old enough to understand what it was.

 But since that fateful encounter with the red winged angel and burn scar demon, she had found herself longing for companionship more and more. The demon had spoken incessantly about the things he would do to her, and at this point she kind of hoped it was more a promise. To her, her innocence was a curse that would haunt her until she could finally get rid of it once and for all.

 She had been praying to her father at night for guidance, but she had heard nothing in return. Typical. She had never seen his face and didn’t know his real name. Heaven’s mightiest angel, my ass, she thought bitterly as she walked down the street to the convenience store.

 Her mother had taught her not to trust neither angels nor demons. Other angels would kill her and demons would want her for more nefarious purposes, ones she didn’t have to think too hard to figure out. Maybe though, just maybe those things wouldn’t be too bad. Was it possible for her to fall into hell and become a half-demon instead of half-angel? She wished she had asked her mother while she was still alive. It was too late now though.

 A sigh left her lips as she lifted her head. She walked past an alleyway where she could hear two men talking. She stopped abruptly, recognizing the voices.

     “Toshinori Yagi…”  

 The name stirred something deep within her, she recognized it but couldn’t place who the person was. She blinked in surprise, having never guessed she’d run into the two after her randomly like that. Not after she had taken precaution not to use her powers and keep herself hidden.

 Something stopped her from running away. Fight, flight, or freeze as they say. She stood still, watching them with a curious mixture of horror and fascination.

 Dabi noticed her first, a smirk on his mismatched face. “Well, looky here. Guess we don’t have to keep combing the city any longer, bird brain.”

 Keigo turned his head, eye widening when he saw her. She was radiant as ever, standing there with a dumbfounded look on her face. Clearly she wasn’t expecting to run into them either. Quickly his eyes snapped to Dabi, “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her.” He said through gritted teeth. His feathers stood on end once more, wings flexing as they tended to do when he got anxious.

 “Please, I wouldn’t dream of it, Feathers. At least, not while you’re here.” Dabi said in a sly voice as he approached the nephilim in front of him. “Don’t you want to come with us, doll? Maybe decide who’s side you want to join? The one willing to snuff out your existence or the one that will make you more powerful than you can even imagine?”

 Her eyes seemed to grow even larger at his words. Power? Did she want power? There was no denying that the small amount she had been playing around with since her gifts awakened had breathed new life into her. All her life she had felt as if she were going through the motions, not real thought put into anything she did. She kept her head down and kept out of sight, doing the same boring thing day in and day out.

 Now that she could do so much more, she truly felt alive for the first time. It was amazing, euphoric even. She knew the gods would rip this power from her and dismantle her existence into nothingness. Were the demons any better though? What would they do to her besides a lifetime of torture? Of course, that was just what her mother told her. She had never had any contact with an actual demon, though she was reluctant to even trust what one would tell her.

  “You can give me that?” She asked tentatively, her voice portraying her uncertainty. Dabi didn’t seem to take an offense to this as Keigo watched him with doubt.

 The demon reached out, brushing her hair back behind her ear in a way that caused butterflies to erupt in her chest. “I can give you that and so much more.”

 Suddenly Keigo’s hand was on Dabi’s wrist, ripping the scarred hand away from the woman before him. “Wait a minute, I deserve a chance for her to hear my side too.” He said, releasing the demon once he was confident that he wouldn’t touch his charge again.

 “Settle down, I said she could decide, didn’t I?” He asked with a scoff. “Though once you know the full truth, I believe you may be more...accepting of my offer to her. After all, heaven would have her smote for simply existing.”

 Keigo fell silent once more, his gold eyes piercing the half-angel. Her beauty was astounding, captivating him yet like a shiny object might a crow. He didn’t know what to think about what Dabi was confessing to him, but he did know that he would do anything to protect her. Even if that meant he had to fall from heaven to do so. He took her delicate hands into his. “Please, come with us.” His voice was deep and pleading. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

 She quickly realized she had no will to resist him and found herself nodding her head. She took both of his hands into hers as she fell deep into his bright golden eyes. “What is your name?”

 “Keigo…”

  The three of them arrived at her apartment and she told them to make themselves comfortable. Dabi took the opportunity to tell her that the only way he’d be comfortable was if he were between her naked legs, but she chose to ignore the statement.

 Hawks sat on the couch while Dabi took to the plush recliner. Their host was in the kitchen making tea for the three of them. “I have always heard conflicting things of what would happen to me if I were to ascend to heaven.” She said, speaking loudly enough for her two guests to hear her. “My mother would say one thing and then turn around and contradict herself in the same breath.”

 Dabi was nodding his head, despite her inability to see it. Keigo was giving him a wicked side-eye. “So what have you heard, princess?” He asked. “Just so I can point you in the right direction.”

 “Heaven wants me dead.” She said calmly as she entered the living room with a tray of hot tea and a small assortment of cookies. “However, also that angels were trustworthy and will protect me. My father loves me, but won’t respond to my prayers or give me some kind of sign that he even knows that I exist.”

 She took a seat next to the angel as she poured herself some tea. “How can angels be trusted if they only want me dead? How can my father love me if he denies my very existence?”

 The demon tutted, giving her a mock sympathetic look that she saw right through. “I bet bird brain here will tell you something similar. That you are important to heaven and that you will be reunited with your family there once and for all. The truth is, princess, heaven doesn’t just want you dead. It wants to see your existence completely erased for good. Nephilim don’t go to heaven or hell or even purgatory. The road stops completely for them. Only a god has the power to make a soul completely vanish, but I can assure that every single nephilim that has ever existed has wound up in the hands of one in one way or another. And that’s because they employ some idiot lower tier angel to guide them up there sooner rather than later.”

 “You see, we’re only sent after people that are about to die. Your time on Earth was counting down the second we were assigned to your case.” Dabi said rather nonchalantly as he sat with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair. “So this here angel is trying to aid in your demise. You don’t want that, do you?”

 Keigo was uncharacteristically silent. Was what Dabi was saying true? Would she vanish without a trace as soon as he took her to the proverbial pearly gates? He had never in his life been faced with such a terrible decision.

 He had never felt enamored with anyone before her. The need to wrap his wings around her and shield her from harm felt like his most basic instinct at this point. No other charge had that sort of affect on him. And because of that, he was actually thinking of believing Dabi. He took the demons words in carefully, assessing them, and searching for any sort of dishonesty.

 His heart shattered when he could find none. He knew in the deepest recesses of his soul that Dabi was telling the truth about what the gods would do with his little half-angel. Nothing was more terrifying to him than losing her.

 “I am…” he almost choked on the words, hating himself for having to even say them, “in agreement with Touya- I mean, Dabi.” He said, correcting himself. “It doesn’t seem like heaven will be a safe place for you.”

 She looked at him with warm and caring eyes, clearly seeing how much he was hurting. Many angels had empathic abilities, so it wasn’t farfetched to think that she would have them too. “Demons are supposed to be great liars, but even I can sense that he’s telling the truth.” She said, rather plainly. “But if I do choose him and descend into hell, then what will become of you? I do not want you to get in trouble for my decision.”

 “I will go with you.” He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the mortal world. “Tear my wings from my back and accept damnation with open arms as long as I could stay by your side.”

 Dabi straightened himself in the chair, somewhat surprised by his confession. Was his arch rival serious in changing sides? Falling from heaven, transitioning from angel to devil, was an extremely painful process. Obviously, he had the scars to prove it. Keigo’s signature red wings would be ripped from his flesh and a creature that had previously never known the feeling of pain would know nothing but. Some didn’t survive the fall and instead descended into madness.

 There was always a chance of something going wrong, however the demon kept it to himself for the time being. “I know how to take care of you two birds with one stone.” He said, unable to stop the twisted smile that graced over his mismatched features.

 Keigo didn’t like that look, not one big. The nephilim next to him was also feeling a little weary, thinking that perhaps she should take more time in her decision. “What is it?” She asked tentatively.

 “Feathers is not going to like it.” He said in a taunting voice, as if he were dangling something irresistible over their heads.

 Keigo’s sharp eyes were narrowed with distrust. “Just spit it out, Monster Mash.” He said in a rumbling tone as one feathered wing flexed to wrap around his charge so that he could force her closer to him for protection. She moved so that she was sitting right against him, his wing enveloping her with his body heat.

