#this movie looks so beautiful its ridiculous

[waynes-multiverse]

Ok hear me out. I got this idea after the episode of Dean getting his "virginity" back and hooking up with the porn star when he's digging through her dresser and finds the DVD of her ANYWAY

Best friend Dean who's been pining after you for sooo long but doesn't want to fuck it up and lose you. You're hanging out when you ask him to go grab something from your room and he's digging through your drawers looking and accidentally comes across some lingerie and now it's days later and he's so hot and bothered cuz he can't think of anything else (the boy has a serious panty kink lets be honest) and you catch him in your room going through your drawers again and OH

A/N: As I warned y'all, this is a longer DD because, well, the prompt was long, so it's not really my fault. All that backstory took on a life of its own, but I think no one will be mad about it 😅 Again, I had tons of fun with this one! You'll see 🤣

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSWF, a ridiculous heat wave, friends to lovers (Wayne's Version), crack, a panty kink, some sneaky fluff, and some hot lovin' aka smut (oral f & face sitting)

Word Count: 4.5k (whoops)

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles

Cruel Summer

“You open the beaches on the 4th of July, it’s like ringing the dinner bell for Christ’s sake…”

As Jaws flickered across the screen in the Dean Cave, the green-eyed hunter adjusted himself in his seat. Usually, he had perfect control over himself and his feelings for you.

But on some days – like today – when you sat right next to him on the couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and some short sweatpants, fanning yourself with an old magazine of Busty Asian Beauties as beads of salty sweat collected on your forehead and trickled down your neck, you made it hard for him.

“God, I’m so hot,” you sighed exhaustively and sunk further into the couch cushions, lifting your shirt from your sticky skin to let some cool air to your boobs as a heat wave ravaged through Kansas.

Painfully hard.

“Dean?” You pouted with your best puppy dog look at your best friend.

“Huh?” Dean was in trance, watching you more than the movie, always on the edge of getting caught one of these days.

“We’re out of Sour Patch Kids. I have more in my nightstand. Can you get them for me please?” you asked sweetly. “I don’t wanna move. I might actually die from heat exhaustion.”

Dean sighed and wordlessly rose from his seat. He knew you always kept an array of salty and sweet midnight snacks in your room in case you got hungry and didn’t want to wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Moreover, he was grateful for the break. God knows he couldn’t stand to be around you any longer, or he would’ve been too tempted to rip your clothes off and really make you sweat.

I’ll show her a damn heat exhaustion, he thought with a scoff.

Hastily grabbing the desired snack, his green eyes then caught something red and lacy sticking out from the first drawer of your dresser. The hunter knew the decent and honest thing would’ve been to just keep moving and leave your godforsaken room.

Turn around, as Bonnie Tyler sang. But for some reason, his bright eyes couldn’t resist, his curiosity overtaking him.

Dean opened the drawer with the intention to push the naughty little clothing item back into its place and out of sight. Get rid of the temptation, so to speak. It sounded like the perfect loophole. He got to touch it and look at it, but for a very heroic and noble reason – not because he was a creepy perv, violating his best friend’s privacy.

On some level, Dean knew he’d never stand a chance with you. He wasn’t good enough. He had so much baggage all his suitcases wouldn’t even fit into the bunker.

A damn touch of a pair of panties you weren’t even wearing was all he would ever get from you.

But then his fingers touched the soft and see-through material, his pads tracing every delicate scarlet thread with precision and care. It was game over for him then and there, cursing himself internally for not resisting harder as his cock twitched joyfully in his jeans.

Dean had laid his eyes on you the second you strolled with swinging hips into that diner in Wichita for your very first case together, a werewolf hunt six years ago. And he had managed to get by without an incident for years since then, even when you moved into the bunker, being rather proud of that achievement. He never wanted to lose you as a friend and didn’t dare to cross a line. Ever.

Recently, though, it became more difficult to keep his distance and not let his thoughts wander. His feelings were magma that slowly had filled a volcano over the years. Each time you did something sexy or sweet or goofy or smart, another drop was added. And now, that damn fire mountain was overdue for an eruption – no thanks to that stupid heat wave.

“Thanks,” you said absentmindedly as the hunter handed you the candy but didn’t settle back down. Instead, he stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands on the backrest.

What you didn’t know, though, was that Dean was sporting quite the boner and wouldn’t dare to come into your line of view. He was surprised he could even walk up straight and not like a caveman early in the evolution.

A hunter gathering panties.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he told you with a somber clear of his throat. As the fan carried a breeze of your perfume to his nose, his grip tightened on the couch.

You turned in your seat and looked over your shoulder at him, raising a surprised brow. “Already? But the movie’s not over.”

“Yeah, I’m beat,” he excused and tried his best not to look strained. He forced a tight smile to his lips while his little dude celebrated Spring Break in his jeans. “‘Sides, we’ve seen Jaws like a million times now, Y/N.”

It was a cherished summer tradition between the two of you, watching it every 4th of July.

“I guess so.” You shrugged disappointedly, watching your best friend retreat to his room. Truth was, you loved spending time with Dean and held those little traditions close to your heart.

The Winchesters were your family, the only one you ever had. And while some families wore matching pajamas on Christmas morning, you watched the first two Die Hard movies. You would watch Dean’s favorite horror movies on Halloween. Sixteen Candles and High Fidelity on your birthday, Tombstone and The Great Escape on Dean’s, and some lame-ass foreign language documentaries that you both snored through on Sam’s.

Valentine’s Day was a dreaded non-holiday for all three of you, but for the past four years, someone would leave a box of chocolate in front of your door. The salted caramel ones would always be missing, and it always came with the same Forrest Gump quote:

I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.

You knew the anonymous someone was Dean, and you knew he meant it as a joke. Still, you clung to those little traditions. They might seem silly and stupid to some, but to you, they were your lifeline in a world full of darkness.

So, you felt rather saddened Dean didn’t seem to honor them anymore. It wasn’t just Jaws, either. He’d been withdrawing from you for a while, and you didn’t understand why.

Unbeknownst to you, the green-eyed hunter had kept a lacy souvenir from your room.

Now, Dean had managed to avoid you for four days. Every night since his stealthy excursion, he would lie in his bed with your stolen panties in one hand and his throbbing length in the other, feeling goddamn pathetic for sinking so low.

It was probably so low that even his memory foam mattress would remember it.

With closed eyes, he then imagined how the perky globes of your ass would look like covered in crimson lace. How you would stretch out on his bed on all fours, with your ass high in the air and wiggling in front of him. How his fingers would push the wicked material aside to push into you, taking you deep and hard while you moaned his name.

As he ruined tissue after tissue, the guilt would wash over him as soon as he was done. Call it a post-nut epiphany.

Dean knew it was wrong to think those things. He knew he only made it harder for himself to ever look you into the eyes again. Hell, he barely could do it now, even though a part of him audaciously wondered what other treasures were hiding in that drawer of yours. And more pressingly, what ultimate wealth he would find beneath your clothes. If your lingerie was gold, he’d be a creepy-ass dragon sitting on it.

So, Dean tried to avoid you as best as possible. Mostly because, well…

“God, fuck me,” you groaned exhaustively and opened the refrigerator door, leaning against it as the refreshing cold hit you from behind. On top of that, you held a big bag of frozen peas to your sweaty chest. You already wore the bare minimum – some short denims and a white tank top, your hair up in a messy bun.

“I swear underboob sweat is the worst. Just be glad you don’t have tits,” you complained. “Guys, seriously, can we invest in an AC? This heat wave is killing me! This bunker is like one giant oven…”

You watched as Dean squirmed in his seat as he ate his cereal, looking as uncomfortable as you. Surely, the boys were suffering just as badly during those sweltering temperatures, already forgoing the usual flannels and opting for plain t-shirts instead. How they were still wearing jeans was beyond you. When you first moved in, you protested against Dean’s suggestion of Naked Tuesdays, but these days, you were actually giving it a second thought.

“Well, I’m gonna drive to Kansas City today and see if I can get us an AC. Apparently, they’re all sold out, but I figured maybe with a bit of flirting and some cleavage, I can still get us one,” you explained your plan with a bright smirk and wiggled your eyebrows. “What d’you guys think, huh?”

Dean then abruptly banged his fist on the table, spilling some milk from his bowl on the surface. “For God’s sake, Y/N!”

You frowned in confusion at his unexpected outburst. “What’s up with you? Are you having a heat stroke?”

“Flirting, really?!” the hunter barked, his brow shaped into a deeply furious v.

“What’s wrong with that? Double standard much? You do it all the time to get shit,” you countered and watched his jaw clench in anger.

“I do-... not,” he remarked snappily with a fierce finger drilling into the table, clearly lacking a good argument. Sam cleared his throat in agreement with you, but that only earned him a glare. “And Jesus fucking Christ, would it hurt you to put on some goddamn clothes? You’re not even wearing a bra!”

“Did you not hear my tits rant just now? Of course I’m not! ‘Sides, those boobs are gonna get you an AC, so be a little more grateful to them,” you retorted, annoyed with his attitude. You’d think of all the people in this world, Dean Winchester would understand. (And maybe even appreciate it.) “And how can you even tell, huh?”

“‘Cause science, Y/N! You’re literally cooling your tits! What did you think was gonna happen, huh? Nipples!” he vented outrageously. “This ain’t a strip club!”

“It’s 102 degrees, Dean!” you argued, throwing your arms up. “Look, if I could, I’d even go naked, alright? It’s fucking hot!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Dean shook his head and stormed out of the kitchen without any further comment.

Confused, you blinked at the younger Winchester. “What’s up with him?”

But Sam only shrugged, shaking his head. “Uhm, I don’t know,” he replied, although he could take an educated guess, suspecting his brother’s feelings for you as the culprit.

“Well, alright, I’m going to Kansas City,” you decided without wasting another thought on the older Winchester’s strange behavior. “Text me if you guys need something. I can pick it up on my way home.”

Dean knew he was in deep trouble as his bow legs bolted down the bunker’s hallways. He tried so hard to keep it together, but when he saw you, half-naked and panting in front of the fridge, he quite literally lost his coolness in this goddamn heat wave.

The green-eyed hunter understood a thing or two about torture, but this was the worst of all. He’d rather have a demon repeatedly peel off his skin in hellfire than endure a day more of this fucking madness.

If the temperatures didn’t drop soon, it would be a cruel summer ahead of him.

As Dean heard the door to the garage close, he knew you’d left for your trip and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. At least he’d get a few hours of peace.

With the best intentions, he strolled to his bedroom, but as he passed your room on his way, he found the door ajar. Whatever good motives he had up until this point, went quickly out the window right then.

His hand twitched at the thought of more riches, worse than any trigger finger and competing with a California earthquake, and well, so did the dick in his jeans. It was an addiction at this point, an obsession he couldn’t resist nor get rid off. The fact that it was forbidden and wrong only made it even more appealing. The apple in the garden of Eden.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t an anonymous support group for this kind of sickness.

As unbearable shame and guilt collected in his stomach like rainwater in the gutter, his eager hands rummaged through your dresser drawer. There was purple lace and black satin, navy G-strings and white Brazilians. It was never ending, and the hunter couldn’t stop as he picked up each item and let his fantasies roam wild.

God, the things he wanted to do to you were as colorful as your rainbow full of underwear.

“Dean?!”

The green-eyed hunter froze in his place, a white lace panty still bunched up in his large palm. The hair in the back of his neck stood up in shock, a part of him refusing to turn around at the sound of your voice. He was caught red-handed, and he knew it.

“What are you doing in my room?” you prompted, suspiciously cocking an eyebrow. It looked fairly obvious what your best friend was up to, but you didn’t want to accuse him right away, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Frankly, it was quite unbelievable.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean replied and swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held up his hands like a criminal during an arrest, the evidence still in his grasp.

“Well, it looks like you’re snooping through my lingerie,” you pointed out bluntly.

Dean nodded, guilt-ridden and reluctant. “I can explain.”

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m waiting…”

“Right, uhm…”

“Oh, before you scramble for an answer, you should know, though, that I’m aware a pair of red lace panties is missing, and I know the washer didn’t eat them,” you said and raised an expectant brow.

You had a feeling your pervy best friend was behind the mystery of the missing item. Now you knew for sure.

“Man, I always knew you were a kinky son of a bitch, but this is a new level, Dean,” you scolded.

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor in shame, scratching the nape of his neck. “Look, uhm, there’s no good excuse. I know I fucked up here. I’ll sleep in a motel tonight until I find my own place. You can stay here with Sam, alright? I’ll move out and won’t bother you anymore.”

As he tried to brush past you, you blocked his exit and grabbed his arm. “So, you’re gonna leave? Just like that?”

“What other choice do I have? I don’t wanna make you more uncomfortable,” he stated without glancing at you once. He couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes and see the disappointment and disgust there. “I know what I did was wrong.”

“Oh, so wrong,” you agreed. “I just figured you wouldn’t run away like a coward and take your punishment like a man, you know? Aren’t you at all curious what I’m wearing right now?”

That was when Dean’s juniper eyes slowly wandered to you and caught your gaze for the first time. You smirked as his breathing became heavy and his look darkened and filled with lust. It seemed like he wanted to rip your clothes off with his goddamn bare teeth like a wild animal.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or if I’m dreaming,” he admitted, his deep voice part harsh swallow and part nervous chuckle.

“Neither,” you said, biting your bottom lip.

Carefully, you leaned closer, your hands reaching up to cup his scruffy cheeks. Noses nuzzled as your lips ghosted against his with a daring grin. You wouldn’t go further; it was up to Dean to make that final decision.

And then, as no more than a mere second ticked by on the clock, the hunter crashed his lips against yours in a kiss so scorching it made the current heat wave look like an ice age. If you thought you were hot before, now it felt like you were burning in a wildfire.

Dean roughly pushed you against the door, his kiss all teeth and tongue in an uncontrollable frenzy. His dick was hard and thick, straining against his jeans and rubbing along your thigh. Pantingly, you gasped for air and grabbed his hand, guiding it down your body and into your shorts.

“Feel that?” you asked mischievously as his fingers dug through your soaked folds and collected the arousal he caused. A wanton growl left his plush lips. “All for you, baby. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

“Shit, yeah, so bad…” Dean rasped huskily against your throat as he worshipped his path down your body, forcing your shirt up till his wet tongue rolled over your pert and still cold nipple.

“Gonna make it up to me, huh? Show me how sorry you are?” you prompted, your fingers raking through his sandy blond and soft hair, eliciting a groan from him every time you tugged a little harder.

Teeth pinched your skin, tongue cherished your taste, and lips left your throat bruised. It was equal parts hot, sweaty, messy, naughty, dirty, and sticky as your bodies rutted against one another, looking for dire release.

With swollen and plumper than before lips, he came back up for air and found your eyes. He kissed you with heated passion once more as if he couldn’t resist to touch you over and over again. He had to restrain himself to be able to speak.

“So, uhm, you sure about this?” Dean asked between labored breaths with an insecure gleam in his green eyes. “‘Cause if we go further, I don’t think I can stop. And I don’t mean just this time but ever… If you want this to be a one time thing, you gotta tell me, sweetheart, so I can mentally prepare myself. I mean, I’ll take what I can get, you know? Not that I care either way… Well, that’s not true. I do care. A lot… But, you know, you’re you, and I’m me, so I’m not delusional. I know there’s no way you would–”

You interrupted his babbling with a kiss, causing the hunter to lose his words. You looked deeply into his eyes and offered him a small smile of comfort.

“Dean, listen to me, okay? ‘Cause this is very important,” you urged, your hands gripping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, gulping anxiously. “O-Okay.”

“You’re incredible,” you said and watched him inhale sharply at your words, blinking at you in disbelief. “Absolutely fucking bonkers incredible. You’re right – you’re you. And thank God you are, because you’re the best, funniest, smartest, kindest, and goddamn hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m tired of you not seeing that. As my boyfriend, I really need to you to see that, alright?”

As Dean pensively took in your words, his brow began to furrow. “Boyfriend?”

The corners of your mouth rose to a beam. “Yeah, boyfriend,” you confirmed. “That’s what you want, right? ‘Cause I’d really like that, too.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah… That’s what I want.” Dean nodded eagerly before another swallow followed. “I mean, among other things…”

You bit your lip, smirking. “What other things?”

“Well, uhm…”

Dean didn’t finish his sentence, his lips impatiently claiming yours instead. He pressed you hungrily back against the door, massive hands sliding down your sides till they hooked into the hem of your denim shorts and ripped them down to your ankles, leaving you only covered in teal lace. He growled shamelessly at the sight, his thick digits eagerly diving inside.

“Wanna be inside you,” he groaned into your ear, thumbing furiously at your clit. “Every hour of every day…”

“We can do that,” you agreed with a giggle, your arms locking around his neck, fingers carding through his hair in the back.

“Wanna feel your mouth around my–” The last word was muffled as he ravaged your neck, but you understood where he was going with this.

“You can do that,” you said with a smile.

“And fuck, I want you to ride my face,” he declared. That demand left you speechless, making even Dean stop for a minute and look at you. “Too far?”

You shook your head and smirked. “I can do that.”

Before Dean’s mind could fathom your words, you shoved him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress. When you stood before him, slotted between his muscular legs, his gaze trailed up and down your body, memorizing every beautiful curve. As your fingers curled into the waistband of your panties, however, the hunter stopped you.

“Leave ‘em on, sweetheart. Don’t you dare take those off,” he told you, his hands rapaciously reaching out to you.

You played with the hem of your top and smirked, your tongue licking over your lips. “What about this? On or off?”

“Off,” he shot back faster than a bullet leaving a barrel.

“You first,” you demanded and grinned. “Remember, this is still your punishment.”

“God, I love getting punished,” Dean mumbled and slipped out of his shirt. He then swiftly shimmied out of his jeans, discarding each item carelessly around the room.

He then took a deep breath as he tugged the waistband of his boxers, his erection already fighting its way out. “Well, here goes nothing,” the hunter said and pulled his underwear down.

You tilted your head to see his hard cock from a better angle as it sprang against his stomach. Your lips parted in anticipation, wondering what he’d taste like on your tongue and how deep you’d be able to take him. You guessed there’d be a struggle ahead, considering how huge and wide he was.

“Oh, I would not call that monster nothing,” you commented with a scoff, your pussy throbbing with need. “Explains all that BDE.”

Dean blushed. It was cute to watch. “Thank you.”

Giggling, you removed your shirt and tossed it at his face, blinding him for a second. You used that momentum to slide onto the bed and straddle his torso. As his eyes finally found you again, he almost choked on his spit when he gazed up at your perfect tits above him. A primal grunt escaped his throat.

With a mesmerized sparkle in his eyes, his hands trailed up your body and cupped your breasts, massaging them roughly as your panties grew damper by the minute. He then pulled you down to his lips and kissed you breathless before he left them with a boyish smirk on his freckled face.

“Hop on, sweetheart.”

And as if his words hadn’t been enough motivation, his hands wandered to palm your ass and hauled you closer to his mouth. He was an impatient one – or maybe he’d waited years for this and was finally tired of it.

Your knees sunk into the mattress on either side of his stubborn head. His fingers dented your flesh as they grabbed onto your thighs. Yours held onto the headboard for support. You tried not to look down, because then you’d see his big lopsided and full of excitement grin.

The same one he had when you found a diner in Kentucky that advertised the biggest burger in America (it wasn’t). The same one he had when he thought he had run into a member of Metallica at a gas station outside of Phoenix (he didn’t). The same one he had when you and Sam gifted him his own beer brewing station for his last birthday (which tasted horrible, but neither you nor Sam had the heart to tell him).

And now, he had that same grin when he was about to be with you.

As your pussy dripped above him, Dean couldn’t hold back his lewd groans any longer. You didn’t even have to lower yourself; he just dragged you down onto his face all to eagerly. His fingers swiped your panties to the side, and before you could even adjust your grip on the bedpost, his tongue darted into your soaked channel as deeply as he could and sucked you goddamn dry.

With several whimpers, you clenched around his wet muscle. If you were water in the desert, he was parched and drinking to survive.

His nose was buried in your folds, rubbing deliciously against your clit as he lapped your pussy in a vicious attack that left you squirming and moaning to a pornographic degree above him. Because Dean was just that – pure porn.

Instinctively and irresistibly, you ground your cunt against him, the vibrations of his keen groans against your sensitive flesh rocking you to the edge of your climax. He ate you out and devoured you like that damn gigantic burger in Kentucky. And as you dared to blink down and watch him in action, he had the audacity to devilishly smirk up at you with the crinkles around his green eyes alone, gauging your every reaction to his touches as if you were a goddamn movie on a silver screen.

You trembled and quivered and screamed as your orgasm electrified every molecule in your body. You white-knuckled the wood in your grip, your body only held up by Dean’s strong arms because God knows your weak legs were useless now.

As wave after wave washed over you, Dean drank every drop of yours, his tongue never getting enough of your taste. The sounds that filled the room were carnal and obscene.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed blissfully and lifted off his face and captured his swollen and red lips in a grateful kiss, your palms finding purchase on his broad shoulders. Your drenched and sensitive cunt settled on his thighs as an egregiously large erection poked your belly and tempted you further.

Dean smirked up at you, all satisfied and confident with his achievement. “I think we have a slight problem, though.”

Your brow knitted, your heart tightening with anxiety. Had you been as disappointing as the burger, beer, and that fake Metallica band member?

But Dean only grinned teasingly at your confused face. “There’s no way I learned my lesson here.”

You snorted and sought out his lips, the kiss giving you a taste of yourself. “We’ll work on that. I might have to nickname you Jaws after this,” you joked.

“Can’t wait for you to explain that one to Sammy.” Dean snorted, chuckling. “Now, how about you hop on again, but this time a little further south, huh?” he proposed with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive twitch of his cock for emphasis.

You giggled with a few nods. “I can do that.”

Was it worth the words? 😝

For all you newcomers and as a general reminder, Dirty Drabbles are always open. I still have quite a few left, but you're welcome to send more in, and we'll add it to the collection at some point 😎🔥

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[onlyswan]

summary: in which you sacrifice your strawberries and eyelash wishes for the boy knocking at your door.

idol!jungkook x reader, strangers to friends (?) to lovers / fluff and a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: allusions to death and grief / jungkook is a cutie patootie and a blushing hopeless romantic mess / he wants to kiss oc so bad (me too bro) / oc is a sunshine <3 / they do chores and watch movies together :((( / in one scene he was worried oc would think of him as a perv lmao / they’re dorks and i love them / seokjin cameo hehehe

> in which masterlist!

note: to make up for the pain i may have caused and will cause <3 LOL. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :D as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! come chat w me. ily 🌼

—

“it’s so cold,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

the grocery bags sit on the hardwood table with a thud— the careless bringer too hasty. you shove your icy hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, breathing in and out with a sense of relief.

you are not granted the mundane euphoria for much longer, however. the doorbell rings and you are padding across the floor against your will. the cold air hits your face before it enters your apartment.

however, the happy smile that greets you blankets your heart with a type of warmth that is difficult to describe.

if you had to guess who was behind the door, you wouldn’t say the boy you’ve been fiercely pining over for the past month, but it is certainly who you’d be hoping for regardless.

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

jungkook stands motionless by your open front door as you disappear into your apartment. confusion accompanied by curiosity, he tries poking his head inside, but then decides that he shouldn’t.

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

he accepts the jar of honey faster than he could think.

“w-why are you-?”

you tilt your head, lips forming a small pout. “isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“uh, actually-” he awkwardly pauses, hand that carries the heavy paper bag behind him suddenly feeling weak. “i came here to give you something.”

your eyes animatedly expand in surprise of the size of it, not at all expecting to receive a gift from him today. you do know that he’s fresh from japan, as you converse on the phone almost everyday… why would he come here almost immediately? and didn’t he say they weren’t given the chance to roam the city because of their work schedule?

“i just grabbed things i thought you might like. i hope i got most of them right?” he explains with a nervous chuckle as you take a look inside.

a diverse array of snacks; a beautiful journal painted with cherry blossoms; a hello kitty plushie; stickers, muji pens…

“oh my god, jungkook… these are too much. you didn’t have to.”

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

“wow, gifting your merch- that’s real idol behavior for you.” you tease him, referring to the hooded jacket that has their group logo on its plastic packaging. “thank you!”

“no but it seriously warms you up! i have one too!”

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

“ah, shut up! i’m getting embarrassed!” he whines, blushing. “just look at them later after i leave, how about that?”

“let go! it’s mine!” you glare at him, hugging the paper bag to your chest to deny his advances on snatching it away. “are you not leaving? don’t you have work?”

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

“oh,” you blink. “i don’t remember reading that.”

“you? what are you doing today?”

you bite back the smile threatening to give away the thoughts running in your mind a thousand miles per hour. why does he want to know?

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

jungkook puts his hand inside the pocket of his coat, an attempt to appear casual as he offers you his valiant effort. “do you want some help? i’m good at doing chores.”

you stare at him, perplexed, as if he just said the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“it’s your rest day and you want to do chores?”

“sure,” he grins playfully, not at all seeing how that could be wrong. “why not?”

“you know…” you pause— observing his expression, considering shutting your mouth, but that plan rarely ever works out. “you can just say that you want to spend time with me, right?”

your bluntness sends his heart racing. you’re a danger to his health.

he sinks his perfect teeth on his bottom lip, bringing his dimples into view. to be honest, you didn’t always have a thing about dimples. you didn’t consider them all that special. but why do they make him look cute and sexy at the same time?

his cheeks become tinted with a pale scarlet. you’re wearing that friendly beam again; he doesn’t know how to act. he never knows whether you are joking or not.

“well, now i know.”

—

jungkook sets down the jar of honey on the table as he settles in the living room, fascinated doe eyes darting around every inch of your place. it’s not his first time here, but somehow, it looks different each time. the two frames hanging above the sofa captures his attention all over again, colorful drawings against the plain white wall. gifted to you by your siblings, you said.

a tall castle with a happy family. a little boy slaying a dragon to protect a princess from its savage fire.

he is blissfully unaware of the knowledge that the drawings are the lone survivors of a school bus and a tragedy. you want it to stay that way. you want people to feel the opposite of the sadness you feel when you look at them. that is how you seek your peace.

“are you wearing toe socks?”

“huh?” he makes a sound of confusion, only processing your question upon seeing your gaze trained to his feet. “ah- toe socks- yes.”

“i’m only noticing them now. they look funny.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling.

“don’t laugh! they’re so comfortable!”

“really?” your eyes widen with genuine interest. “i should try them then.”

“yeah, you should!”

he whips his head around as he jokingly voices out an observation.

“but ____, your house kind of looks different today… it’s almost like it’s cleaner than the last time i was here.”

you bury your face in your hands with a high-pitched wine, hiding from him in humiliation. you did not plan on inviting someone over that night, and he had to watch you run around organizing and picking up things— the scattered books all over the table and the floor; the jackets that have created a big heap on the small couch; the jewelry box that ended up on the dining table for some reason.

he laughs in endearment, unable to take his eyes from you. even the way your hair bounces as you furiously shake your head is pretty. wait, does that sound weird?

“that’s right, it should look different! the first thing i did when winter break started was clean up my mess.”

“what’s the first chore on the list then?” he catches the grocery bags in the kitchen from his peripheral. “were you putting away your groceries?”

“you really want to do chores? you don’t want to watch a movie or something?”

“aigoo, it’s fine!” he waves off your reluctance. “stop worrying! i already said i’d help you.”

“but it’s embarrassing…”

it’s either jungkook is denying your advances or he is simply dense. but the fact that he showed up at your door unannounced on his day-off despite complaining about his exhaustion from their hectic work schedule, you want to lean towards the latter and believe that he is… as good at chores like he claims to be.

“you must like fruits a lot.” jungkook comments as he is squatted infront of your fridge, sheltering the freshly bought perishables one by one.

kimchi, lettuce, strawberries, tangerines, shine muscat, apples…

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

it feels strange to watch another person restock your fridge for you.

“they’re easy to eat and i’m lazy to cook.”

he chuckles as he looks back at you, who is sat on the dining table, airy and carefree as you snack on a bag of assorted chocolates from the paper bag he brought. almost all of the white chocolates are gone, he notes.

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

you energetically hop off the table, an idea lighting up the bulb in your mind.

“i have another recipe for you. french toast with strawberries, then drizzle some of the honey. should i make it for you?”

“ah!” he gasps as if he is in pain, but the truth is his mouth is watering. he hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he wanted to eat more for dinner last night but sleep proved to be much more enticing than food. “that sounds so good! i’m starving!”

“stand up!” you begin pulling at the back of his sweater, forcing him to remove himself from the floor. “i’ll make it! just go relax in the living room, okay?”

“but you just said you’re lazy to cook.” he tilts back his head, meeting your gaze. “i’ll help you.”

“i’m not lazy when it becomes to being a host.”

you bend down with a sweet smile, merely inches away from him, and jungkook swears the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. your face is natural and bare, except for the sheen of lip balm across your lips— and dear heavens, having you this close, you are so breathtakingly beautiful.

“they’re playing christmas movies on channel 36.” you announce, giving him the bag of chocolates. “and the remote is… somewhere on the sofa… or maybe the floor.”

and as he gets practically kicked out of the kitchen, your hands roughly pushing his back, he daydreams of kissing you and tasting sugar on your lips.

—

the sweet, addicting smell of the french toast— strong hints of butter and cinnamon— invades every corner of your apartment. consequently, it also compels jungkook to break your rules and insert himself in the kitchen again.

“you never give up, do you?”

“i don’t,” he agrees, nodding eagerly. he has successfully stolen the task of washing the strawberries, and then slicing them after. he endures the freezing water rendering his hands numb. “it’s a known fact.”