 “It’s time for you two to pop your cherries.” He said, grin growing even wider in the process. “And I’m going to be the one to do it.”

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[catpella]

Avatar

FFXIV write prompt: Avatar.

Valle and Ysayle discuss Shiva.

2022 words. Set during early Heavensward Road Trip. Early ship signs definitely visible.

From the first, Valle wondered what it was like to be Shiva.

The first time she watched Lady Iceheart transform, her heart nearly stopped in awe, so overcome by what she was watching that she had no ability to. She watched as the aetherical power of the gathered crystals was pulled into Iceheart's body, as large shards of ice wrapped themselves around her and encased her as she spoke, as the night sky rippled and auroras blossomed in the heavens as the world remade itself in that location, and as it transfigured and remade her. Ice swept the arena and turned a flesh-and-blood woman into what appeared to be ice-made-flesh, skin and hair varying shades of ice in hue.

The primal hovered before them, and the part of her mind that was still analytical noted the deep blue of the hands contrasting with the paler skin and how the hair narrowed into crown spikes of ice, and wondered if it was just coloration or texture as well. She radiated lethality and beauty in equal amounts, and for the first time, Valle understood why people would worship primals.

This being drew her in a way she had not been drawn to Leviathan, or Garuda, or any other primal she'd faced. She yearned to step closer, to be embraced by ice, to feel that aether stir around her.

Was this tempering?

It couldn't be. She had the Echo. She could not be tempered.

Could she be? The other primals she'd faced had been shaped by minds and hearts of the beast tribes, not by those of the main Spoken races, those who believed in the Twelve. And this being before them, clad in ice and full of righteous conviction, could well be a reflection of the Fury herself. Was that why she was swaying towards her, step by step, drawn in?

"Primal's active! Summon your carbuncle and fight," hissed a familiar voice from down and to her left. Broken from her trance, Valle startled, and switched to the fight, where the blizzard battered and beat her.

After the fight, when she laid in a camp with some fellow primal-slayers who worked for the Scions, her dreams were full of ice, and snow, of being battered by the primal that changed the ice into weapons to fling at her, and of course, of the woman who effortlessly controlled it all. When she woke, she sat near the fire with her journal, and wondered what kind of woman had the convictions and faith to use herself as a primal. To talk about her desire for resolving the war, that no sacrifice would be too great, to make of herself a sacrifice to the energies of a primal... What type of person was Iceheart? Valle yearned to understand the woman who could channel the power of primals, and didn't understand why her desire was so strong.

~*~

Months later, Lady Iceheart began to travel with the small group. She slowly ceased to be Iceheart and became Ysayle. Traveling with the woman whose powers had haunted her thoughts both sleeping and waking meant Valle's wondering about her had the chance to be answered, but she didn't want to come across like Alphinaud, incessantly asking questions about people's abilities with no regard for their feelings. So she watched Ysayle as they traveled, casting glances at her when she thought she wasn't looking, watching how she handled threats when they had to fight hostile wildlife, seeing how ice aether stirred around her.

"What does it feel like, to be Shiva?" was constantly on her mind, but she kept it from her lips, and instead engaged Ysayle in other types of conversation in the quiet nights of camping. Valle told stories of where she came from, of growing up on Vylbrand's shores and swimming like a fish. Then as they climbed into Dravania and further mountainsward, she told stories of what she remembered of living in Gyr Abania, contrasting the different mountainscapes. Talking about a lost homeland triggered Ysayle to discuss bits and pieces of her life before Ishgard and Coerthas fell to the snow with Valle.

"There's something else you want to talk about, isn't there?" Ysayle asked her one night, when the others had gone to bed and Valle was sitting the watch alone with only a carbuncle for company. "I see how you watch me."

Valle briefly considered a flirtatious joke. She _did_ find Ysayle, the woman, beautiful and compelling. Would have even if she didn't carry the Echo, Hydaelyn's blessing, and the power to become a primal but not one enthralled and subverted. But she suspected if she said, that she'd be in a different type of trouble with the lady. Asking about her abilities felt the safer option.

"I wonder about your magic," she said.

"About how I channel Shiva, without losing myself."

"Yes. How it is that you can pull the aether from the crystals into yourself, how you can manifest the Shiva ideal without losing your will, if it is the blessing we both bear that lets you do it without being subsumed... I've fought several primals that beast tribes summoned, creating them out of aether and them dissipating away. You're the first to enact one within yourself, and it just...fascinates me." She reached out and stroked her hand over the emerald carbuncle as she spoke, voice faltering as she worried she was being Alphinaud.

"So many questions," Ysayle said, pale eyes glinting a more greenish hue from the carbuncle's light. "I have no answers for you, for I don't think of it in such a _scientific_ way."

"You were taught to summon. I assumed it was at least somewhat scientific in the instructions. And I'm an arcanist, I can't quite help the scientific approach," she said a little ruefully.

"I was shown how to pull the aether into myself to empower the change," Ysayle corrected her. "Actually becoming Shiva... it's a matter of faith. I know of Saint Shiva. I believe in her. And then I become her, joining her will with mine."

"You see yourself as an avatar of her? Or as a vessel?" Valle asked.

"Do you see them differently?"

"Yes..." she said, then added, "a vessel is hollowed out and made into the puppet of another's will, an avatar takes that power and embodies it with control."

"What an interesting distinction. Empowered or powerless." Ysayle's voice was suddenly icy.

Valle stared at the Elezen woman who had gone suddenly cold, mentally imposing Shiva's countenance over her face, seeing the similarities and differences. "I apologize if I've insulted you."

"I know you're just trying to understand it. I just can't help you," Ysayle said. "I have faith in Shiva, and it carries me through. That's all I need."

"Faith..." Valle repeated under her breath.

"What do you believe in?" Ysayle asked, after the silence had lingered long enough that Valle assumed the conversation was over.

"You're not the first to ask me that. Gaius Baelsar asked if I believed in Eorzea, in the Twelve, if they were primals."

"And what did you say?"

"Nothing. There was a fight going on," she said dryly.

"And do you?"

"I don't believe they're primals." If she looked at it logically, maybe they could be, but - she'd been raised in her faith in Rhalgr and He was not a primal who took from the land and the people and gave nothing back, not like Ifrit.

"Do you think someone could be an avatar of them?"

"I never really thought about it," she admitted.

"If someone could be an avatar of Halone, why not an avatar of a Saint?"

Valle sucked air through her teeth, not expecting Ysayle to have turned the questioning around on her like this. "I'm not sure."

"Seems like you have some faith of your own, even if you're not clear on it. You know what I think? That you ask how I become Shiva not just because you want to understand it from a scientific reasoning, to break it down into your equations," she said with a nod at Valle's grimoire, "but because you want to know if it's from our blessing. You want to know if you could do it too."

Valle hadn't been thinking of that consciously. She wanted to understand primal summoning to stop it, like the Scions' mission was for. Knowing the difference between Shiva, and Ramuh, and Leviathan and Ifrit, would be able to tell them so much. Thinking about _her_ becoming a conduit for that aether and power hadn't been on the agenda.

And yet, if you understood how it was done, didn't it mean you could do it yourself? In times of need?

Ysayle leaned forward, more animated now. "What would you sacrifice yourself for? What cause do you believe in above all else?"

"The pursuit of knowledge. The preservation of the world. Peace between warring factions," she said, but her voice was weak and unconvinced, and they both heard it.

"Not strong enough to use the power. You have to _mean_ your cause with all your heart, to pursue it at all costs, to be willing to lay down anything for it," and now Ysayle had become Iceheart and her eyes shone a more unearthly silver as she spoke. "Until you know that, you understand nothing of becoming an avatar, even if you had it dissected into a hundred of your tidy equations."

"You're right," Valle said. She felt ashamed that her conviction was weak, embarrassed to be so thoroughly taken to task, and the desire to look away from the intense gaze of the fervent woman before her was strong.

But there was a compelling counter-desire to keep staring at her and drinking in the power that radiated from her, not the ice aether that lashed out when Ysayle was Iceheart was Shiva, but the intensity of belief that made her radiant like the moon, luminous and impossible to stare away from.