“are you saying i should study harder?” you cross your arms, expression painted with faux vexation.

“yes! exactly!” he humors you, grinning of amusement. “what’s my favorite color?”

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

“anyone can guess that from a mile away, jungkook.”

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

the sound of his laughter reminds of you reasons to stay through the cycle of the seasons. you don’t understand why, but for some reason, it has finally begun to feel like christmas. the only comfort that comes along with the cruel winter that nips at your skin; the blanket over your heart that provides a type of warmth one can travel to seek but will never be able to find alone.

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

the silence that follows is an answer enough for you. the noise of the television emerges now that none of you is talking. he pretends to be too busy to speak, transferring the strawberries over to the chopping board.

“yes, you’re ri-”

“liar!” you point an accusatory finger at him.

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

“tsk, i should’ve said yes faster! i wanted to experience what it’s like to be tall!” he regretfully purses his lips, eyebrows knitted as if he just lost the lottery. “but haven’t you read it online? even my shoe size and weight are there.”

“what? why do people even need to know that…?” you exclaim, flabbergasted. “i mean- of course i’ve searched up your name, but it feels like cheating on a test. does that sound silly…? it’s just more fun learning about you from you.”

you briefly walk away to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and jungkook is left at the counter with fondness blossoming in his chest, bleeding into the chopped strawberries staining his hands red.

he calls out your name.

“mhmm?” you hum in question, muffled by the water in your mouth.

“want to hear a fact about me?”

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, eyes expanding with fueled interest. “what?”

“i’m actually very good in the kitchen.” he boasts his skills with the kitchen knife, quick and precise, the blade against the wood creating the satisfying click you usually only hear from cooking shows. “are you seeing this? huh…? what do you think?”

“so i’ve noticed. i want something new!”

at that, his shoulder sags in disappointment. to his demise, there goes another failed attempt at making you acknowledge that he is boyfriend material.

“what do you want to know? ask me questions.”

“what’s your ideal type?”

being in your presence for the past hour has gotten jungkook re-adjusted to your personality— straight-forward, bold, smart— so vivacious that it’s dizzying. you make him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and he doesn’t quite know how to explain it either. but you’re a breath of fresh air, the change that he has been anticipating to disrupt his routine.

“why do you want to know that?”

you shrug coyly, smiling like the troublesome vixen that you are. you rather enjoy the tension that has hung in the air. if you’ve learned something from the past: men are easy to get, not easy to keep. because they relish in the chase, getting strung along like this. so, shouldn’t you have your fun too? but even if jungkook’s intentions were pure, you can only imagine that seeing someone whose life revolves around their career is… the perfect recipe for disaster.

“i think who you like also says a lot about who you are as a person.”

“i like someone who is kind and funny…” he hums in thought, unconsciously slotting a piece of strawberry in between his lips. “and passionate about the things they love… mhmm, someone who can be honest with me.”

his words form a constellation named after you, unbeknownst to you, and he wants to say more but anticipating what comes next after you connect the dots makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t feel like an adult yet. he’s still just a young boy with a gorgeous crush and high ambitions that coalesce in his dreams.

“i like someone who has a really pretty smile, too.”

and he should probably stop staring, erase the dumb lovesick smile on his face. for fuck’s sake, it would be easier for him if you would just do the same. behind the sparkles of your eyes, there is something he’s been dying to decipher.

“okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

“nothing,” he replies innocently. “you? what’s your ideal type? who do you like?”

“i don’t know… no one has captured my heart yet. they’re not trying hard enough!”

every romance you’ve had so far has been a letdown.

“but i’m still looking. i’m young, and hot, and the universe is vast.”

“mhm, i see… that’s true, but maybe… you don’t want to be looking too far.” jungkook suggests.

you smirk. “so you agree that i’m hot?”

“you know. you don’t need me to say it.” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

“the food is ready! let’s eat it before it gets cold!”

he runs to the living room without waiting for you, and you seize the opportunity to squeal without a sound, punching the counter without actually punching— releasing the giddiness threatening to spill from the seams of your heart.

you don’t know if this is heading somewhere, nor do you expect it to, but where you are right now is a good place to be.

—

the movie playing on the screen has become more of a white noise to you, a family comedy far less fascinating compared to jungkook drizzling honey over strawberries and bread from a spoon. you wonder if he is aware how often he creates sound effects while he is doing something.

beside you, his body quakes with cackles during the scenes that an editor would definitely insert the classic sound of an audience’s collective laughter and holler. you stumble upon the understanding that his happiness lies in a myriad of things, and you would envy him for it if not for the fact that he is currently sharing that happiness with you. you laugh when he laughs, and being becomes a little less heavier at that moment.

another commercial break rudely interrupts and jungkook turns towards you. the two of you sit cross-legged, knees knocking against each other as you occupy nearly the entire sofa.

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

“my best friend’s family invited me to stay with them for christmas until the new year. it’s kind of been a tradition since…”

the end of your sentence hangs suspended in the air. you still can’t say it out loud.

jungkook knows they’re gone and you’re alone: only the plain and brutal truths.

the reminder that this is the third christmas you will not spend with your family; the thought that this would be the third christmas they would spend without you if the afterlife was real— they bring tears to your eyes at once, but you forcibly blink them away, shoving enthusiasm down your throat.

“how about you?” you take a bite from your toast, attempting to divert your thoughts to… anything else. “are you coming home?”

you hide so well behind a smile. it doesn’t occur to jungkook that his question rubbed salt on an open wound.

“i miss my mom but i can’t go home yet.” he pouts. “i have work on christmas day as usual. we’ve been preparing hard for it.”

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

the music festival has been an annual event for his group since they debuted, and he never feels the need to complain because not everyone is given this kind of opportunity. what’s extraordinary for most has become his ordinary, and what was once his ordinary like everybody else’s has simply become a thing of the past. nevertheless, he does not have regrets. he is living a good life, one that he believes is his fate. as long as he has a voice and it is being heard, then his existence has meaning.

“your family will surely watch you, so they’re still celebrating it with you in a way. making them proud is the best christmas gift you can give!”

and right now, in his life, you are the cherry on top. you were so cheerful and supportive about the final shows of their tour as well, raving about how amazing it is to perform three nights in a row at gocheok skydome.

“i’ll watch you too!”

he can’t help it— you’re driving him to be better at what he does. childishly, he wants show off and be the one to capture your heart.

“ah!” he groans. “that means i should work harder at practice tomorrow! i can’t mess up infront of you and my family!”

“why not me? you want to make me proud too?” you interrogate him jokingly.

“of course, it’s my job. it’s what i do best. i’ll make you see!”

“use me as motivation then. you can’t mess up, okay? you have to do well, jungkook! you better not make a mistake! my eyes will be focused on you only!”

his face is reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights— the headlights being your wide, threatening eyes.

he releases a shaky sigh in dramatic fashion. “i don’t feel motivated, though? i’m getting pressured?”

you wheeze; the plate over your lap tilts along with its contents.

“this is tough love!”

jungkook nearly staggers to his feet. “…love?”

you roll your eyes, small corners of your lips still cheekily lifted. “was the french toast good?”

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

“but if it tastes like shit, just lie to me!”

“what are you talking about?!”

oh my god, you’re too fucking good at making him laugh.

“you’re eating it too! you know it’s delicious!”

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

“i’m going to the laundry shop across the street. i’ll just be a minute.” you announce, hauling a laundry basket to the living room.

your strained grunts prompt jungkook to look up from his phone, and eventually to stand up with urgency and relieve you of your heavy, heavy burden.

“shit, how heavy is this?”

you’re not given a chance to protest as the basket is immediately stolen from your grasp; your lips part open but no words come out.

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

it’s definitely heavier than usual; mainly comprised of the thick and layered clothes you’ve been wearing to shield yourself from the unforgiving cold.

“let’s go.”

jungkook wraps his hand around your wrist, gently tugging. the butterflies in your stomach wakes up earlier than spring’s arrival.

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

jungkook wears a cap and a face mask underneath his hoodie, eyes barely even visible in his all-black getup for the public to see; and somehow you also find yourself with a scarf around your neck, pulled up over the bridge of your nose.

when the year 2017 rolled in, you predicted that more crazy, life-altering stuff would happen. it has been an on-going theme, a relentless domino effect that has brought you to your knees time and time again. but you never would’ve fucking imagined that this is how you would be wrapping it up. how the hell did you cross paths with a famous idol, and why is he carrying your laundry basket right now?

“wait here for a bit.” you bring both hands to the basket’s handles, coaxing him to let go. “i’ll just bring it inside.”

“are you only dropping it off? that’s expensive!”

“what?” you stare at him in bewilderment, not expecting him to utter such statement at all. “you’re talking like you’re not rich!”

“i’m not! and still,” jungkook becomes flustered underneath his disguise. “it’s good to be practical. anyway, we have a lot of time.”

“you sound more like a mom than my mom did.”

“shhh!” he shushes you, putting a finger over his face mask. “let’s just do your laundry ourselves.”

“why would you do laundry right now? you’re supposed to be resting in the first place!”

a tug of war ensues infront of the laundry shop. strangers doesn’t know better. you look like a married couple bickering over who should take responsibility of the chore.

“____, just let me, mhm? i’m a pro at doing laundry too! we’ll be done before you know it!”

“how are you good at everything? honestly, it sounds like a scam!”

“how dare you doubt me?” he gasps in offense. “i do my own laundry!”

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

“i don’t think i believe you, though…”

“if you search online, you-” your voice echoes in his mind, and subsequently, jungkook cuts himself off.

‘it feels like cheating on a test. it’s more fun learning about you from you.’

“oh, nevermind. let’s go inside already. i’m freezing!”

“jungkook!” you whine, stomping your feet on the ground as you refuse to let go of the basket despite jungkook beginning to head inside.

“why?” he copies the childishness of your tone, and although you can’t see his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you enough.

“we can’t…”

the adorable sight of you appearing to be so shy is foreign to him. he can’t help but to chuckle. “why not?”

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

“they’re in there too… i was only going to drop them off today because you came with me…”

“ah…” jungkook awkwardly freezes, unblinking. “wait, you’re right?”

why didn’t he think of that? he’s a fucking idiot. of fucking course. what if you take things the wrong way and you’re creeped out by him now?!

“fuck, sorry. i’m sorry. i wasn’t- um, i swear i wasn’t trying to…”

his tongue becomes tied, struggling to search for the words that won’t make him sound like a damn pervert.

yeah, way to go, jungkook. you’re not the fucking boyfriend yet and you’re ruining your chances.

“did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry. it probably looked li-”

“hey, breathe, calm down. it’s alright, jungkook.”

you giggle in amusement, placing a hand over his chest— his heart. it’s meant to ease him, but the knowledge that you’re feeling his racing heartbeat only causes it to further intensify. he swallows the lump in his throat, dumbfounded by the turn of events. he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but he also wants to stay in this moment a little while longer.

“it’s alright. i’ll go bring this inside then i’ll treat you to lunch at the restaurant over there! don’t run away from me, okay?”

—

“the yukgaejang looks good.” you utter absentmindedly, admiring the spicy beef soup with plentiful vegetables from afar. “i’m jealous of you.”

the other tables are already having a feast while you and jungkook are waiting for your take-out to be prepared.

“then you should’ve ordered it too.” jungkook scolds you lightheartedly. “should i go?”

“no! i’m not good with spicy food. spice makes me cry.”

he smiles softly. once again, you complete the picture from his eyes. “what is there to frown so sadly about?”

“i feel like i’m missing out.” you complain, the pout on your face almost permanent. “spicy food is like one of the trademarks of korea, you know? but i can’t handle it!”

“so cute…” jungkook has decided to give in to his impulses, it seems— the evidence is him pinching your cheek for the very first time, and with the discovery of its delightsome softness, it will definitely not be the last.

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

his doe eyes glisten with pure wonder and excitement, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended when his hand moves to tenderly cup the side of your face. as he is absorbed in capturing the tiny eyelash that has fallen and glued itself on your cheek, your mind reels with the size of his hand, the sensation of his innocent touch against your neck.

“aaand-” jungkook takes your hand, passing on the eyelash to your index finger. “there you go. make a wish!”

your eyes flicker down, and none of you speaks for a moment or two.

a wish…?

what does one wish for when they have given up on wishing for miracles?

“did you do it?”

you peek at jungkook, nodding. at last, you blow the eyelash away, outside the window, where it becomes one with the snowflakes that came from the same sky where wishes are supposedly granted.

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

jungkook eats so well— you feel full just by watching him eat. so when he asked you, eyebrows knitted and legs bouncing, if he could have more rice, you were left with no choice but to plug in the rice cooker for the second time today. you cooked only enough for two meals today: brunch and dinner for one. you’re more than happy to have given him the dinner portion. you like that your apartment is providing warmth for another soul, despite the old times that it housed ones that ended up haunting you.

“are there any more chores to do? while we wait for the rice?”

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

the boy who was knocking at your door is now vacuuming your floors.

you sit on the couch with your legs hugged to your chest, chin propped on your knees. an unexplainable feeling swims in your chest, but your heart calls to welcome it. not to be delusional, but technically, isn’t this a marriage proposal?

it falls on dear ears— the infuriating sound of the cheap vacuum cleaner your landlord lended you and never came back for. underneath it is jungkook’s mellifluous voice, humming and singing, and it’s all you can hear.

the only use you knew of honey is the magic it does with tea for a sore throat. when you learned about his demanding occupation, he is all you can think of in relation to the elixir. since then, you’ve been taking the god awful amount of honey your pesky neighbor provides without any complaints.

this is nice… this is good. you are glad that you opened the door.

—

after a hearty and satisfying meal, you and jungkook retired to your previous spots infront of the television screen. more of the snacks he bought for you ended up being shared. near your stacks of books are colorful food wrappers and half-empty glasses of water. two mediocre yet entertaining movies later, you tell jungkook that you should pick up your laundry before the shop closes in an hour. however, after he has excused himself to the bathroom, he is greeted by the sight of you peacefully asleep on the sofa.

once more, a new side of you is laid bare, and his affection grows. he doesn’t know when he can admire your face this close again without melting from your stare.

heedful of disturbing your much deserved rest, he carefully places a pillow beneath your head, and he pulls down the blanket you’re wrapped in to cover your cold feet.

with one last stolen glimpse, he grabs your key and receipt from the bowl and leaves.

—

“is it time for you to leave?” you delicately rub at your eyes that are still half-closed; voice quiet, barely there.

you were awoken by the front door opening and closing, but nothing has quite registered to your fuzzy brain yet, except for the coat that you neatly kept and is already re-worn by its owner.

and he knows you’re most probably just sleepy, but the way you’re gazing at him as if you’re sad to see him go makes his heart clench.

“no, i picked up your laundry.” he enlightens you, consciously speaking with refined tenderness, as to preserve the serenity that has enveloped the atmosphere. “i can stay until eight. is that okay?”

you release a weary sigh, nodding. “of course… and you’re such a nice friend, thank you.”

he plops down on the sofa, filling the jungkook-shaped space beside you.

tired… you’re so tired… despite the given privilege to finally sleep to your heart’s content, you’re still so tired. your forehead lands softly on his shoulder, and unbeknownst to you due to your stupor, jungkook’s breath hitches— the polar opposite of the steady rise and fall of your chest. you make him swoon. he deliberately ignores the fact that you just called him a friend.

you peer down at the floor, past the curtain of your disheveled hair, slowly blinking. those ridiculous toe socks… you giggle in secret.

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

you lift your head and he knows— you have to be playing games with his heart, bringing the temptation to kiss you so painfully close. “do you want some tea?”

—

the performance has commenced but the passionate screams of the audience still rings in jungkook’s ears as he runs backstage, chased by the staff attempting to wipe the sweat he is practically bathing in. he squeezes one eye shut as beads of sweat threaten to enter it. his chest heaves with exhaustion and his heart pumps with overwhelming adrenaline. most of the time, this job doesn’t feel real. he feels high. this is the textbook definition of a dream.

“where’s my phone? please? does anyone have it?” he yells in the midst of the chaos and clamor as he completely strips off his in-ears.

a hand reaches towards him with the device, and his expression of gratitude gets lost somewhere among the repetitive reminders of the remaining time before they should have returned to their designated seats.

he allows the hair and make-up stylists to do their jobs, him as their doll in need of a retouch. on the other hand, he impatiently waits for his phone to power on.

the tapping of jungkook’s foot ceases, and from his glowing reflection on the vanity mirror, the clueless people surrounding him witnesses love strike.

guess my eyelash wish worked like a charm. your performances went really well

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

“jungkook-ah, what are you smiling at?!”

seokjin cackles. jungkook didn’t even notice him roll his chair so close. he then decides to play dumb to tease their youngest one.

“wow, who is this ____ you’re texting?”

“hyung!” jungkook panics, hissing underneath his breath. “lower your voice!”

“ouch!” seokjin yells, rubbing his arm that was hit as a punishment.

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

“ah!” jungkook gasps as the slap on his thigh resonates, forced to be ripped away from overthinking a text message. “hyung! you better start running!”

Draft: i know it’s late.. but can i see you later?|

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[p0orbaby]

So Boyfriend

summary: alessia is the poster girl for chivalry

warnings: none!

a/n: the minimum expected behaviour in any relationship, if you ask me

word count: 1.6k

-

Alessia’s wearing that black Adidas tracksuit again, the one that should probably have its own spot in the wardrobe by now, considering how often it makes an appearance. You’re not sure what her deal is with that thing. It’s like she’s conducting some kind of long-term experiment to see how many days she can wear it before it becomes a sentient being. But, somehow, it always looks crisp, like it’s just been peeled out of the packaging.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, legs spread wide like she’s declaring ownership of every square inch of space. The air around her practically vibrates with readiness, like she’s an overzealous butler trapped in the body of a world-class athlete.

You watch her, knowing exactly what’s coming next. She’s eyeing the cupboard, which is already funny because you’re not even hungry, but you know if you so much as glance at the counter, she’ll be up and rifling through shelves like a one-woman search-and-rescue operation. You could have sworn you saw her measuring the exact amount of peanut butter left in the jar last night, like a tactical mission was involved.

If there’s a minute, microscopic part of her brain that suspects you’re craving peanut butter on toast, she’ll know before you do.

And sure enough, Alessia is up before you can even think of saying, “I’ll get it,” moving towards the cupboard like she’s executing a flawless play. She grabs the jar and hands it to you like she’s presenting a hard-won trophy, her eyes bright with that stupid, beautiful grin. You stare at her, trying to remember why you ever thought her overbearing attentiveness was annoying.

You manage a “Thanks,” which comes out more as a croak because, well, what else can you say when you’re so completely outmatched in the whole ‘being a decent human’ department?

Then, like clockwork, she’s clearing the table. It’s your turn, obviously, but Alessia’s got this compulsive need to do things for you, like it’s a moral imperative. You know it’s coming—the way she’ll rinse the plates with one hand while gently nudging you out of the way with her hip, so casual and practiced, like it’s something she’s been doing her whole life. You’re just standing there, one hand holding the peanut butter jar, the other uselessly hovering in the air, like a mime who’s forgotten their routine. The sound of running water and clinking dishes fills the kitchen, and you’re left marveling at how domestic she makes everything feel, how easy it is for her to slip into this role without a second thought.

And here’s the thing: you should be annoyed. It’s your job to do the dishes tonight. You should be doing something about it, like grabbing a towel or, at the very least, half-heartedly protesting. But you’re not. You’re just… watching. You’ve seen this movie a hundred times, but it’s so ridiculous you can’t help but watch again. You’re transfixed by the way she stacks the dishes like they’re precious artifacts, not remnants of your poorly executed attempt at dinner.

When she’s done, she turns around and hands you your phone. It was on the counter, and you weren’t even thinking about it, but of course, she noticed. Of course, she knew exactly when you’d need it. It’s like she’s a mind reader, but only when it comes to the most mundane, everyday things. Like there’s some part of her brain solely dedicated to making sure your phone is fully charged, your favorite snacks are within reach, and that you never run out of clean socks.

You should say something, maybe tease her a little, but you don’t get the chance. Alessia’s already moving on to the next thing—turning off the lights, checking that the stove is off, securing the perimeter. You half expect her to pull out a checklist and start ticking off boxes. Instead, she turns to you, that lopsided grin still plastered on her face, and before you can even think, she’s pulling you in for a kiss.

It’s not just any kiss. It’s slow and soft, the kind that says, Hey, I’ve got all the time in the world, and I’m spending it right here, with you. You melt into it, feeling every ounce of tension you didn’t know you had drain away.

When she finally pulls back, she’s still smiling, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve just won something. Like maybe you’ve won her, but that can’t be right because it feels more like she’s the one who’s been winning you over, inch by inch, every single day.

Then, because apparently, she hasn’t done enough for one evening, she suddenly suggests, “Let’s go for a walk.” It’s not a question, really. She’s already grabbing a hoodie, even though it’s the middle of summer and the night air is perfectly warm. She throws it over your shoulders, and you know you’re going to sweat through it, but you don’t care.

She makes sure to lock the door behind you, even though you’re only going for a quick loop around the block. Alessia does that—locks up, checks windows, and generally acts like you live in a crime-riddled part of town. Even though you both know the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in your neighborhood is when Mrs. Patterson’s cat got stuck in a tree. And even then, it was a small tree, and the cat was more annoyed than scared.

As you start walking, she naturally takes the side closest to the road, like she’s in some 19th-century novel, guarding your virtue against runaway horse carriages or something equally absurd. You used to roll your eyes at this, but now it just makes you smile, like maybe there’s a small part of you that enjoys being taken care of in this overly dramatic way.

The night is quiet, the kind of quiet that’s comforting rather than eerie. Alessia’s arm slips around your shoulders, her fingers tracing the back of your neck in a way that sends little shivers down your spine. You sigh, and it’s not a sigh of exasperation; it’s the kind of sigh that comes when you’re trying to pretend you’re annoyed but you’re really just a puddle of feelings because she’s doing that thing again—making you feel like you’re the center of the universe.

You keep walking, letting her guide you down familiar streets. She opens the gate for you, then the door to the local café, where the barista already knows your order, thanks to Alessia’s meticulous planning. You’re not sure how, but she’s managed to get everyone on board with this whole ‘make everything perfect for you’ campaign, and honestly, it’s a little terrifying.

You sit down at your usual table, and she insists on ordering for you, even though you’re perfectly capable of speaking for yourself. But there’s something about the way she does it, with that confident ease, like she’s been rehearsing this role her entire life, that makes you just let her.

She returns with your drink, carefully placing it in front of you, making sure it’s exactly the way you like it—extra foam, no sugar, just a hint of cinnamon. You didn’t even know you liked cinnamon until she started ordering it for you.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” you finally say, and she just shrugs, that lopsided grin never wavering.

“I just want you to be happy,” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, to her at least.

As you sip your drink, you watch her, watch the way she’s always so effortlessly present, always making sure you’re taken care of, and you realise that this is what it feels like to be loved so completely, so utterly, that it’s almost overwhelming.

It’s the little things she does, the way she’s always three steps ahead, always thinking about what you might need before you even know you need it. It’s the way she’s somehow managed to turn your entire life into a series of moments where you’re constantly cared for, constantly looked after, without ever making you feel smothered.

And maybe you’re starting to like it, more than you ever thought you would. Because being with Alessia is like being in a story where you’re always the main character, and she’s the one making sure the plot unfolds exactly the way it’s supposed to, with all the right twists and turns, and just enough drama to keep things interesting.

As you leave the café, Alessia’s arm finds its way around your shoulders again, guiding you back home, and you let her, because it’s just easier that way. It’s easier to let her do all the little things she does, the things that make you feel so loved and cared for, because deep down, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When you finally get back, she unlocks the door, checks the windows again, and makes sure everything’s in its place. She pulls you in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent, like she’s trying to communicate something she can’t quite put into words. You kiss her back, letting her know you understand, that you get it, and that you’re not going anywhere.

You lie down together, her arm draped over you, and as you drift off to sleep, you realise that maybe this is what it’s all about. Maybe this is what it means to be truly, deeply loved—having someone who’s always there, always ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re okay, to make sure you’re happy. And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe that you deserve it.

[bryan-writes]

Keepsakes of a hidden heart mammon x reader

Summary: you find a keepsake box hidden under Mammons bed, you find out it’s filled with things that remind him of you <3

Super fluffy, soft mammon, established relationship

Credit to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers :)

Under the gentle flicker of the low-lit room, you found yourself rifling through a small, unassuming box you’d discovered half-hidden under Mammon’s bed. It looked like it had been haphazardly shoved there, but with enough care to keep it safe from the curious eyes of any of his brothers. Immediately interested, you’d pulled it out— completely forgetting about finding your favorite hoodie (of his).

In a house filled with demons and secrets, finding something so personal felt… special. You knew mammon wasn’t one for big gestures, at least not the planned kind. But the box was a testament to something raw and real, with its unpolished appearance and lovingly held keepsakes.

The first item you pulled from the contents was a wrinkled movie ticket. You remembered that night so vividly, the way Mammon had tried to play it cool as he offered to take you out to a movie “just cause he was bored.” But you knew the truth; he’d been fidgeting, sneaking glances, trying to hide the spark in his eyes. It was an action movie— explosions and over-the-top stunts. But halfway through, Mammon’s hand had found yours, fingers fumbling a bit as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He hadn’t let go until the credits rolled, and was even reluctant to let you go then. Now, as you gently held the ticket in your hands, you realized he had kept it as proof of that little victory, a reminder of the night he dared to hold your hand in the dim light of the theater.

Then there was a small, doodled note with a ridiculous caricature of Lucifer wearing glasses that Mammon had drawn in one of your many free moments in class. It was simple, silly even, but it had been you who had egged him on, whispering ideas as you both laughed quietly in the back of the lecture hall. You hadn’t noticed at the time, but Mammon must have held onto that scrap of notebook paper, like a private joke meant only for the two of you— a memory, immortalized by a poorly sketched Lucifer with eyebrows furrowed and glasses crooked.

”Hey, Y/N!” Mammon’s voice snapped you back to reality, a hint of panic coloring his tone.

Your gaze shot up to see him standing at the door, eyes wide, his cheeks flushed with a shade too bright for his usual demeanor. “What’re ya doin’ with that?” His usual bluster was there, but it sounded thin, like it was more for show than anything else.

You bit your lip, smiling softly. “I… I found this. It’s really cute, Mammon.”

Mammon fumbled, trying to snatch the box back, but you held onto it gently, pulling out a small bracelet made of cheap, colorful beads. It was slightly frayed, as if it had been through a few too many close calls. You remembered it well— Mammon had won it for you at a fair, some human world event he’d dragged you to, insisting he’d win the biggest prize. Instead, he’s managed a small, kitschy beaded bracelet, but the moment he clasped it around your wrist, he’d looked so proud.

“Why… Why do you keep these things?” You asked softly, curiosity and affection mingling in your gaze as you looked at him.

Mammon’s gaze flickered, unsure, like he was debating how much of himself he could afford to let you see. He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but you. “I dunno,” he muttered, voice a bit rougher than usual. “S’just… they mean somethin’, ya know?”

When he finally met your gaze, there was a softness there, a vulnerability you had only ever seen in fleeting moments. He took the bracelet from your hand, rolling the beads gently between his fingers as if recalling the way your eyes had shone under the lights of the fair.

He swallowed, fingers brushing against a crumpled piece of a napkin. “This… this one from the night ya made me laugh so hard, soda came outta my nose.” A small laugh escaped his lips. “I thought I was gonna die from embarrassment, but… ya made it feel like a good memory. I… guess I wanted ta keep that.”

With every object he touched, another story unfolded. The wrinkled petal of a flower you had tucked into his hair during a spontaneous picnic. A tiny, faded polaroid picture of you two at an arcade, Mammon’s arm slung over your shoulder and you half hidden in the crook of his neck, his grin stretched wide and utterly carefree.

It was like listening to the chapter of a love story that Mammon had never found the courage to tell. In the quiet of his room, among all the bits and pieces of your shared memories, it was as though he was giving you a glimpse into his heart, wholly unguarded.

When he reached into the bottom of the box, he pulled out a little golden trinket— a small, old-fashioned key, polished and well-worn. He looked at it for a moment, a wistful smile gracing his lips.

“This… this one’s kinda stupid,” he murmured, holding it up to the dim light. “Got it ages ago. When I was a kid, I used to think it opened a door to somethin’ special. Kept it with me, hopin’ it’d mean somethin’ someday.” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “But I guess… I didn’t really find out what it opened ‘til I met ya.”

Mammon’s words hung in the air, weighty and soft. You felt your heart swell, warmth pooling in your chest as you met his eyes. He looked almost nervous, waiting for some kind of reaction, as if he were baring a piece of himself he’d never meant to show.

You smiled, reaching out to clasp his hand around the small key. “Maybe it opens the door to memories, too,” you whispered. “To all these little treasures you’ve collected along the way.”

Mammon blinked, his blush deepening as he realized how closely you held that moment between the two of you. “Ya… you’re weird, ya know that?” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. But his voice was softer now, and his hand stayed in yours a bit longer than necessary.

You sat in comfortable silence, Mammon’s hand warm against your own, fingers entwined with a gentlest that only he could muster, a soft and unexpected contrast to his usual bravado.

In that quiet moment, you understood. Love was something Mammon held onto in quiet ways— through secret boxes of treasure, hidden smiles, and worn-out trinkets that only mattered because they were tied to a memory of you.

And as he settled beside you, both pouring over every silly, precious item in his “treasure chest,” you knew that you would never really see those little memories the same again. They meant so much more to you now.