"I wish I was like you," she blurted.

The moment passed, the fervor fading and the zealot becoming just another woman looking up into the sky as she laced her fingers together and cracked her knuckles, the pop echoing loudly in the quiet night air.

"It's not easy," Ysayle warned her.

"Being Hydaelyn's chosen never is. She picked us both for a reason. At least you know what yours is," Valle said.

The Elezen reached out and brushed her fingers across the carbuncle sitting between them. Goosebumps raced up the Roegadyn's arms as though her skin was what had been touched, to Valle's great surprise, since there was no sensory feedback with her aetherical construct.

"There's a greatness in you, scholar. When you set your feet on the path you must walk and cannot be swayed from, you'll find it."

"I hope you're by my side, then. To show me what to do," Valle ventured.

Ysayle smiled down at the carbuncle as she splayed her fingers across its back. "If you believe in bringing a peaceful end to the war and not allowing the Ishgardians free reign to slaughter, then we walk the same path."

"Thank you for letting me ask questions."

"'Twas nothing. I'd rather answer you about the power than the young Sharlayan or the Azure Dragoon." Ysayle's lips quirked slightly.

"I'm glad I'm more pleasant than them," Valle said.

"You always will be. Now go to bed and end your watch. I'll take over," she said.

Valle meant to protest and stay up longer, but she yawned deeply. Offering a sheepish smile, she said, "Goodnight, Ysayle."

"Goodnight, Valle."

The Roegadyn desummoned her carbuncle and walked back to her sleeping bag, trying not to read over-much into how she had trembled at the sound of Ysayle's voice saying her name.

~*~

In her dreams that night, she stood again in the amphitheatre. The winter tempest raged, the snow pulled into a vortex by the warped currents of ice aether. But this time, rather than standing outside and being hurt by it, she was cradled by it, safe inside the eye as the blizzard lashed out at the foes.

[yslkook]

#by the books (5)

#corporate masterlist

summary: seokjin helps you come to several epiphanies. you wrestle with your growing fondness with jungkook, while determining how to talk to him. word count: 5570 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, some alc a/n: this is part 2/3 of being in tokyo!

SUNDAY

Seokjin knows something is wrong when you don’t respond to his texts for over fourteen hours. It’s well into Sunday morning, closer to the afternoon, when he makes the executive decision to camp out outside your hotel room until you let him in. He knows you’ve been on your phone- you’ve been on Instagram. You’re just avoiding him, and probably the rest of the world. As you usually tend to do, when you’re upset.

You don’t know what to do. You’ve never yelled at someone the way you yelled at Jungkook last night, much less literally ran away from someone like that. Embarrassment colors your memories, internally cringing when you replay the night’s events in your mind. It plays like a movie, the same moment mocking you incessantly. Jungkook’s heartbroken, doe eyes haunt you- you’ve barely been able to sleep because you’ve struggled coming to terms with the fact that you put that look on his face.

The reflection in your mirror disgusts you. And yet, you still do nothing about it, burying yourself under the duvet and ignoring anything that wasn’t sleep. It’s easier that way.

Your phone rings again- it’s Jin. You ignore his call. That’s your first mistake. He nearly screeches your name outside the door to your hotel room, menacingly knocking on your door. He’s clearly on a mission to piss off everyone who had the bad luck to be staying in the hotel rooms adjacent to you.

“I’m sleeping,” You shout easily, your voice muffled from the comforter.

“Open the damn door,” Jin demands and you groan. He won’t stop until you let him in, much to your chagrin. You just want to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, is that too much to ask for?

So you finally force yourself out of the bed and drag your feet to the door. “You look like fuckin’ shit,” Jin remarks, taking in your bleary eyes and the permanent frown on your face.

“Thanks, Seokjin. Just what every girl wants to hear,” You mutter and burrow yourself in bed once more. Without a moment’s hesitation, he gets under the covers next to you, curling into your side. Like he’s done a million times before.

“Leave me alone, Jin,” You mumble, without any real heat in your voice, “Yuna wouldn’t like this. Your girlfriend wouldn’t like you to be in bed with another girl-”

“Shut up, stupid. You’re not just another girl,” Jin dismisses you, only tightening his hold around your waist.

“Go away,” You try again, rather weakly. Instead, you let your hand sit on top of his. You both lay together in silence like that for a while. His presence always calms you down, brings you back up a few notches.

“I did something awful last night,” You finally say, voice hoarse from disuse.

“What did you do?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I yelled at Jungkook in front of my favorite ice cream shop… and then ran away from him.”

“What did you yell at him for?”

You tell him- you tell him how he told you he couldn’t keep up with you, how he called you his dream girl, how you screamed at him that your dad died and that you dropped out of school because you couldn’t handle it, how just seeing Jungkook reminded you of when you were happier.

“I’m such a fuckin’ idiot, Jin,” You mutter, pressing your face further into your pillow, “A-and how can he say I was his dream girl, I’m just such an-”

“Shh,” Jin says, muffling your mouth with his hand. Once you stop your self-deprecating train of thought, he pulls his hand away. Jin lays with you in silence once more, only running a hand over your upper arm to soothe you.

“Let’s go get lunch,” Jin suggests and he already hears the protest about to erupt from your lips, “You look like shit and I know you haven’t eaten. Go shower and wear something new. I’ll wait.”

You groan before forcing yourself out of the bed and dragging your feet into the bathroom. Jin rolls his eyes when you shoot a death glare in his direction. Jin was right- the hot water against your skin was soothing. You welcomed the stinging of the water as it pelted your skin with open arms. Feeling a little better coming out of the shower than you did going into the shower, you change into day clothes.

“Lookin’ better already,” Jin says, pulling you into a side hug.

Why is Jin friends with you, when you can’t stand yourself some days? You don’t know what he sees in you. Not when you seem to hurt everyone around you, so selfishly, as if it’s second nature.

But he keeps you close to him, his arm tight around your shoulder and those thoughts don’t throb in your mind as much as they usually do.

Jin sits across from you in a small, quiet ramen shop. You’re in a corner, away from most of the other patrons. There’s only four other people here, including the waitress. Jin says nothing about your outburst at Jungkook from the night before, only noisily slurping his ramen and then screeching with he bites his lip accidentally.

“You eat too fast,” You admonish, shaking your head when he rubs his bottom lip gingerly. Jin immediately takes his phone out to take a selfie and sends it to Yuna, claiming that he needs a kiss to make it better. You roll your eyes fondly and smile at him.

Puppy love is cute on him.

“So,” Jin finally says and your heart races. His tone has instantly shifted to a little more quiet, a little more serious.

“What do I do, Jin?” You whisper, shoulders slumping and avoiding his eyes, “He didn’t know. The kid didn’t know why I left, that Appa died- a-and I don’t know why he’s so hung up over it either. ‘Snot like we were friends like that back then anyway… God, Jin, you should’ve seen the look on his face before I ran away, like a fuckin’ coward.”

You hold your head in your hands above your half finished bowl of ramen and groan. “What a mess. I’m a fuckin’ mess.”

“Jungkook considered you friends back then,” Jin says slowly, “As far as I know, at least. I mean, I remember him being excited to see you every week for those mentor mentee sessions. And how grateful he was when you pulled him away from mean girls. He’s sensitive, you remember at least that much, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” You laugh despite your misery, “Used to call him Bambi back in the day. He’d get so flustered. But… I just- like, I told him it hurt too much to even look at him. Because he reminded me of when I was happy. Who fuckin’ does that?”

“But are you happy now?” Jin asks bluntly, slurping another mouthful of noodles.

“I don’t… know,” You murmur, “I think I can be.”

“Happy isn’t a constant thing. You won’t be happy all the time, the same way you won’t be sad all the time. But the last few years have been so hard. Let yourself be happy, sweetheart,” Jin says, reaching over to squeeze your hand, “Happy back then doesn’t have to be the same as happy now.”

“How do I just be happy?” You wonder out loud, making a mental note to talk to your therapist about this.

“I don’t know, but for starters, talk to Jungkook. He considered you both friends. You hurt his feelings when you left without a word. And he’s hurt now. And… I know you spent a long time blocking out the last few years, blocking out all of the bad. But there was some good, too.”

“Can’t believe he called me his dream girl. What does he know?” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest but you feel a little lighter.

“You gonna tell me you didn’t like that?” Jin asks smugly.

“I didn’t!” You protest unconvincingly. Jin says nothing, only eyeing you with a knowing smile.

“You’re fooling no one. Eat your ramen, stupid.”

And so you do, the spicy broth curling in your belly as if it’s your home.

It feels like it’s been too long since you had spoken to Grandma, so you call her the minute you and Jin part ways. You tell her about the events of the past few days- how you had met up with friends you hadn’t seen in years. And how you had screamed at Jungkook undeservedly-

“I miss Appa,” You mumble, eyes watering, “He would be so upset with me. For the way I’ve been acting. Like he never existed, never talking about him…”

“He’d just want you to be happy, honey,” Grandma says kindly, “And to forgive yourself. To allow yourself to love and be loved.”

And then you cry some more. Grandma does, too.

Later, when you drive Jin, Jimin and Hoseok to the airport, all three of them wrap you up in tight hugs. As if you wouldn’t be in the same city as them in less than 48 hours. You promise to keep in touch with Jimin and Hoseok. Maybe they believe you, because they both hug you again with bright smiles.

MONDAY

Today’s the day. It’s the day that the Seoul team meets the Tokyo team face to face for the first time. Excitement brims in your blood- you’re certain that you have a lot to learn from this team. They’ve been a part of more submissions than your smaller team had been, and it had been a big surprise that Namjoon was named as the main lead of the project. But he was more than capable, as he had shown in the last few months.

The Tokyo team consists of Lisa, Irene, Minhyuk and they’re led by Mark. Mark, who you’ve known for about as long as you’ve been with the company. He had started with you in Seoul, in the same position and had quickly moved up in the ladder. Which seems to be the case for a lot of people, namely men, around you. He had actually beat you out for the job that he currently had. It had left a sour taste in your mouth for a long time- what did he have that you didn’t? But slowly, with time, you had gotten over it. After all, the job was in Tokyo, and you don’t think you were ready for that kind of move at the time. Everything happens for a reason, or so they say.

The company office in Tokyo is a little older than the one in Seoul- after all, the Seoul office had been recently renovated. If there was a word to describe the Seoul office, it was sleek and modern. You quite liked it.

Minhyuk had picked you, Jungkook, Sana and Namjoon up in the lobby to take you to the conference room that you would be working in. He’s a chatterbox, telling you about the history of the building, how long he’s been with the company and how grateful he is to be part of this team.

Jungkook tunes him out, nodding when needed and asking questions when appropriate. He casts his eyes over to you despite himself. You had put on a little more makeup today than usual, trying to conceal the puffiness of your eyes. Not that Jungkook could tell. He thinks you’re pretty. And the way you chew on your glossy bottom lip as you listen to Minhyuk- he thinks you’re cute, too.

You’re hyper aware of Jungkook’s presence next to you as you walk through the hallways and finally reach the conference room. He sits across from you, and for the first time since Saturday night, you allow yourself the luxury of looking at him. Despite a room full of new faces, the only person you want to look at is him. His dark hair is softly tousled over his forehead, barely there dimples dotted in his cheeks when he smiles at his new team members.

His gaze is transfixed on Mark and Namjoon, as they introduce themselves formally to each other and the rest of the team respectively. Mark’s eyes brighten when he sees you, but he keeps it professional, only shaking your hand with a smile that borders on a smirk.

Irene and Lisa eye you almost warily, until you introduce yourself to them with a warm handshake and a warm smile. You’ve been told you have an intimidating persona when people first meet you- in fact, your boss is the one who always tells you to smile more. What a jerk.

Mark and Namjoon both present on the mission and the objectives of the submission, and then what each individual team will be responsible for. You take a sip of your coffee, and cast your eyes around the room. Irene, Lisa, Sana and Minhyuk are intently listening to Mark and Namjoon and taking notes. While you’re staring at Jungkook.

And he’s staring back at you.

You pull your eyes away first, heart doing almost painful somersaults in your chest. You don’t mind being caught at staring at him, but you just feel like there is so much you need to say to him.

Like apologize. You need to apologize for unloading and dumping on him when he didn’t ask for it. But then, his smile fades and his doe eyes are sad. Because of you. It’s all because of you.

You and Namjoon present your slides for your team’s plan going forward, with details on the timelines and deliverables. Jungkook and Sana will be working on the logistics piece to organize another face-to-face workshop, and for the next one, the Tokyo team will come to Seoul.

Despite the heat of Jungkook’s gaze on you, you speak clearly and confidently. Jungkook loves the sound of your voice, the way it floats out into the room and wraps itself around him comfortingly.

Even when you had yelled at him outside of the ice cream shop, about how your Appa had died, about dropping out of school, and about how seeing him reminded you of when you were happy… Even then, he could never wince at the sound of your voice.

Jungkook was pissed that nobody had told him- that he had gone this long thinking so selfishly about you. He could have never have fathomed the gravity of your circumstance. He had yelled at Jimin the next day, but Jimin had only yelled back at him-

“She dropped off the face of the earth! She wanted nothing to do with us and it was her thing to tell!”

“So she was all alone that whole time? Because you all thought it was her thing to tell?”

“Don’t act like you’re better than all of us just because you didn’t know! You and I didn’t reconnect until recently, how was I supposed to tell you? And we tried to reach out to her. She shut us out, literally. What could we do if she ignored us for five fuckin’ years?”

You were alone. With your Grandma and with Seokjin. But still, alone, and possibly thinking that nobody was checking on you. Even if there is truth to Jimin’s words, Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s too late. If he had known…. Well, what would he have done?

This crush of his feels more and more childish as days go by. And yet, when you look at him, the way you’re looking at him now. With softness lined in your irises, he can’t help it.

He can’t help but look back at you. Maybe you can see his apology in his face.

“Hi,” A voice comes from your left side. You’re at the coffee bar, refilling your second cup of coffee before noon. His voice is reserved, almost shy. Your heart seizes up immediately at the sound of it.

“Morning, Jungkook,” You say breathlessly, grateful for the coffee cup in your hand for something to hold on to. To channel your nervous energy into.

“Morning,” Jungkook says softly, “Can I talk to you later? Maybe after the happy hour?” He asks, hope shining in his voice and sparkling in his eyes.

No- it was supposed to be you who would reach out to apologize. After all, you were the one who had screamed in his face and ran away. He’s probably only reaching out out of pity, you think cynically. Nevertheless, it throws you off.

And apparently, since you’re the keeper of bad decisions, your response to him is predictable. Despite every synapse in your heart screaming at you to say something else.

“Uh. I don’t think I’m going to the happy hour. I’m not really feeling great,” The lie blooms from your painted lips easily. His face falls and you pretend like your heart doesn’t ache over his doe eyes.

“Oh, okay. Feel better,” Jungkook says and you give him a barely there smile, passing him to head back in the conference room.

A headache is beginning to brew in the back of your head. It’s the last thing you need.

Why does it bother you that Jungkook had been the one to reach out to you first, rather than the other way around? After all, you were the one who caused a scene. What reason does he have to want to talk to you? If anything, you’re the one who needs to apologize, right?

You stare at the shifting trees in front of you, hoping that if you stare hard enough, the leaves will whisper an answer to you.

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe he just is that good, to want to speak to you just because.

You’ve been sitting here, at Appa’s park, for the better part of an hour. You’re hoping for an epiphany, or some type of sign. It feels strange that Jungkook is weighing so heavily on your mind. You’re not used to this feeling.

A whistle of wind rustles through the collar of your thin jacket, curling around you in comfort. With a loud exhale, you stand up from your bench.

“Oh, fine. I’ll go to the stupid happy hour,” You scoff into the sky. As if the sky can hear your complaining. And so you turn on your heel and leave the park, begrudgingly making your way to the happy hour venue.

Usually, showing up to work events like this alone was a breeze. It was easy for you to think about these things as just being something to check off in your list of things to do for the day. You stayed to say your hellos and made some small talk before leaving, all within an hour.

But today feels different. Your carefully put together nerves are beginning to fray at the seams. You take a deep breath before swinging the door open to enter the bar. Namjoon and Mark had rented out a corner of the bar for your teams to have your own space. High tables of appetizers and drinks surrounded the bustling voices of your teammates.