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hi Jonny, if you don't mind I have a question about the TMA TTRPG! So I noticed that on the player's guide there's this guy, who my friends and I assumed is probably Jon. If it is him, is this a canon design, or more like some of the non-canon stuff that's in the merch?

So, I hope you don't mind if i use this ask to go a bit off on one. I'm not specifically dragging you (I'm actualy glad you asked, as I've thinking about posting on the topic), but all the discussion around the RPG art and how "official" or "canon" it might be is, to my mind, slightly silly.

First up, is it "official" art? I mean, yeah, its art for the officially licenced Magnus Archives RPG. This means Monte Cook Games have commissioned someone to do a beatiful illustration broadly based on some aspect, episode or character from the podcast and it goes in the book. But that's kinda all it means. "Official" is a legal distinction, not an artistic one. The fact that it's in an official product doesn't make it any less one artist's cool interpretation of a character that has only been vaguely described in audio.

Second, is it Jonathan Sims the Archivist? I mean, it's probably based on the idea of him, but it's certainly not set in stone. When we were first discussing art with MCG, we advised that character pictures be more vibes-based and not explicitly tied to specific people (ie. a portrait inspired by Tim wouldn't be captioned "This is Tim" and wouldn't be placed opposite a profile for Tim Stoker, archival assistant.) This was mainly because we wanted the artists to have plenty of freedom to interpret and not feel too tied down by the need to know everything about the podcast. But, to be frank, it was also because we know that there are a few fans out there that are kinda Not Chill about what they've personally decided these characters look like and can get a bit defensive over depictions that differ.

It strikes me as particularly strange to be having this discussion about art that's for a roleplying game book. Something that's explicitly and solely designed to give you the ability to play in your version of the Magnus universe. The idea that this is the thing where we'd for some reason try to immutably establish unchangable appearances for these characters would be pretty funny if some folks weren't taking it so seriously. Similarly ridiculous is the idea we could reasonably have said to MCG "We'd love for you to make a huge beautiful RPG book of our setting... Just make sure you don't depict any of the iconic characters or events from it!"

But... is it "canon"? Now, to my mind, this highlights a real weakness in a lot of fandom thinking around "canon", which is that it generally has no idea what to do with adaptations. All adaptation is interpretation, and relies on taking a work and letting new creatives (and sometimes the same ones) have a different take on it. Are the appearances of the Fellowship of the Ring in the LOTR movies "canon"? How much, if at all, does that matter? Neil Gaiman's book Neverwhere was originaly a 90s BBC series made with a budget of 50 pence; is anyone who makes fanart of Mr Croup that doesn't look like the actor Hywel Bennet breaking canon? What about the novel that describes the character differently? Or the officially licenced Neverwhere comic where he looks like neither of them? Which is his "canon appearance"?

Canon is an inherently messy concept, and while it is useful for a creative team trying to keep continuity and consistency within a creative work, for thinking about anything beyond that it tends to be more hinderance than help.

Anyway, all this is to say that the above picture and all the others in the RPG are exactly as canon as every other picture you've ever seen of the Archivist.

[rallamajoop]

So why are there so many gay vampires?

From the time of Carmilla all the way up to the works of Anne Rice (a universe that seems to get only less subtle as the years go on), gay vampires have been a thing basically as long as anyone was writing about vampires. Lesbian vampires have been a genre all their own for decades. Bram Stoker, author of the most famous vampire novel ever written, was gay himself. So why vampires specifically?

I’ve seen people attempt to answer this one before, and there are all sorts of contributing factors I could point to here, from the genres’ beginnings with Lord Byron (infamous bisexual disaster fuckboy), to modern discourse about why queer folks so often find themselves identifying with the monsters and outcasts of fiction. Few other monsters besides vampires can so easily pass for ‘normal’, or are nearly so well known for their snappy dress sense and ‘unnatural cravings’ for human flesh. And that’s without even getting into all those skeezy outdated stereotypes casting queer people as predators, or the idea that even one ‘gay experience’ could somehow ‘convert’ you into being one yourself.

But to my mind, there’s just one really important thing that makes vampires so gay, and it’s the same thing that makes them sexy in the first place: plausible deniability.

You see, a vampire’s bite is simultaneously a) ridiculously sexual, and b) not even a little bit sexual at all.

You don’t have to look far for vampire canons where there’s nothing sexy about being bitten by a vampire. Bloody, violent, painful, sure ‒or just clinically miserable, human bodies torn open or hung up to drain like a human blood bag. What’s sexy about getting bitten by a mosquito, or a fecking leech? The diet of the actual vampire bat requires it to process so much water that it apparently spends mealtimes busily pissing out the difference, and the anti-coagulants in its saliva leave the wound bleeding messily long after it’s gone. The basic act of feeding is no more inherently sexual for a vampire than it is for a zombie.

Vampires are even a surprisingly acceptable monster to market to children. There’s a vampire muppet, a cartoon about a vampire duck, and a whole series of books about a vampire rabbit. You can put a vampire on the side of a cereal box without undue outrage. Vampires do not have to be R-rated for sex or violence.

So of course vampires will go after victims of the same sex. Do you stop to inquire whether the cow you’re eating was male or female? It’s all just predator and prey!

Until it’s everything but.

Do not let the ‘vampires aren’t supposed to be sexy!’-purists fool you. The tradition of sexy vampires goes all the way back to the oldest folklore, where the first victim of a newly-risen vampire was often their still-living spouse. Vampires were even occasionally known to get women pregnant (a convenient excuse for any widow who might turn up pregnant slightly too many months after their husband's death). The ‘original’ Nosferatu sounds more like an incubus than the naked mole-rat creature they made that movie about. The demon lover aspect of the vampire has been there all along.

And it’s not hard to imagine why. If someone is biting and sucking on your neck, then either they’re a vampire, or they’re well on the way to second base (other folklore has its vampires feed directly from their victim’s heart, which is scarcely less suggestive). The implications of an exchange of bodily fluids were never subtle, even in Stoker’s day (I'm looking at you, Lucy-with-the-three-husbands), and the vampire as a sexual predator was a popular literary device well before Stoker's time. Beautiful vampire women would seduce men to their demise, and the males of the species might visit the bedroom of some innocent maiden time and again. The Victorian obsession with mesmerism, meanwhile, provided the perfect explanation for how victims might be hypnotised into eager compliance, and perhaps not even remember being fed upon at all. Vampires have been the ultimate guilt-free sexual fantasy since way back in the day, compatible with all your awkward Victorian mores! (Not quite ready to admit they're sexual fantasies? No problem: he's just here to, y'know, suck on your neck a bit. No subtext here!)

The whole act of biting is so suggestive that in the early years of vampire cinema, it wasn’t shown at all, not even between opposite-sex participants. The camera of 1922’s Nosferatu maintains a demure distance during the climactic scene where the heroine is finally bitten and slowly drained of blood, and Universal’s Dracula conveniently fades to black or cuts away whenever it’s about to take place. But even if the biting has to take place off screen, who’s to say a vampire isn’t going to pick victims of both sexes?

The stately tradition of the lesbian vampire has cinematic examples going all the way back to 1936, with Universal’s Dracula’s Daughter. Though the titular vampire has a nominal male love interest – a psychologist who naively advises her to confront her temptations without fear – the result of his advice is a famous sequence where she picks up a young woman under the premise of wanting an artist's model, and convinces her to remove her top. No actual biting or nudity is shown (it was only 1936), but her fate is left in little doubt.

By the era of 70’s sexploitation, all such subtlety had been abandoned. If we’re all good with naked boobs, who’s going to be offended by a little biting?

In fact, when it comes to men rather than women, a vampire bite was, for many years, far too sexy to be shown, or even alluded to. Nosferatu clearly feeds on that film’s Jonathan-expy, but our only evidence is the bitemarks on his neck in the morning, and the final sacrifice to defeat the evil monster must naturally be female. Universal’s Dracula had to ignore explicit studio mandate that only the brides should be allowed to feed on their own Jonathan-equivalent, as to even imply that Dracula himself had fed upon a man was obviously far too homoerotic to contemplate (never mind that it’s Dracula who must be established as the threat in this opening sequence, or that it’s Dracula his victim will spend the rest of the film obsessed with).

But in that unspeakable land of male-on-male homoeroticism, you might be surprised how much homo we can squeeze in even without resorting to fangs-in-necks. The Lost Boys is surely one of the most homoerotic vampire films ever made, but there, the one big blood-drinking scene is rendered in a bloody massacre of slasher-movie violence. And though Anne Rice certainly describes the scene where Lestat drains Louis of blood in lurid detail (and even has them spend their first sunrise together sharing a coffin), Louis is already thoroughly seduced before he ever reaches this point.

You see, the lore of the pop-cultural vampire conveniently comes with a second and equally-compelling target for plausible deniability: the act of making a new vampire.

Obviously, to work, this has to be deliberate. A world where anyone bitten by a vampire becomes one hasn’t much to offer us, and the relationship between maker and fledgling can just as easily be framed as parental, as recruitment into a cult, or purely transactional. But whichever way you twist it, the implications of choosing another to share in your own eternal youth and immortality… like, I don’t have to spell this one out for you, do I? Did I mention how that thing where a vampire’s traditional first victim tended to be their own mortal widow goes all the way back?

But if we’re not ready to be completely obvious with our mainstream audience, some alternative explanation can always be provided for cover. Lestat doesn’t really want Louis, he just wants Louis’ money! (He also really wants Louis.) The Lost Boys just want Michael to join their gang! (Their very, very pretty gang, who swan around in mesh shirts, tank tops and assless chaps.)

The two sides of the vampire-deniability coin aren’t mutually exclusive, either. Carmilla drinks her new paramour’s blood, but also gazes into her eyes while promising her you will be mine. Drinking blood is a key part of making a new vampire in so many vampire stories, after all.

Carmilla isn’t even the only gay vampire story of the Victorian era. I recently posted about two other fascinating examples, both featuring male/male pairings: one being pretty much just a gender-flipped version of Carmilla, and the other a tragic love story filled with significant "vampire = gay lover" metaphors (why oh why must the townsfolk keep us apart, when we’ll only ever be happy once we’re united once more?) This stuff goes surprisingly far back.

In fact, you can find queer subtext in vampire fiction that predates even Byron and Polidori. 1819's The Vampyre was the first published vampire story, yes, but the first known work of vampire-fiction in the English language is a poem published by John Stagg in 1810, also called The Vampyre (look, the genre didn’t exist yet, you didn’t have to be creative with your titles).

In brief, Stagg’s poem recounts a conversation between a wife (Gertrude) and her dying husband (Herman), whose dear friend Sigismund, lately deceased and deeply mourned, has returned as a vampire. Night after night, he crawls into Herman’s room to drain his blood. Herman’s fate is already sealed, but unless Gertrude takes action, it will surely be she that Herman will take as his own first victim when he rises from the grave.

There may be nothing intentional about the queer subtext of this tale. A vampire’s victims often include friends he knew in life, as Stagg himself cites in his introduction. But if Herman’s first victim will be his wife, what are we to read about the fact Sigismund’s first victim is Herman? Especially given how long he’s kept secret from poor Gertrude that his dear ‘friend’ has been climbing into his bedroom each night, lying beside him in bed and sucking and draining "the fountain of my heart!" while Herman moans and tosses (in pain, obviously!), always leaving him "exhausted, spent." Ultimately, Gertrude is saved only when both Herman and Sigismund are staked through the heart, and we close on the image of them slumbering together in the tomb.

It is, however you turn it, pretty gay.

I reiterate: this is the very first known work of vampire fiction written in the English language. The second was the one that was kind-of-written-by, kind-of-stolen-from, and unambiguously based on bisexual-disaster-fuckboy Lord Byron. And the two most influential works of vampire fiction of the next hundred years would be Carmilla, the very lesbian vampire story written by a… presumably straight man? And Dracula, the not-completely-convincingly-hetero story written by #1 Walt Whitman fanboy Bram Stoker. Vampires have always been very equal-opportunity kind of monsters.

There are, of course, plenty of influential heterosexual vampire tales to fill out the roster too. Varney the Vampire, a penny dreadful from the 1840s, was so successful it ran for over 200 chapters. The 1960s had their own wildly successful Varney-equivalent in the soap opera Dark Shadows. Love it or hate it, we really can't ignore Twilight either. My own introduction to the genre was Christopher Pike’s The Last Vampire series, which came out alongside the original Vampire Diaries novels. So there's plenty of material around to keep the straights entertained – and honestly, that’s only as it should be, because the very thing that makes vampires so queer-friendly is that the sex of their victims doesn’t matter. And it’s so easy to make vampires sexy (let alone a full vampire-proposal!) that even the Victorians could do it.

Now, if your reaction to all this theorising is to tell me "but the LGBTQ’s shouldn’t have to hide behind plausible deniability!" I can only counter, "well sure, but why should the straights have all the fun?" Because playing with all the ambiguity of "is this monster really just after my blood or is this going somewhere?" can be all sorts of fun, regardless of the genders involved. And as long as they’re up for exchanging bodily fluids with persons-and-or-victims of either gender equally, why not have some fun with it?

So, okay, maybe the real title of this post should have been "why are there so many pansexual vampires?" But the answer doesn’t change. Vampires have been the bisexual disaster fuckmonsters for as long as anyone’s been writing about vampires, and have been a metaphor allowing people publish barely-coded gay attraction since 1872. And much like the queer community, they’ve only become more complex, more sympathetic, and all the more popular as romantic paramours as the years have gone by.

[justwinginglife]

Can I please request the kafgang investigating a crankier than usual platoon leader reader? They assume its just a woman getting irritated because she looks like she's gaining weight but it's just her pregnancy belly showing with hoshina's baby...

Pregnancy hormones amirite? (I've never been pregnant before)

LOL I've also never been pregnant before but I love this prompt and I will do my best with it!

Soshiro loved that you were pregnant with his child. And not just because he'd done some delicious love making to get you pregnant, and not just because the idea of having tons of adorable little children running around was so precious to him, no- he loved that you were pregnant because he enjoyed all the ridiculous demands that you made.

Oh, today you wanted peanut butter on pickles? Sure, he could slather them up for you.

Oh, now you were crying because the sky was too blue today and it hurt your eyes? Alright, he could try a little rain dance to bring the clouds rolling in.

Oh, you didn't like the ending of a movie that was made decades ago and wanted him to fix it? Slightly more difficult, but he made bank as Vice Captain, he was sure he could hire a film crew and some actors and have that ready for you in a jiffy.

And then when the other officers started to pick up on your pregnancy-induced attitude, but didn't pick up on the pregnancy-induced part, he enjoyed it all the more. They figured you were just cranky because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or it was your time of the month, but when your belly started to show more proof of Soshiro's love, they attributed your irritation to gaining weight rather than gaining a child.

And you had no idea, because no one would dare tell a Platoon Leader they were getting fat. So instead you had to deal with random outbursts of "It's okay, Platoon Leader L/N, you're still beautiful as ever," or "I know this great workout if you're interested," or "Honestly, metabolism is overrated anyway."

It wasn't even the words that they said that bothered you as much as just the act of them talking at all, their voices sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, it was like the pregnancy version of a hangover- you just wanted everyone to be quiet.

Soshiro caught on and he steered everyone away from you until you could tolerate noise again, but not before he'd had a good laugh. Of course, if anyone dared to mention aloud that you were gaining weight or you looked different, like you were letting yourself go, he'd shut it down in an instant- towering over them with a booming voice and a threatening glare. But it cracked him up to see how cute your little nose was when you scrunched it up, confused at their attempts to make conversation with you. And it cracked him up that you were so obviously pregnant in his eyes and yet no one else had drawn that conclusion yet. He wondered just how bulging your belly had to be for it to register.

He thought he might make a game out of it, creating a points system in his head for each officer and awarding them whenever one of them got even remotely close to guessing correctly.

Shinomiya noticed that your requests had been seemingly bizarre lately and as you were a woman that she respected very much for your skill and your intellect, she knew there had to be a better reason for the fog in your brain. Point for her.

Nakanoshima noticed you'd thrown up in a nearby vase and while the men attributed it to food poisoning, she'd pondered a little bit harder about when the last time you asked to borrow a tampon from her was. Point for her.

Minase noticed (shyly) that your boobs were looking a little more rounded and plump than they usually did, and made a comment that maybe pregnancy would aid her flat chest as well. Double points for her.

Really at this point, it seemed the women were catching on faster than the men. Soshiro was suddenly embarrassed of his own gender when he had this realization.

He thought he might just break one day, screaming "I FUCKED A BABY INTO HER BELLY YA IDIOTS!!!"

But he didn't have to do that. Because one day, you'd strolled in while everyone was training and snorted loudly, saying "Wow, I could beat the entire sorry lot of you all at once even pregnant. Laps around the perimeter people!"

Everyone's eyes widened and their jaws dropped (the women a little less so than the men).

They'd barely had time to process this new information when you'd repeated in a louder tone, "Did I stutter? LAPS AROUND THE PERIMETER!"

And then they ran off, terrified at the thought of just how much torture one pregnant lady could dole out.

And Soshiro smirked again, amused as ever.

"Ahh, that's my baby. Almost makes me want to fill you up again."

[phantomspiderr]

memories ~ evan ‘buck’ buckley x reader

you've secretly kept every important thing from your relationship with Buck; from your first picture to an 'i love you' note scribbled on the back of a receipt and when you make the move into Buck's apartment he finds the box of memories—or just remember how buck's parents gave maddie a baby box right in front of him then dropped the bomb that they never bothered to make him one, so when you've put in all this effort to keep every small memory of your relationship buck realises just how much he loves you

w/c ~ 1k+

no warnings just a lotta fluff🥰

“Okay, this is the last box!” You cheer as you walk through the door to Buck’s apartment—which you guess is also now your apartment. You place the box down on the small pile by the door and approach your sweet boyfriend who has already started helping you unpack. Buck’s sitting at the kitchen island, an array of things spread out on the surface before him, and your curiosity sinks in. Your arms circle around his soft middle and you have to go up on your tiptoes to rest your chin on his shoulder, “whatcha doing?” You say just as your eyes fall down to see a familiar box and all its contents spilling out, a little embarrassment makes its way to the surface. You pull away from Buck and move to the side, as you reach to collect the miscellaneous pieces of paper and photos scattered around Buck’s hand stops you.

“You kept all this?” Your eyes reach Buck’s slightly glossy ones and you’re confused by his reaction. You were convinced he’d find it weird that you kept all these things from the duration of your relationship; movie theatre stubs, a concert ticket or two, the first picture you took together, a Polaroid of him from the first morning you woke up in his apartment, so many memories you couldn’t bare to part with so you collected them in an old shoe box.

“Yeah… you think it’s weird don’t you?” Your gaze falls to the ground, mentally preparing yourself for Buck to make fun of you for doing such a thing, like so many people before have but the ridicule never comes. Instead, you’re taken aback when Buck wraps his arms around you, squeezing so tightly that all the air is pushed out of your lungs. “Thank you,” his muffled words snap you out of your embarrassed state. Your hands move up to hold him, fingers sinking into his hair immediately. His head raises and you can see his teary eyes, “you don’t know how much this means to me. I love you so much.” You’re still a little confused at his reaction but your heart melts at his words. “I love you too,” you hold the sides of his face now before bending down to press your lips to his. The fear of judgement melts away with just a simple kiss.

“Can you show me everything?” Who are you to deny him when he looks at you with those sweet puppy dog eyes. He turns back to the kitchen island the second you agree and you pull out the stool next to his. A smile immediately appears when you spot one of your favourite things, “Oh, this!” You reach over Buck’s hands and grab a small book from the box, he looks at you curiously as you open it, “I learned how to press flowers just so I could keep the first bouquet you gave me.” Your sentence grows quieter as you feel Buck’s eyes on you, watching as you open the book to see beautiful pressed flowers between sheets of paper, “but then you kept giving me flowers so I made this book.” You nervously hand the book over and Buck smiles as he looks through the pages delicately. Each page is dated and the type of flower is written in cursive next to it. Buck takes his time looking at each page and your eyes drift from his joyful expression to the other bits and pieces. You smile to yourself when you see your half of a photo booth strip; it’s from your second date, the date scribbled on the back, you both only had enough change for one set of pictures. So, Buck tore the strip in half, slipping his half into his wallet and sheepishly giving you the other half. You’re so caught up in the memory you don’t notice Buck pulling out his wallet, he holds his half of the strip above yours, reconnecting the two for a moment. You see the second an idea pops into Buck’s head and then you watch as he takes both halves of the strip over to the fridge. He turns back to you grinning lovingly and your heart melts when you see he’s put the halves together on the fridge surrounded by pictures of his favourite people.

Buck comes back to join you, kissing the side of your head before sitting down. He quickly goes back to looking through the box. He pulls out a movie theatre ticket that’s attached to an adorable selfie of you both; you smile brightly at the camera while a slightly blurred Buck kisses your cheek. You reminisce about that day that Buck happily agreed to go see the Barbie movie with you and you swear you fell in love with him more that day when he picked you up dressed in a pink shirt with an old cowboy hat from his rancher days atop his head. “We should watch it again tonight,” Buck says gleefully, extending his hand to hold yours before bringing it up to his lips, “we can order takeout.” He places another kiss on your knuckles, “We can get all cosy,” another kiss, “and then I can take you to our bed. Make your first official night here special.” Your body instantly heats up, a slight shyness appearing through the cracks. Even after so much time together Buck still seems to be able to reduce you to a fumbling mess with just a few words and simple touches. “I should start unpacking.” You giggle as Buck’s hand slips up your neck and he grins at your poor excuse, “We can unpack tomorrow.” He lowers his head slowly, both your smiles growing until your lips meet. “Okay but we’re getting food from the Korean barbecue place down the street,” you mumble out against his lips. Buck laughs, pulling away only a fraction before giving you another quick kiss, “Done. Anything you want.” You pull your head back slightly, tilting it to the side as your eyebrows lift, “anything?” Buck’s hands have drifted down to your hips, absentmindedly pulling them closer to the edge of the stool. “Absolutely anything.” He leans in to give you another kiss and when he pulls back this time he sees your teeth sink into your bottom lip and he knows he’s got you thinking now. “Well,” you draw out the word, “it takes them like 20 minutes to deliver…” A wolfish grin makes its way to his face and he lowers his head to press his lips to your cheek before reaching your neck, “That seems like a challenge.” You giggle again when he nips at your skin, “You have to order the food first, Buck.” His groan vibrates against your neck, “I’m just getting a head start.” You squeal when he jolts your hips off of the stool completely. Your arms and legs immediately tighten around his strong frame as his lips lock onto yours again.

Your first official night living together was definitely going to be something special, Buck would make sure of that.

[withleeknow]

rue de rivoli.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, semi edited lol, a little sappy and very self indulgent and inspired by a very specific instance in that one hyunjin vlog in japan 🤷‍♀️ word count: 0.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

hyunjin might be the worst - and you mean it, the worst - travel partner.

it’s all because of that ridiculously expensive camera of his and the little hobby that he’s taken up on.

“hey,” he calls out softly, trailing a few steps behind you as he raises the camera up to his face again. “hold it right there.”

you huff out a breath in mild annoyance, blowing some hair away from your face as the air escapes from your lips.

“seriously? you’ve taken a gazillion pictures already. this is the third time you’ve made me stop in the past thirty minutes.”

“but the lighting is just perfect.”

“we’re only here for a few days! i can’t see all the places i wanna see if you keep making me stop every two seconds!”

it was cute at first, how he kept asking you to stop in the middle of the street to snap a photo of you. it made you blush every time he did, because he would take another brief moment to admire the final product on his camera’s display screen and tell you that even though the photo turned out great, it could never truly capture how beautiful you are through his eyes. then he’d press a kiss to your cheek or a swift peck to your lips before taking your hand and tugging you along, en route to the tourist attractions that you’ve yet to come across.

to be fair, it’s still cute, and despite your feeble irritation, you still let hyunjin take his photos every time he asks. mostly because he would start sporting a gigantic pout on his face, coupled with the way his eyes widen like a puppy begging for a treat.

“please? you look so pretty right now. pleaseee?”

you acquiesce - of course you do - because who can say no to a cute whiny hyunjin?

you roll your eyes half-heartedly, and a bright grin immediately spreads on his lips because he knows that he’s getting what he wants, the smile so brilliant that it brings out his whisker dimples and turns his eyes into adorable crescent moons.

he patters over to you on light footsteps once the shot has been snapped, proudly showing you his handy work even though you secretly think it looks the same as any other photo of you that he’s taken - sometimes it’s your side profile with your hair covering half of your face because you’re too awkward to look directly at the camera, sometimes it’s you in random poses because you’re never sure what to do with your hands while getting your picture taken.

“did you even take any photos of the scenery?”

hyunjin shrugs, pretty indifferent to your question. “yeah, a few.”

“a few? give me that, let me see... you’ve taken two hundred and sixty four photos so far and only a few are of freaking paris?!”

another shrug, then cue one of the corniest things he’s ever said to you in your entire life. “you’re prettier than paris.”

sure, it’s a massively cliché thing to say, and a teeny bit cringeworthy to hear if this were a sappy romance movie. but coming from him, you know the sentiment is entirely genuine because hyunjin is nothing if not one of the sincerest people you know.

it makes you short-circuit as you stare up at him. the sun behind him softens by a fraction as it starts to make its descent, and the slowly fading sunlight looks as though it’s found a home as his personal halo. to have someone as beautiful as him tell you that you’re prettier than the city of love itself is quite honestly a little surreal, no matter how long you’ve been together.

“that was the cheesiest shit ever,” you comment, pretending to gag but knowing perfectly well that he can see the rosy flush on your cheeks. you mutter something else - for good measure - along the lines of never going on a trip with him again.

hyunjin laughs that endearing signature laugh of his, then he twists the cap back on the camera lens and once again lets the device dangle from the strap around his neck. he pulls you toward him with ease and kisses you deeply with a smile on his lips, one that’s warmer than the parisian sun could ever hope to be.

no, hyunjin isn’t a great travel partner. yes, mostly because he takes up all of your time trying to take pictures of you instead of letting you freely wander to the spots that you’d spent a lot of time bookmarking on google maps beforehand. he might be the worst person you’ve gone on a trip with because when you’re travelling, you like to be productive with your time and be able to do everything you set out to do in the limited number of days you have.

but even then, maybe it’s not that terrible having to miss watching the sunset in front of the eiffel tower because more exquisite than all of the most renowned artworks displayed in the louvre and more enchanting than any view you can spot from montmarte is your hyunjin that you adore, who’s kissing you in the middle of a street which name you can’t even pronounce.

any irritation you had from before slowly melts away. you don’t even care (that much) that you’re in the city of love.

any city is love when you’re with him.

(even when he messes up your travel plans sometimes.)

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki (italicized = can’t tag)

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.03.2024]

[lokiinmediasideblog]

So for those that are planning to watch Twilight of the Gods and haven't yet. My review is the following:

It's very much a Zack Snyder plot but without the bad Snyder tropes of past movies (thinking especially of 300 here). It's edgy, has beautiful visuals (Snyder projects often do), and has plenty of equal opportunity sex scenes. Plenty of bi characters. Do they look like they'll kiss? They will and much more...

There are very interesting designs. I loved the voice acting and I'm glad Thor sounds much better than in the trailer (I think they edited what he actually says to avoid spoilers).

My main disappointment is the cliffhanger ending. I hope there's a S2 with some non-cliffhanger ending. I fear for the possibility of Netflix not renewing it and think all Netflix series seasons should never on cliffhangers.

It was definitely made with a lot of research. It takes its liberties, as there's some major differences, but I love how they adapted and altered things from the myths for the story's purposes. A lesser "not-like-Marvel" adaptation would have made Loki a Fire Giant/God a la Wagner. But they had the spider association instead!!

Something I really liked is that they made Loki sympathetic without turning him into an actual child. It's something I've seen a lot, and I'm just like "Cowards, there's plenty to work with without turning him into a child!" Loki feels very much like myth!Loki. He's very sympathetic, but you'll never forget that if he's helping, it's because the goals currently align. You'll be crying at the club for Loki, then go like "Oh shit! WTF Loki!?"

GOW has done antagonist Thor the best so far. For people whose Thor is their blorbo-from-myths (because some follow me), I must warn he's currently very much like Homelander (murderous, physically abusive, predatory) but without a fully developed reason to why he's like that YET. They implied interesting things, such as a fear of eternity and wants to die. If there's a second season, I hope it develops that further to make Thor more interesting. I didn't understand his weird fucked up relationship with Jormungandr, and don't think it was necessary to turn Jormungandr into a sexy snake lady to make Loki and his family sympathetic.

I thought his powers were very cool though and you're like "No wonder this guy is so hard to defeat." Like do you ever go like "How the fuck can this guy with a hammer defeat so many people? The plot armor is ridiculous." Here you won't. Actual storm good powers. And there's some very cool shit like he can do. Fight scenes are great.

[queenofvelaris]

Worthy

Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Word count: 9.7k (don’t look at me)

Contains: ANGST but with a happy ending, mentions of abuse, self-deprecation, Tony’s stupid quips, fight scenes (its age of ultron duh), tooth-rotting fluff, minor character deaths

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story. Everyone except for the reader and her family belongs to Marvel.

Author’s Note: hiiii so I wrote this in 2021 when I was going through a really dark time. It brought me so much peace to write it and I figured it was time I share it with the world. Reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated and I would love to hear your thoughts (such as if I should post more cause I got more 🫣) anyways I hope you like it!!