Your hands are inadvertently balled into tense fists. This place is littered with people and still, you feel so alone. You wish Jin was here. You wish Jin was here.

Jungkook sees the crown of your head the minute you walk into the bar, even with the dimmed lighting. He had been sulking before, barely interested in the conversation that he had forced himself into under the pretense of ‘networking’. Not that anyone would be able to tell- Jungkook has mastered the art of making it seem like he was present. He would never jeopardize an invaluable opportunity like this, and he’s never been one to allow others to surpass him in settings like this. He knows what the stakes are. But he’s become adept in the art of multitasking.

Your lips are pursed, eyes darting across each side of the room. It feels overwhelming, like too much. Maybe you shouldn’t have come…

You cross your arms and dig your nails into your cloth covered bicep nervously. Before you can calm the thudding of your heart in your ears, you turn your head and see Jungkook walking towards you with a smile.

You can’t help but smile back.

“Jungkook,” You exhale, “Hi.”

“You came,” Jungkook says, eyes crinkling at the sight of you. Has he always had those deep laugh lines around his eyes when he smiled? For a second, you’re breathless but you break his gaze, not wanting to let your eyes linger over the rest of him for too long. At the risk that you’ll be sucked into his warm, brown whirlpools.

“Yeah,” You say faintly. Jungkook can sense your nervousness- you can’t help your eyes darting around you at the number of people surrounding you.

“Wanna get a drink with me?” Jungkook asks, gesturing towards the bar with a flick of his fingers.

“Really? You wanna get a drink with me?” You ask incredulously, with a raise of your eyebrow. How could he possibly want to spend time with you, when you had treated him the way you had?

“It’s on Namjoon and Mark’s company card,” Jungkook shrugs and you laugh. He leads you towards the bar. There are a few people seated at the navy blue leather bar stools surrounding the bar, a few of them eyeing Jungkook curiously. It doesn’t surprise you- he looks good in a form fitting black turtleneck and black slacks. Rings adorn his fingers and small hoops sit in his earlobes, a soft smile peeling across his face when he looks at you.

Yeah. You’d stare at him, too. If you didn’t have the fortune to know him.

“What can I get you?” Jungkook asks, relaxing with his elbow on the bar top.

“You mean what can Namjoon and Mark get us?” You say, pulling a laugh from him. Your heart sings at the sweet sound. “Hmm… I’ll have wine, I guess.”

“Red or white?”

“White?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Jungkook teases and your cheeks heat up.

“Telling you! I’ll have a… chardonnay,” You reply, turning your head towards the bar so he can’t see how flustered you are. But he does, and he pockets the information for later.

Once Jungkook orders two glasses of chardonnay for both of you and you’re both holding the wine glasses in your hands, you gently clink your glass with him. It makes you a little nervous, how easily you find yourself talking to him. How comfortable you feel around him, as if you were old friends. As if you hadn’t been so mean to him only the night before.

You don’t know him well. But you remember that he’s always had a big heart, offering his forgiveness to those who didn’t deserve it. Would you ruin him? But maybe a little selfishly, you want to chase this feeling.

“I went to this park earlier,” You murmur, swirling your wine in your glass, “It’s really pretty and quiet. I used to go there all the time when I was younger.”

“You’ve been to Tokyo before?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah,” You nod, “I used to come here a lot when I was a kid and spend summers here with Appa. Sometimes Grandma, too. Appa taught me Japanese from when I was really young, it’s probably why I’m even on this team…”

“That’s not true, you’re on this team because you’re really smart and good at what you do! And I know Namjoon values your opinion a lot-” Jungkook protests, an annoyed furrow in his brow. Is that really what you think of yourself?

You laugh and give him a grateful smile. With a breath of seemingly transient courage, you part your lips- “Jungkook,” Your voice is soft and small and nothing like what he’s used to, “I want to-”

And then you’re both interrupted by both Sana and Namjoon slinging their arms around your shoulders. Jungkook gives you a reassuring smile, a promise that you’ll talk later. You wonder if you’ll lose your courage by then.

Namjoon pulls you away from Jungkook and Sana, introducing you to some people that you’ve never met. You recognize them as higher ups, Hyo-Jin, the head of submissions for all of Asia and Hae-ri, the head of business development. The realization makes you take a few generous sips of your wine and straighten your back.

You can hear Jin’s voice in your head, telling you to make a good impression. Namjoon easily pulls you into the conversation, giving you plenty of opportunity to insert yourself in-

“She’s my right hand woman, though I don’t think even that is a good enough term to tell you what she is to me,” Namjoon says. Compliments like that always fluster you, and this time is no different.

“Namjoon speaks too highly of me,” You brush him off, “I’m just glad I have this opportunity, I mean being on the submissions team has always been one of my favorite parts of the job.”

“Oh? Do you see a future for yourself in submissions?” Hyo-Jin asks curiously, with a quirk of an elegant eyebrow. She’s a no nonsense woman, you can tell just from the five minutes you’ve had with her.

“I definitely want to lead submissions teams one day. I mean, Namjoon is a great teacher,” You grin, elbowing him, “But even more than that… I’d like to oversee an entire product line end to end later down the line. And I think it’s important to invest in our young talent, too-”

“Young talent? As in people development?” Hyo-Jin asks.

“Yeah, I mean they’re our future leaders, aren’t they? It’s important that they have the tools to succeed now and beyond,” You say vehemently.

Hyo-Jin says nothing, only nodding and taking a sip of her drink. “And you? Do you have the tools to succeed now and beyond as a future leader?”

The question makes you stumble. Do you throw your boss under the bus? But you’ve never been a liar, and you sure as hell won’t start now.

“No,” You say bluntly, “I’ve learned so much with Namjoon and being part of this team. And in general being part of regulatory and submissions projects. But I don’t think my skill set is being effectively used in my current role. If you want an honest answer.”

You can practically hear Jin scolding you from far away. But you won’t build a professional relationship on a fallacy. To your surprise, Hyo-Jin smiles.

“That’s refreshing,” She says, her painted lips splitting into a smile.

“What is?” You ask, feeling rather stupid.

“Your honesty,” Hae-ri chimes in, “People aren’t always honest with us, because of our titles. Like they have something to prove.”

“Yeah, well, maybe people are rightfully more concerned about making a good first impression than I am,” You joke, gripping the handle of your wine glass tighter. Hyo-Jin and Hae-ri both laugh with you, telling you to put time on their calendars to meet with them virtually when you go back to South Korea after the trip. With that, they both slip away from you, making sure you know that they appreciated your presence. And then you let out a breath.

“Holy shit. I fucked that up,” You mutter, “My boss is going to kill me, Joon. What the hell is wrong with me-”

“Relax,” Namjoon says easily, his dimples on display, “They loved you. Trust me, they loved you. They already knew who you were, you know.”

“What? How could they possibly know who I was?” You gasp incredulously, “I’m a nobody!”

“Seokjin’s right. For someone so smart, you’re dumb-”

“Hey! That’s unprofessional of you,” You say, but a smile threatens your lips.

“They never tell anyone to put time on their calendars unless they like them. So just trust me. And this submission has the eyes of all of the higher ups. Our good work doesn’t go unnoticed.”

“I just,” You sigh, “I’m used to it going unnoticed. So I guess… Thank you. For your leadership, your guidance… and your friendship.”

He smiles at you brightly and clinks his glass with you. “C’mon, let’s go find Mark.”

Jungkook can’t help but cast his eyes in your direction every so often. He knew, he knew you were about to say something poignant at the bar. All of the signs were there- your serious eyes, the way you forced yourself to look him in the face, the barely there nervousness that he could taste.

It seems that everyone suddenly wants a piece of you- you flit around with Namjoon, taking it all in as he introduces you to people. Jungkook is beyond happy for you, that you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve from the company.

But still, he can’t help but crave just a minute alone with you. Especially when he sees Mark’s face light up at the sight of you, pulling you into a too-friendly hug. And you don’t even realize it, it seems. Only offering him a smile in return, surprise coloring your face when he hugs you so tightly.

Jungkook tries his best to stay present in the conversation he’s in, with Sana and a few other members of the Tokyo team. But he has such a nice view of you that he can’t help his eyes drifting every so often. He can’t help noticing the way your pink pants sit on your hips, and the way your black blouse is tucked into them. More than that though, he can’t help noticing Mark noticing.

Do you know? That Mark sees you in that light? He’s so obvious about it, and yet. It seems like you’re oblivious.

Namjoon eventually excuses himself from both of you, claiming that he can hear Sana calling for him. You think nothing of it, shrugging and continuing your conversation with Mark.

“Hey, you did great today,” Mark compliments, stepping just a hair closer to you.

“Oh! Thanks, I know,” You wink at him, “I have a great team, I mean it.”

“Well,” Mark says, taking a sip of his soju, “You’re pretty great, too.”

“Oh, stop,” You wave him off with a roll of your eyes, “You don’t need to butter me up, Mark. Save it.”

“C’mon, you know I mean it. We’ve been through a lot, you and I,” Mark says with a crooked sort of grin. You understand why people fawn over him, that smile could get anyone to do anything but you roll your eyes.

“Have we, Mark?” You ask dryly.

“We go way back,” He says self-assuredly, almost cockily.

“No, we don’t,” You mumble under your breath, and he hears you. You subtly take a step back from him, turning on your side. Only to find Jungkook already looking at you.

“You wound me,” Mark murmurs, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. You roll your eyes, but still give him the same grin. It’s polite, nothing more, nothing less.  

The way Mark looks at you teeters on the edge of something more than friendly professionalism. It’s clear that you both have known each other for a while. Maybe through work? Maybe something else? It bothers Jungkook, and he knows it shouldn’t. Especially when Mark leaves you for a minute, only to return with a refill of your wine.

An irritating ember settles in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach. Perhaps he has an ulcer, he thinks dryly.

Mark has your phone number, from other projects you’ve worked with him on. He does text you every so often, maybe once every few months. You’ve never thought much of it, only responding to him out of obligation since he is your colleague and technically your superior. You don’t think it’s malicious- he’s always been a charmer. Even when you first met him when you first started at the company.

By the time you manage to shake yourself of Mark, Jungkook has disappeared. How long has it been since you’ve been here? You look outside of the windows quickly, taking in the darkness of the sky and the moon hanging from it.

“Hey, you ready to head back to the hotel?” Namjoon asks, Sana already in her coat next to him.

“Yeah, where’s Jungkook?” You ask, craning your neck to see the top of his fluffy hair.

“He left a bit ago. Said he wasn’t feeling well,” Sana says, fastening the buttons on her coat. The bitter pill of regret settles in your belly. How ironic that he had left happy hour saying he wasn’t feeling well, when that had been your excuse to not attend.

So still, even when you are in your hotel room after the happy hour, changed in your pajamas and about to watch a show to end your night, you think nothing of it when Mark texts you later that night:

Mark: it was good to see you tn :)

Despite Mark’s name lighting up your phone, you feel an ache in your heart. Over the fact that you hadn’t had the chance to speak to Jungkook. He’s somewhere in this hotel, and you could, you really could just ask Namjoon his room number and talk to him. But the bolt of courage from earlier seems to have fizzled out long ago.

So you text Mark back instead. Thinking nothing of it.

[cake-writes]

Compromise (Interlude #3)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety, Violence

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Nine / Master List / Spotify Playlist

This chapter was written for @marquiswrites​​‘s 100 follower challenge! Congrats, my love! I’m so sorry I’m like a week late on this. Please enjoy.

Bucky’s heart caught in his throat. With his pulse racing just as fast as yours, he quickly got the hell out of dodge and went to the counter to pay. The check became a means of escape. Instinctual, perhaps – fight or flight, and he chose the latter because he was absolutely fucking terrified.

What did you want from him?

He cared about you. He loved you. That much was clear, but in that moment, he’d been forced to confront his feelings and he wasn’t ready to. Not yet. Not with you gazing at him across the table, teeth dragging across your lower lip in such an enticing way that it made him break into a nervous sweat. 

God, how irresistible could you be?

It wasn’t just nerves that drove him up a wall. Bucky wanted to act on the implication in your words, your teasing, your flirting. He wanted to reach over across the table and kiss the breath out of you, desperately, with every fibre of his being. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not now.

He wasn’t ready.

To be a parent, he was. To be a dad.

But to disappoint you again? He absolutely wasn’t.

Needless to say, things only worsened on the walk back to your house – the walk from hell. Somehow, he managed to keep his cool, but his mind was a mess. Anxiety. Panic. Fear. What ifs ran through his mind on an endless loop and gnawed incessantly at his subconscious.

What the hell did you want from him?

But Bucky knew what you wanted. Deep down, he probably always knew.

The sound of your heartbeat was a dead giveaway; quiet, almost inaudible, but he’d heard it quicken. He’d seen the flush come across your cheeks as you teased him – simple words to be sure, but laced with innuendo.

He wasn’t just imagining things.  

And yet, you had been the one to draw a line in the sand two years ago, to shut down any future the two of you might have had. You left him, and it had been your idea to come to an agreement for Winnie. Even now, he could appreciate that you’d done so. She was more important. She’d always be more important. 

Bucky knew you knew that, too, so what the hell was he supposed to do?

He missed you. He loved you. He wanted to be with you.

But he loved his daughter, too.

Bucky startled awake to nothing but silence, the sound of his own voice echoing in his ears.

You take me instead, do you hear me?

A thin sheen of sweat coated his body, and he ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. One, then two. Pitch dark room. Moonlight spilled in through the blinds and onto his duvet.

All he wanted to do was dream – to forget – but instead, he had a nightmare.

Give her back and take me instead.

The words scratched at the back of his throat, dry and unbearable. How many times had he heard that particular phrase? Too many times to count. Too many memories of Hydra blurred the lines within his brain, made things feel entirely too real. Possibly because they were. Bucky had done awful things to secure Hydra’s future, and although he hadn’t been a willing participant, it was still him. All him. He’d done such terrible things that his mind liked to conjure them as a punishment of his own making. 

Once, he ripped a woman away from her father – made him watch. She’d been a threat to Hydra, and thus had to be eliminated despite her father’s desperate pleas to give her back, to take him instead. And now, Bucky understood.

Usually, he watched helplessly as Winnie was kidnapped, taken from him, her young life snuffed out with the flick of a wrist. Or the tip of a knife. Or the sound of a gun.

Quick. Efficient. All ways in which he’d taken lives before.

His sweet, darling daughter, dead in a millisecond. The heartbreak and pain he felt at the very thought of it – never mind witnessing it in such a vivid nightmare – could only be replicated when it was you instead of Winnie. And Bucky understood that, too.

He’d murdered a newlywed on her wedding night, right in front of her groom. Blood spatter against white spackled walls, pristine dress stained a rich, ruby red. Life snuffed out more easily than love, he discovered, when he wound up having to dispatch her new husband, too.

I love her. Give her back. Take me instead.

Bucky would have done the same for you. 

Somehow, he’d found the smallest shred of stability with you, despite his uncanny ability and willingness to blow it up because of his own insecurities – but his past still came back to haunt him anyway. 

With a shudder, he dragged his hands down his face in an attempt to forget the horrors.

It was in times like these that he missed you the most. No matter what, you’d always offered him so much comfort and love despite everything he’d done. Quiet, gentle comfort he’d grown so accustomed to that, even two years after the fact, he still had yet to figure out how he’d survived without.

You’d rouse with a sleepy mumble of his name and reach out for him, small hand coming to rest against his heaving chest. The harsh pounding of his heart beneath your palm would wake you a little more – as would the feel of Bucky’s too-hot skin, sticky with sweat, and you’d blearily blink your eyes open to look over at him in the darkness.

Shh, he’d say. Go back to sleep, doll. I’m fine.

Fine. Always fine. 

Always a lie. 

Just like the crooked smile on his lips, meant to reassure you that it wasn’t a lie this time. Even though it was.

Oh, Bucky… Come here.

You’d see right through him in an instant. Stroke his hair. Whisper sweet nothings to him in the softest, kindest voice he’d ever heard, delicate and strong all at once. And when you’d tell him that everything was going to be alright in such dulcet tones, well, he just had to believe you, didn’t he?