***

Worthy. What a ridiculous word. A hypocritical one, too. There are those who believe with everything they’ve got— even to the point of being prideful— that they’re worthy. Others hope that they are. And the rest feel, deep down inside, that they’ll never be worthy.

“I bet it’s a trick,” Clint commented, spinning drumsticks between his fingers. He was sat next to Maria, and on his other side, Bruce and Natasha were deep in conversation. Tony and Rhodey sat on the futon. Dr. Cho was asleep.

Thor chuckled and handed a newly opened beer bottle to Steve. (Y/N) was on the carpet, her back against Steve’s strong legs. Thor shook his head. “No, no. It is much more than that.”

“Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power,” Clint mocked in a Shakespearean voice that made (Y/N) snort. “Whatever, man!”

Thor grinned and indicated his hammer, propped up on the coffee table. “Please, be my guest.”

Tony smirked at Clint. “Go ahead!”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He leaped to his feet.

“Oh, this is gonna be beautiful,” Rhodey remarked.

Steve leaned down and whispered in (Y/N)’s ear. “Five bucks says he gives up after five seconds.”

“You’re on,” (Y/N) shot back. “I say ten seconds… gotta give the man a little credit.” She smiled to herself as Steve tickled her shoulder. If she were on the same level as him, she’d tickle him right back.

From the very beginning of the Avengers initiative, after that whole mess in 2012, Steve has always been the one (Y/N) was closest to, Clint being a very close second. It was an instant click. They loved the same movies, traded jokes and sarcastic comments, trained together, and even fell asleep next to each other on the couch on days off. Three years later, they are as close as ever.

Clint approached Mjölnir, a swagger in his step. Tony leaned forward in his seat. “Clint, you’ve had a tough week. We won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up.”

Everyone chuckled at that and Clint ignored them, eyeing Thor. “You know I’ve seen this before, right?”

He reached for the handle and tugged, grunting as he did so. About five seconds later, he gave up, shaking his head. “I still don’t know how you do it!”

“Smell the silent judgment?” Tony jeered at Clint as (Y/N) grudgingly handed Steve five bucks.

Steve made it better with a flash of his perfect smile and a wink from his pretty blue eyes. Beaming, she rolled her eyes and focused on the petty ones in the room.

Clint held out his hand. “Stark, by all means.”

Tony shrugged and stood, earning a chorus of “Uh oh”, “Mmm-hmm”, “Oh here we go.” He practically strutted over to the hammer. “Never been one to shy away from an honest challenge.”

“Yeah, but how often do you win ‘em?” (Y/N) muttered and Steve laughed so hard he choked on his beer. Rhodey and a couple others went “ooo!”

Tony shot her a playful glare and looped his wrist through the loop on the top of the handle. “It’s physics.” He glanced at Thor. “Alright, so, uh, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?”

Thor nodded benevolently. “Yes.”

Tony grasped the handle and put one foot on the table. “I will be reinstituting Prima Nocta.” He grunted and pulled, but the hammer didn’t move at all. He removed the loop and cleared his throat. “Be right back.”

He stormed away and came back not one minute later with an Iron Man glove from his latest model. “That’s cheating!” Maria called.

Tony put it on and grasped the handle. “And I’m Tony Stark.” He yanked on the handle, but the Asgardian weapon remained unmovable. He turned his hand and little turbines came out of the arm, acting like a rocket. Still, Mjölnir stayed still as a rock.

(Y/N) shook her head, grinning as Tony struggled with the hammer. “Give it a rest, pretty boy, you can’t lift it.”

“I can and will, sugar lips,” Tony retorted good-naturedly. He waved Rhodey over and the latter put on his own hand gear from War Machine. Watching them try and lift it together was hysterical and (Y/N) could barely breathe, she was laughing so hard.

Next up was Bruce, who climbed on the table and screamed when he couldn’t lift the hammer. Everyone stared at him in amusement and he flushed pink, embarrassed.

(Y/N) had her head on Steve’s knee when Maria tried and failed. The former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent turned to (Y/N). “Alright, you’re up.”

She lifted her head, chewing on her lip. “Oh, no. I, uh, I’m not doing it.”

Tony whined. “Come on! After Capsicle and Shakespeare in the Park, you’re the strongest one here!”

He wasn’t wrong. That’s another reason she and Steve were both so close-- they were the only enhanced beings in the tower. Her super strength and cat-like agility earned her the nickname of The Leopard, only she wasn’t experimented on. Her mom had been a chemist for S.H.I.E.L.D. when (Y/N) was young, and one day she came to work with her mom and there was an explosion that resulted from the leak of a new serum designed to replicate the one inside Steve. She and her mom both got struck. The result? She got powers and her mom was killed.

“I’m not lifting it, Stark,” she said firmly. She held his gaze. Normally, she’d sigh at the sight of those puppy dog eyes and grudgingly give into whatever task he wanted her to complete. But this… this was different.

Thor boomed, “It is not about strength, Stark. It is about worthiness.”

And I’m the least worthy person here, she said silently.

Steve petted her head for a second before patting her shoulder. “I’ll try.”

Grateful, she shuffled to the side to let him stand. She took his place on the couch next to Thor and watched as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up. His blonde hair glowed in the light and his arm muscles flexed as he gripped onto the hammer.

Clenching his jaw, Steve tugged on the hammer… and it moved slightly. Thrilled, (Y/N) stole a glance at Thor’s face and nearly pissed herself. Thor looked so shocked. Stifling her laughter, she watched as Steve pulled on the handle once more before letting go, holding up his hands in surrender.

Thor audibly blew out a sigh of relief, a small smile returning to his face. (Y/N) shoved his arm. “Don’t worry, no one’s coming for your throne, Thunder.”

Steve chuckled at that and sat back down next to her. Everyone looked at Nat, who smiled and took a sip of her beer. “Oh, no, no, that’s not a question I need answered.”

Tony raised his bottle. “All deference to the man who wouldn’t be king, but it’s rigged.”

Clint clapped Tony on the shoulder. “You bet your ass.”

Maria piped up, “Steve, he said a bad language word.”

“Did you tell everyone about that?” Steve demanded, glaring at Tony as (Y/N) buried her face in his shoulder to smother her laughter. Steve wrapped his arm around her instead of pushing her away, and when she lifted her head, she had to look away from Natasha, whose smirking expression was directed right at her and Steve. Nat has caught them curled up together on the couch before, and each time (Y/N) has told her “Steve is my best friend.” Even though I want more.

Tony leaped to continue his previous train of thought. “The handle’s imprinted. Like a security code. ‘Whosoever is carrying Thor’s fingerprints’ is I think the literal translation.”

“Yes, that’s a, uh, very, very interesting theory,” Thor replied, standing with his Asgardian ale in one hand. “I have a simpler one.” He lifted the hammer with ease and flipped it, catching it gracefully. “You are all not worthy.”

(Y/N) shook her head with a small smile on her face, Steve and Clint laughed, Rhodey and Bruce scoffed, Tony groaned a “Come on!” and Maria and Natasha exchanged looks with the now awake Dr. Cho.

Suddenly, a loud feedback whine pierced the air and everyone reacted, some stiffening and the others covering their ears. Tony frowned and pulled out his transparent pad that controlled everything in the tower.

A voice that sent chills down (Y/N)’s spine came to their attention, as well as the clanking of metal. “Worrrrrrtttttthhhhyyyy.” A tattered, roughed-up-looking version of one of Tony’s suits lurched into the living room, leaking oil. It turned to face them. It flourished its hand, and when it spoke next, its voice was clearer, more masculine, and much more sinister. “No. How could you be worthy? You’re all killers.”

At that, (Y/N) stiffened as dread rooted deep down in her gut. Steve let go of her and stood, his stern eyes fixed on the robot. “Stark,” he challenged without looking at the billionaire.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony called.

“I’m sorry, I was asleep.” The suit turned his head, the lights in his eyes flickering. “Or I was a dream.”

Tony tapped on the pad. “Reboot. We’ve got a buggy suit.”

The robot in front of them shielded his face. “There was this terrible noise, and I was tangled in… in…” he looked down at the wires and spare parts keeping the frame together. “...strings.”

(Y/N) and everyone else who had been sitting set down their drinks and stood, all of them tense. The suit flourished his hand again. “Had to kill the other guy… he was a good guy.”

“You killed someone?” Steve asked, serious and condescending.

Those words and his tone made (Y/N) feel a little sick, but she willed herself not to react and instead focused on the terrifying suit, which glanced at the floor. “Wasn’t my first call. But… in the real world, we’re faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” (Y/N) asked calmly.

The suit straightened up as the sound of a tape rewinding filled their ears. “I see a suit of armor around the world,” Tony’s voice came through.

Tony’s face paled. Bruce stared at him. “Ultron.”

(Y/N), Steve and Thor shot a bewildered look at Tony, while Natasha, Rhodey, and Clint all looked at Bruce for answers. Maria cocked her gun and Thor’s grip on his hammer tightened. (Y/N) clenched her fists and exchanged a look with Steve.

“In the flesh,” the suit answered. “Or, no, not yet. Not this… chrysalis. But I’m ready. I’m on a mission.”

Natasha tilted her head. “What mission?”

Ultron jutted his chin out, and if he had a real form, (Y/N) was sure he would be smiling. “Peace in our time.”

Three of Tony’s suits burst out of the wall, concrete and plaster raining down like hail. Almost everyone dove for cover. Steve flipped up the coffee table just in time for a suit to collide with it, sending both (Y/N) and Steve over the couch.

He immediately reached for her, his eyes wide. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She scrambled to her feet at the same time he did. She ducked as one of the suits flew straight over her head and watched Thor smack it with his hammer.

She hurried over to the bar, where Natasha and Bruce were hunkered down, the assassin using her gun. Maria was also firing her gun, Clint was nowhere to be seen, and Rhodey tumbled through the glass window onto the landing below.

Grabbing a long skewer, she leaped onto the back of a suit that was towering over a terrified Dr. Cho. (Y/N) tried to impale the skewer in between the helmet and neck, hoping to dismantle some of the wires, but it threw her off and into the grand piano with a great crash. The impact barely hurt her, but it certainly knocked the air out of her lungs. She tumbled onto her back, winded, and her eyes widened in fear when the suit faced her.

Unbeknownst to her, Ultron cocked its head and turned his attention toward her. “Interesting.”

Natasha and Bruce hurried up the stairs, Clint barely missed a shot from a suit, Tony hopped onto the back of another one, and the suit looming over (Y/N) got distracted by Maria.

Her heart in her throat, (Y/N) watched as Steve got slammed against the wall on the second landing. He fell to the ground hard, groaning. Thinking quickly, she twisted her head and saw his shield. It was heavy as all hell for everyone else, but for her, it was nothing.

“STEVE!” She yelled, gripping onto the shield.

Steve bolted to his feet and at the same time, (Y/N) threw it to him like a frisbee. Thor dismantled one suit, Tony took down the other, but the third remained. With a spin, Steve threw his shield and it tore the suit in half.

It was over as fast as it had started. It was quiet for a second, the only sound being everyone’s panting. (Y/N) rubbed her neck and gripped onto the wall for support.

Ultron shook his head. “That was dramatic. I’m sorry, I know you mean well, you just didn’t think it through.”

Steve took a few angry steps forward and (Y/N) stiffened. Ultron continued. “You want to protect the world but you don’t want it to change. How is humanity saved if it’s not allowed to... evolve?” He bent and picked up the destroyed head of one of the suits. “With these? These puppets.” Ultron threw down the head and surveyed the room. “There’s only one path to peace. The Avengers’ extinction.”

Thor grunted and threw Mjölnir. The hammer smashed Ultron into pieces against the wall before flying back to Thor’s hand.

The lights in Ultron’s head sparked and flickered. In a sing-songy, raspy voice, the suit murmured, “I had strings, but now I’m free… there are no strings on me…” Then, it flickered and died.

Everyone remained frozen for a second as the tower’s lights flickered. Some went out. Steve rushed over to (Y/N), his intense fury softening as he looked at her. He reached to inspect her neck. “You okay?”

She nodded, though she was far from it. Ultron’s words about them being killers and his creepy disappearance… it unsettled her. She had a feeling they hadn’t heard the last of him.

She was right. Down in Tony’s lab, they realized Ultron had taken all of the Iron Man suits, Loki’s staff, important files, and hard drives. He was in the internet now and was most likely downloading everything he could about each and every one of them. The thought of that robot looking into her file made (Y/N) feel sick. Only Nick Fury had access to her file, but it was clear that Ultron could bypass that.

They also learned that Ultron could access anything he wanted, like nuclear codes. They all figured out that J.A.R.V.I.S. was the person Ultron killed. Tony revealed that he created Ultron because of a vision the female Maximoff gave him when they seized the scepter. He saw what he called “The Endgame,” and he didn’t believe the Avengers would be enough to save the world. Steve assured him that even if they lost the war, they would do it together.

That night, when all was quiet in the tower and everyone was asleep, (Y/N) began to toss and turn. She couldn’t get Ultron out of her head. The monstrosity followed her into the depths of her nightmares and made her feel trapped. Images of him infiltrating her file terrified her to no end.

She sat up and ran a hand through her hair. It was no use. She needed water, or milk. She climbed out of bed and padded to the elevator. It took her to the kitchen.

She was a few footsteps away from the fridge when she heard it. “(Y/N).”

Ultron. She spun around, her fists out, but there was nothing there. Shocked, she lowered her fists. But then, she heard it again, much more sinister. “(Y/N).”

“What do you want from me?” She tried her best to keep her tone harsh.

“Do they know?” Ultron’s voice was quiet and menacing.

(Y/N) stood at attention. “Do they know what?”

Ultron chuckled darkly. (Y/N)’s eyes darted every which way, but she couldn’t see him, only hear him. “What I read in that file of yours… how many years has it been since the “accident”? Or should we call it what it really is?”

She felt her blood go cold. He wasn’t talking about 2012. He was talking about when she was seventeen. Her breathing got more shallow.

Ultron continued. “I’ll ask again… do… they… know?”

“Please.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper as her mouth dried up. Her hands began to shake.

“It’s the reason you’re not worthy to lift the God of Thunder’s mighty hammer.” The sarcasm in his voice made her heart beat faster. “You will never be worthy. How could you be? You’re a killer. Imagine how your closest friends would react. Just think of God’s righteous man seeing you for who you really are… ”

“No.” She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “No, no, no.”

His voice, his words… it didn’t stop. Monster… murderer…

The kitchen got darker and more confined, until (Y/N) felt like she was in a cage. The words got louder and louder until she screamed…

Drenched in sweat, (Y/N) jerked upright, panting. Her hands wildly felt around her. She was in bed. It had just been a dream.

But there was a truth to it that shook her to the core, a fear that she hoped and prayed would never come true.

A knock at her door nearly made her jump out of her skin. The intruder spoke up, their voice gentle. “(Y/N), it’s Nat. You okay?”

“Fine, Nat. Just a bad dream,” the girl lied. She fought to take deep breaths and slow her racing heart. “Sorry I woke you.”