Sometimes he’d break down a little at your gentle touch and even gentler words. He’d wrap his arms around you, hold you tight, cling to you like you were his lifeline and in a lot of ways, you were. He often told you things in confidence that he’d never told anyone before; it felt good to have another person to join him in the darkness, no matter how slight. How selfish. 

And you’d stroke his hair.

Christ.

With an aggravated sigh, Bucky snatched up his phone from the nightstand. He desperately wanted to seek comfort from you like you’d done so many times before so long ago. The problem was that he felt conflicted, now, because of a multitude of reasons: your relationship was already so strained, for one, and it was bound to affect Winnie. Not to mention he knew. 

He knew you wanted to be with him, but you deserved better.

If he reached out, he’d be taking advantage of your feelings for his own selfish comfort. It would complicate things. He’d disappoint you again. He’d ruin what little good relations the two of you had, and it would negatively affect Winnie.

Dear, sweet Winnie with a halo of blood around her perfect little head. His darling daughter, dead in her big girl bed. Bullet in her brain.

Three in the morning. You wouldn’t be awake, but right now he just couldn’t shake the need for your kind, soothing words.

She’s alright, Bucky, you’d say. She’s fine.

He knew you would.

Thumbs hovering over the keyboard on the screen, he couldn’t help himself. Selfish. So, so selfish.

 Bucky, 3:18am Sorry. I know it’s late. Are you awake?

 As soon as Bucky hit ‘send’, he immediately wanted to take it back. He’d managed so many times without you before, and he could do it again. All he had to do was try. A nightmare. That was all. Winnie was fine.

It was so stupidly selfish of him to reach out to you like this, knowing what he knew. He didn’t need you to comfort him, did he? He just wanted it, wanted you.

Needed you.

When his phone vibrated less than a minute later, it made him jump.

 You, 3:19am What’s wrong?

 You had to work in the morning. Why were you up?

Staring at your message, Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say. He started to type one thing, then backspaced and tried another, only managing to get a couple of words in before he changed his mind again. A text was so impersonal – not like how sweet and caring you were in person, in bed with him, and he had some difficulty finding the right words for the situation.

Three or four attempts later, his phone vibrated again and he froze.

A phone call.

Bucky barely had time to bring the device up to his ear before you’d already started to ask on the other end, “Who was it this time?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, before he rasped, “Winnie.” Then he cleared his throat and tried again, “It was Winnie.”

“Winnie? Okay, hold on,” you told him, and then he heard some shuffling – fabric against the microphone, and your voice came through a little more muffled. “Must have been pretty bad tonight, huh?” Your tone was light despite the dreadful subject; then came a creak, a pause, and you let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, she’s fine.”

His phone vibrated again.

In confusion, Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear. You’d sent him another text, which he quickly opened to find a photo of Winnie sleeping soundly in her big girl bed. No blood. No halo. She was fine, and fast asleep in what was probably the most uncomfortable position he’d ever seen in his life.

He couldn’t help but let out an undignified snort.

“See?” you said, voice much clearer now, albeit still holding onto the last remnants of sleep. “Our daughter, the contortionist. I bet she got that from you.”

Gentle ribbing, despite how uncomfortable this afternoon had been.

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” he croaked, but his heart felt lighter than before. “How’d she fall asleep with her leg like that?”

“I don’t know,” you responded, laughing some more. “She sleeps like that a lot. I think she saw it in one of her cartoons. Just kind of stuck.”

Bucky let out a soft hum of acknowledgement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another laugh, quieter this time, faded into silence before you asked him softly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You knew. You always fucking knew and he hated how much he loved it. And just plain hated it, because you saw right through him.

“It’s late,” Bucky deflected. No matter how much he may have wanted to talk about it, he didn’t want to drag you down when he was already bothering you like this. He’d woken you up. It wasn’t his place to do that anymore. Not that it ever really was. “Thanks for the photo. I think I’m gonna make it my wallpaper.”

Another joke. Another deflection.

Hollow.

There was another deafening pause, before you offered, “Are you free for breakfast?”

“What?”

“Winnie would love to see you,” you told him, and he could just hear the smile in your voice. “I’ll even make some french toast.”

“I don’t— I don’t wanna impose,” Bucky stammered at the unexpected invitation, already feeling the anxiety pool in the pit of his stomach. What’s worse was that he did want to impose. He wanted to impose very much.

“Then you can help,” you teased. “Come on. It’s just breakfast.”

It wasn’t just breakfast.

“We’ve gotta leave by eight, so let’s make it seven?” you mused aloud. “Yeah. How’s seven?”

He forced down the lump in his throat. “Seven’s… Seven’s fine.”

“Okay, good! See you in the morning.”

Without missing a beat, he responded almost automatically, “See you then.”

Then the line went dead, and Bucky stared blankly at his phone.

What just happened? You’d just talked him into breakfast so easily. How?

He still had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. His thoughts started to race for the umpteenth time, full of panic and dread, but no matter how rational he tried to be, an undercurrent of excitement still ran through him like electricity. It made him feel good. Warm. 

Breakfast with you. Breakfast with Winnie.

His girls.

Despite all his nervous energy, Bucky actually managed to sleep soundly for once. So soundly, in fact, that he slept right through his alarm.

Part Ten

[quirkykayleetam]

The Kid Napping Rescue

Fluffy Hurt/Comfort based on this beautiful prompt by @whumpdaydreamerx!

“Mama, Mama! That man is hurt! Stop walking, please! He’s bleeding!”

Pain. Scraped concrete. Sticky, pooling blood. Branigan Leahy jerked awake in a fog as a tiny finger prodded the fire in his back. 

Run! He had to run. It was a set-up. The mark knew he was coming. There were too many of them. He had to—

“E-excuse me? Are you okay?”

Branigan could only groan as a new wave of pain pulsed through him. He curled in on himself, pressing a hand as hard as he could against the blood pumping from his abdomen to darken his coat. 

Even as he tried to focus, the small voice faded farther and farther away. A larger shadow moved to stand over him, causing his every instinct to scream at him to fight back. But as he clenched his muscles trying for some, any control, Branigan’s vision flashed white and then went totally black. 

A popcorn ceiling. Yellow floral drapes. Incessantly cheerful music. Branigan wasn’t sure where he was when he awoke, but it felt like a trippy fever dream. Including the part where he was unarmed. 

Blindly, he reached for his gun belt, one of the four knives in his boots, anything. The movement only caused a stab of pain through his side that was pure, bloody agony. 

“Stay still, won’t you?” A woman’s voice said from somewhere above him. “I won’t have you bleeding all over my carpet. It’s bad enough Theo wouldn’t leave you alone.”

At that, a very cheerful five- or six-year-old with floppy brown hair and the longest eyelashes Branigan had ever seen bounded into the room. 

“You’re awake! Mama said I had to be real quiet cause you were all droopy. We had to carry you here, remember, Mama? You had a lot of trouble with your feet. Do you have two left ones?”

“Wha?”

“Two left feet! Ms. Reilly says that’s what I have sometimes when I have trouble walking straight.”

“I’m sure the nice man has one right and one left foot just like you, honey. Now, why don’t you go finish your show?”

The kid ignored her, coming closer to look into Branigan’s eyes. He cocked his head in an owlish expression. 

“I’m Theo. What were you doing sleeping in the alleyway all twisty?”

“Bran...Branigan.” His throat tasted like gunpowder and asphalt. He glanced at Theo’s mother a moment before continuing. “I was running from the bad guys.”

Theo was unimpressed. 

“You didn’t seem to be running very fast.”

Branigan’s chuckle had him seeing fire and gasping for air. 

“I...I had to stop for a rest break. They roughed me up a bit.”

“And that’s when we found you.”

“Yeah.” He looked up again. “Thanks for that.”

“It’s our ‘sponsibity to look after people, right Mama?”

Theo’s mother combed an exasperated hand through her hair. 

“That’s right, honey. Now, why don’t you go get Mr. Branigan a popsicle, hmmm?”

“Oh yeah! We’ve got the best kind! Well, we’re out of cherry, but I’ll make sure I don’t give you one of those nasty orange ones.”

With that, Theo sprang from the room. Branigan looked for something he could use as a crutch—temporarily—to pull himself up.

“As I said, I thank you ma’am.” He stifled several winces, a moan, and a heavy curse just shifting his weight. “I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“As I said, stop moving your ass. I don’t care if it’s gangs or drugs or what you’re into. Even if you were capable of walking out that door under your own steam, I ain’t letting you bleed out from a bullet wound and what looks like the goddamn Grand Canyon in your shoulder now that I got you here. What were you gonna do it Theo hadn’t taken a shine to you, huh? Tried to patch this up yourself?”

Branigan tried to shrug; he’d had worse. The wound in his shoulder soon had him hissing in pain at the movement. That cut went through muscle. It was nearly all the way around his back and would have taken some serious gymnastics to stitch on his own, probably in some sweet hotel bathroom he could rent by the hour.

He looked into his caretaker’s steely gray eyes. She cocked an eyebrow. He bowed his head in surrender. At least that only hurt a decent amount. 

“Right. Now, let’s get that coat off and get a proper look at you. I’m Moira. Not giving you a last name and you better not go poking Theo for one, you hear? We’re decent folk keeping our heads down in a bad neighborhood and I won’t have you coming back to haunt us. Theo’s been let down enough times. I’ll stick this bullet back in you if he gets hurt by you.”

Branigan Leahy learned several things that afternoon: Theo was short for Theodin; Moira was a secret Lord of the Rings nerd. Branigan was going to seriously have to work on his sewing skills because while it still hurt like hellfire, Moira’s stitches in his shoulder did a much better job than any field dressing he’d ever done. Of course, that also could be due to the fact that she had been pre-med before getting pregnant with Theo and, thus, had managed to get the bullet lodged in his abdomen out before Bran had woken up. (He shuddered and thrice thanked his lucky stars for that). There was now a character on Sesame Street named Abi Kadabi who was a literal fairy. And forget everything he’d learned about protein intake and proper hydration; popsicles were fucking delicious after a firefight.

Moira left the living room to throw away the remains of Bran’s bloody bandages and Theo’s sugar-sticky napkins only to return and find the pair snoring softly to the tune of Elmo’s World. Theo curled against Bran’s less-injured side, their legs tangled together, as Bran wrapped an arm as tightly around the kid as he could. As gently as possible, Moira slipped a blanket around the boys’ shoulders.

After all, it was their ‘sponsibility to look after each other. 

Tagging my enablers: @softazelma, @undersketchdraws, @redwingedwhump, @friendly-neighborhood-frog, @yeetiestofyoots, @aquaace, @blue-flare10, @straight-to-the-pain, @abouttemperedgrace.  I love you all!

[kinthinia]

My Songbird

“Tell me bard… do you sing prettily?”

Jaskier nodded eagerly. “I’m going to be the most famous bard on the Continent. Everyone will know my name.”

She caressed his cheek, smiling cruelly. “What a lovely dream.”

Jaskier beamed at her. “I could sing for you, if you like.” He’d sing even if she didn’t like, but everyone liked his singing.

“I want a song about heartache -that of a lover bidding his final farewell, unknowing.”

So he opened his mouth, and sang the prettiest song he could find. It was about lovers; the man sentenced to war, his lover engaged to another, their final embrace. And as he sang, he found he could not stop. Even as she un-clipped the vial at her throat, and silver threads wove through the air. When the song was over, when the soldier returned to find his lover married to another, there was no sound left in the viscount.

He never learned her name, but she would forever haunt his nightmares. She had stolen his voice, and along with it, every dream he’d ever treasured.

It’s not a curse, is the first thing Jaskier learns after he sets out on the road.

Funny, now, how he couldn’t remember her name or face anymore. Even in his nightmares, she was a faceless creature of horror.

He headed down the road, chasing after every rumor of witch or sorceresses he could find. The first he’d encountered, Keira, had looked at him pityingly and told him he wasn’t cursed. She barely even read his journal entry, where he described what he could remember of the night in question. She shook her head, necklaces jangling, and raced into Kerack like a devil was on her heels. Keira Metz was of no help then, and Jaskier continued down the road.

Bandits weren’t such a problem if you knew to stick to the well-traveled roads, managed to look like you knew how to use a weapon, and best of all, if you wore plain clothes and didn’t stand out. He kept his belongings in one bag, slung over his back. He stopped in every village to replenish his supplies, to bathe, and to inquire after any known witches or sorcerers in the area. He got a warmer reception than he was used to, considering there wasn’t a hulking, looming White Wolf behind him.

But learning to live with his muteness had a steep learning curve. He learned quickly to avoid the pretty girls, for he had no silver tongue with which to explain his situation; and he learned to avoid the men with furrowed brows and crossed arms, for they were looking for an excuse to throw a punch. He kept to the elderly matrons, opening his book and pointing at the words.

There was always at least one or two people in the villages who knew how to read and it was them he had to rely on. He hated it. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room as any bard or travelling minstrels, not without his ears bleeding. It was an open wound in his heart, ripped open any time he had to witness others playing his craft. He would have been the greatest. No. He was still going to be the greatest, once he tracked down someone with some answers for him.

So Jaskier spent the next year on the road, tracking rumors and whispers of witches and sorceresses. He met some that were more notable than others; the beautiful Lytta, who hugged him when she told him there was nothing she could do to help. but maybe he could try Yennefer -if she was in a good mood, she might even help (and there was no way he would ever go to Yennefer, not after the mountain). Then there was the tough Adrianna who had no interest in a scrawny voice-less bard; Felicia, who could not give him any information, but styled his hair for free in apology; and then there was tiny, sweet Nina. She read every word on the pages that he handed her.

“This is beyond my knowledge,” she admitted. “It’s not a curse; your voice was stolen. It sounds like a wittier problem to me,” she said, handing the paper back with a careless shrug. “I mean you could try asking Ida in the Blue Mountains, she’s an elven sage and likely knows more than I.”

Jaskier scribbled down his thanks. He would not seek out a witcher, even if it was his last resort. Besides that, if it had been a monster, he would have remembered. No, the person who had left him without a voice was human. She had to be magic, to take away his voice. He offered Nina the last of his coin silently, and continued on his way. This time though, towards the Blue Mountains.

“The elves are not known for their kindness to humans, not after the Great Cleanse. I cannot in good conscience consign you to death.”

Jaskier smiled at her sadly. Nina’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened with sorrow. “You can live a long, fulfilling life without your voice.”

Jaskier laughed silently. He could, but it wouldn’t have made for much of a life to live. He was going to become the most famous bard on the Continent; his songs forever immortalizing him. But he couldn’t explain how he knew it, nor could he explain the urgency he felt incessantly driving him down the road. It didn’t matter how many times he was told “sorry I can’t help” or “this isn’t magical” there was an answer out there somewhere.  But for now, he was headed back towards Possada. Beyond that, into Dol Blathana itself, and the Blue Mountains beyond.

“If you won’t be swayed otherwise…” Nina said, sighing, her hands on her hips. “The least I can do is is wish you well, traveler. And strongly suggest you pick a witcher’s brain if given the chance.”

Jaskier waved her concern off. He was about as likely to run into a witcher as he was into a dragon. A real dragon, at that, not one of those wyverns that plagued merchants. What he didn’t count on, was attracting the attention of a pack of bandits who dogged his footsteps. He ended up having to abandon the road, realizing they were trying to corral him into an ambush. So instead, he slogged through marshland, past barren trees. He feared his feet would never be dry again. He’d been counting on having weeks more of dry ground, the relief of hot sunshine but instead he quickly found himself lost. No one in their right mind went mapping marshland, so his map wasn’t of any help. The first night, he didn’t dare light a fire in case the robbers were still on his trail. He didn’t think it was likely, but he could hear things splashing out in the dark. He didn’t sleep much.

He didn’t think about the White Wolf, or how much easier travelling had been with a companion. He hadn’t thought of the man since it happened. What good would it do? If Ida couldn’t help him, if he had to choose between Yennefer and Geralt he thought he was better off with the sorceress. Geralt would likely proclaim “good riddance” and go out of his way to be completely useless. He could live a life writing songs, but it wouldn’t be the same. It would never be the same.