She could tell Nat was hesitating so she forced more conviction into her voice. “Seriously, I’m okay. It’s not so bad tonight. Sorry again. Just… don’t mention it to anybody, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the only girls in the Avengers, they shared this floor together. Unfortunately, nightmares were a common occurrence for (Y/N), and every time she accidentally woke up Natasha, guilt steadily consumed her. She never once let Natasha see her pain, her terror. No one could see. She was the “strong one”, the bold and cheeky (Y/N) that everyone knew and respected. Not the pathetic, shriveling mess that screamed herself awake in the middle of the night.

(Y/N) breathed a shaky sigh of relief when she heard Natasha’s footsteps recede. She was alone. Tears stung her eyes. Always alone.

She curled up in a ball and muffled her sobs, so as not to wake Natasha again.

***

It wasn’t long until they got a tip. Ultron had teamed up with Wanda Maximoff and her twin brother Pietro and were going to make a deal with an old weapons supplier of Tony’s. The rumor was that he had just come into a large stock of vibranium that Ultron wanted to get his hands on.

Pale yellow streams of light poked through the window when (Y/N) woke up. It was the morning of the raid. Silently, she climbed out of bed and suited up. She wore a dark blue leather coat that had leopard print on the inside-- courtesy of Stark. She also wore a blue leather top, black leather pants and boots, and her hair was done in a simple french braid down her back.

She crept into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, like normal. On a regular day, she’d wake up before dawn and go for a run with Steve. Sometimes they raced each other, sometimes they just walked and talked. But last night, she’d barely gotten any sleep, and she had a feeling Steve would skip the run, too.

After she sat at the bar with her mug, Steve walked in, fiddling with one of his gloves. He was in full Captain gear, and the sight of him made (Y/N)’s heart flutter. He always looked handsome, but his uniform and cropped golden hair along with his gorgeous face and eyes always made heat rush to her cheeks. He was just as handsome as he was good and kind. She definitely didn’t deserve him.

Steve wordlessly made his own cup and sat next to her. His thumbs traced the sides of his mug. “You look tired.”

“Thanks,” (Y/N) muttered. She rubbed her temples. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well since Ultron attacked.” Steve peered at her with his signature mom expression. “You’ve been having nightmares again, haven’t you?”

(Y/N) stiffened and met his gaze. “Nat told you?”

Steve shook his head. “Last night I couldn’t sleep so I went for a run in the stairwell. When I reached your floor I heard screaming so I went to check on you, but Nat came out and stopped me. She told me you were okay and to just leave it.”

(Y/N) was quiet for a second. She felt a little guilty for thinking Nat would betray her. Steve covered her hand with his. “You know you can talk to me, right? I may not have gone through what you and Clint did during 2012, but I’ve seen my fair share of horrors.”

“You haven’t done what I’ve done, Steve,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Before she joined the Avengers, (Y/N) worked closely with Clint and Natasha at S.H.I.E.L.D. She was the only enhanced agent, and everyone fought to keep that a secret. Then, Loki arrived. He turned his scepter on her and Clint, forcing them under the control of the mind stone. It was then that Loki came to notice (Y/N)’s strength and agility. He used her as his prized second in command and ruthless assassin. A lot of the human lives lost in Stuttgart, on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Quinjet, and during the Battle of New York were because of her.

Steve sighed. “(Y/N), what’s it gonna take for you to forgive yourself? You were under mind control.”

She shook her head. “So was Loki, but everyone blames him.” She interlaced her fingers with his. “Controlled or not, I have the blood of innocents on my hands.”

For a moment, she imagined what it would be like to tell him about the accident, to share the overwhelming amount of guilt of murdering innocent people in 2012. Would he still be here, holding her hand? Or would he hate her as much as she hated herself? No. She couldn’t tell him. Not till she was ready.

Steve said nothing, just kept holding her hand. He changed the subject, much to her relief. “Are your nightmares about Ultron?”

“Sometimes.” (Y/N) took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t wanna face that Maximoff girl. You heard what she did to Tony.” The thought of someone infiltrating her mind again made her want to throw up.

“I won’t let her near you,” Steve said firmly. He gently placed his index finger under her chin and turned her face toward his. “Do you hear me? I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart.”

She smiled softly, transfixed by his baby blue eyes. His gaze flicked to her lips, and for a split second, he leaned forward—

“Lady (Y/N), are there any Strawberry Pop-Tarts left in the cabinet?” Thor called, trudging into the kitchen in full Asgardian armor.

Looking away from Steve, (Y/N) couldn’t ignore the disappointment washing over her. “Should still be a box on the top shelf, Thunder.” She let go of Steve’s hand, but she didn’t see that he looked crestfallen at the missed opportunity, too.

An hour later, they were all assembled on the Quinjet and headed toward the African coast. Everyone was pretty solemn during the trek, the silence only being broken by Thor’s ramblings and Tony’s jokes. But even the God of Thunder and the sass master himself were more grim than normal.

As they snuck into the salvage yard and the hatch of the Quinjet opened, (Y/N) exchanged a look with Steve. He reached for her hand, squeezed it once, and let go. She didn’t need to hear him speak to know he was telling her he’s got her back.

They ran into the building, finding the discarded bodies of workers all along the floor. Tony in his Iron Man suit led the way, followed by (Y/N), Steve, Thor, Clint, and Natasha. Bruce hung back on the Quinjet-- they didn’t need The Big Guy just yet.

They all split up inside the salvage yard just as Ultron yelled, “Don’t compare me with Stark, he’s a sickness!” He had forged a new suit for himself. The robot was now about seven feet tall with red eyes and a shiny metal body. His back was turned to them.

“Aww, Junior,” Tony called, his voice filtered through the Iron Man helmet. “You’re gonna break your old man’s heart.” He landed down with a clunk on the metal bridge, facing his creation. Thor and Steve were behind him. Natasha and Clint were sneaking in from the sides, and (Y/N) was coming in from the back. Their goal was to box the enemy in.

Ultron turned to face them, flanked by Wanda and Pietro. (Y/N) allowed herself a brief moment of wariness before putting her game face on. She was armed with batons about the length of her arm, coincidentally made of vibranium.

“If I have to,” Ultron drawled, his voice powerful and menacing.

“No one has to break anything,” Thor warned.

Ultron and the Maximoffs approached until they were a few feet away from the three Avengers. “Clearly, you’ve never made an omelet.”

Tony tilted his head. “He beat me by one second.”

(Y/N) shook her head at his almost proud comment. She delicately ducked behind the door behind the Maximoffs and Ultron, peering out at them.

“Ah, so this is funny… Mr. Stark,” Pietro remarked, his Sokovian accent thick. “It’s, what… comfortable?” He glanced down at the missiles and other weapons. “Like old times?”

“This was never my life.” Tony sounded much more serious now.

Steve took a step forward, his eyes on the twins. “You two can still walk away from this.”

Wanda cocked her head. “Oh, we will.”

Steve didn’t back down. “I know you’ve suffered.” They’d heard about the twins losing their parents and nearly dying themselves in the process.

“Ah… Captain America.” Ultron gazed at Steve condescendingly. “God’s righteous man.”

At that, (Y/N) flinched. Ultron had called him that in her nightmare. However, when she saw Steve’s familiar haunted look appear, her fear turned into anger. She withdrew one of her staffs from its sheath.

“Pretending you could live without a war,” Ultron continued. “I can’t physically throw up in my mouth, but-”

“If you believe in peace, then let us keep it,” Thor cut him off.

Ultron took a step closer. “I think you’re confusing peace with quiet.”

Tony was over it. “Yuh-huh. What’s the vibranium for?”

“I’m glad you asked that because I wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan,” Ultron drawled.

Suddenly, he pulled his metal fist back and the energy sucked Tony forward. Ultron blasted him back against the wall and everyone sprung into action.

Tony and Ultron went head to head as suits-- clearly designed by Ultron-- came pouring out of a doorway. Pietro was a blur as he went around, trying to attack the Avengers. His sister was more successful and managed to blast Steve back.

(Y/N) launched out from the doorway and used her strength and one of her batons to knock the head of a suit clean off its body. She leaped over the railing and landed on the bottom floor. A small grin worked its way onto her face as two suits came down to meet her, tall and strong.

She swept the legs out from under one and started to attack the other, but it dodged her heavy blow. She was grabbed by it but twisted her body, ran along the side of a crate, and flipped up and over the suit, tearing its head off.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Clint took down a lot of the weapons dealer’s crew, who were shooting at both the suits and the Avengers. Steve forced Pietro to the ground a little ways away from (Y/N). His eyes flicked over to her, watching her battle Ultron’s minions. He’d been keeping his eye on her, and he was relieved and proud that she was holding her own. He smiled and went back to fighting.

Then Wanda struck.

It was Thor who went down first. A quick tendril of magic infiltrated his mind and turned his eyes red.

“Thor! Status!” Steve barked.

Nothing. He saw Thor falter and freeze in place on the second level as if he was frozen in time.

Immediately, he knew it was Wanda. He spun around, eyes wide and filled with worry. Before he could warn his girl, he was knocked backward by Pietro and witnessed his worst fear with a flick of Wanda’s wrist.

(Y/N) had no idea what was happening. She was easily taking down suit after suit, barely breaking a sweat. She heard static crackling in her earpiece but figured that was just a result of everyone’s efforts.

She was about to deliver a fatal blow to the largest of Ultron’s creations when it spoke. “Were you this talented of a fighter at seventeen, Agent (L/N)?”

(Y/N) froze in her tracks, her baton raised over her head. The suit climbed back onto its feet, its eerie eyes peering straight at her. When it spoke again, its voice bore a significant resemblance to that of Ultron’s. She felt like he was directly talking to her.

“That was your first kill.” It wasn’t a question… the suit knew. Ultron had examined her file.

(Y/N) swung at the suit, but her nerves made her sloppy. The suit grabbed her baton, locking her in place. “Did you enjoy your first kill as much as you enjoyed taking the lives you took in the Battle of New York?”

With a shriek, (Y/N) twisted her wrist and tore the baton free. She attacked the suit with both batons, her viciousness masking her vulnerable state of mind. When she’d backed the suit into a corner, she finally let up on her onslaught, panting. “I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy it then, and I didn’t enjoy it in 2012. I’m not a killer. I was under mind control.”

“Not the first time. You became a murderer of your own accord.” The suit stood again, looming over her.

“Stop it.” (Y/N) shook her head violently.

The suit took a step forward. “How did it feel, watching his life slip away? How did it feel, realizing that you took a life and it was all for nothing?”

(Y/N)’s hands tightened around her batons, trembling. “Stop it.”

The suit was relentless. “How did it feel to be completely and utterly alone?”

“I SAID STOP!” (Y/N) screamed and lunged, but she never reached the suit. A flash of red was all she saw and then the room shifted.

She stumbled and dropped her batons, trying to grasp onto a crate, but she grasped onto a railing instead. It didn’t feel metallic; it was sleek and smooth. She turned her head and realized she was gripping a wooden railing.

She looked up, expecting to see the metal landing and the rest of her friends in the midst of battle. Instead, she saw a carpeted staircase with walls on either side.

Instantly, she felt cold, like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on her head. She was back home, back in the memory that haunted her sleep without relief.

She could hear the thumps from where she stood, tears already springing to her eyes. “No. No,” she choked out and sprinted up the stairs.

Even though she already knew what she would find at the top of the stairs, she still screamed. There was her dad, hovering over her baby brother, beating him bloody. It was obvious that Bobby was having trouble breathing. He was practically lying in a pool of blood.

Dad hated both (Y/N) and Bobby, but once (Y/N) got her powers, he couldn’t take out his aggression on her like when her mom was alive. Instead, he turned his attention to Bobby.

“Stop, you’re gonna kill him!” (Y/N) screamed, echoing the words she spoke when she was seventeen.

“Stay out of this, freak!” Dad roared, giving her a snarl that looked like a dog baring its teeth.

As if on autopilot, (Y/N) gripped onto his shoulders and ripped him away from Bobby. Unlike how it happened all those years ago, she was forced to watch his stumble in slow motion. She stood with her jaw dropped as he tumbled down the stairs and straight into the wall, his head colliding with the plaster so hard that a loud crack split the air. Blood seeped out of the wound, and he lay perfectly still. He was dead.

(Y/N) stared at her hands in revulsion. But tears began to fall when she realized what would happen next.

She whirled around and knelt next to her baby brother, whose chest was heaving and shuddering. This. This was what she saw almost every night, the image that never seemed to escape her. “Hey, hey, Bobby, please. Please. Stay alive. Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me alone!”

Bobby’s innocent eyes met hers briefly before closing. His chest rose once more, but it did not fall. He, too, was still.

“NO!” (Y/N) screamed, scrabbling at his body.

Bobby’s body disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and (Y/N) covered her face with her hands as she cried. She was too late to save him. She tried, but in doing so she killed her dad. He was a menace, but she’d never wanted to hurt him. She never wanted to hurt anybody.

But the nightmare was far from over.

“(Y/N)?” A familiar voice spoke. However, instead of the normal softness and affection in his voice, this time his tone was laced with disapproval and disgust.

(Y/N) leaped to her feet and turned around, wiping her eyes. Steve stood there, his helmet off. Behind him was Tony, Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce. They all looked horrified and furious.

“You just killed your dad,” Bruce said in a hushed voice.

(Y/N)’s hands began to shake. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I-I just-”

“No, no, no, you don’t get to justify what we just saw,” Tony snapped, holding up his finger.

Tears burned (Y/N)’s eyes. “I was a kid. My powers weren’t under control yet! You have to believe me!”

Natasha and Clint looked disappointed. The former Red Room assassin shook her head in disbelief. “I was trained to become a killer. You became one on your own.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” (Y/N) couldn’t stop the stream of tears as they steadily dripped down her cheeks. “I was just trying to save my brother.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” Clint scoffed. “How many more dads did you kill in 2012? No wonder Loki chose you-- you’re wicked, just like him.”

(Y/N) couldn’t breathe. She clutched her ribs, desperately forcing air into her lungs. “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. Guys, please.” She looked at the people she saw as her siblings. “Clint? Nat?” They’d said they understood about 2012… but they were looking at her with pure venom.

One by one, her team turned their backs to her and walked away, disappearing into vapor. The only one who remained was Steve, whose head was lowered.

“Stevie?” (Y/N) tentatively approached him, reaching for his hand.

He ripped it away like she’d burned him and she recoiled. Steve fixed her with a cruel glare. “Now I know why you refused to pick up Thor’s hammer. You’re not worthy, and this is why.”

(Y/N) felt her heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. “Steve-”

“I thought the world of you. I wanted the best for you. I wanted a future with you.” Steve’s voice was low and dark. “Now… I don’t want anything to do with you.”

A sob escaped her lips before she could stop it and she fell to her knees. “Stevie, please!” She grabbed his hand and he pulled it away, walking away from her.

“Stevie, please, come back!” (Y/N) begged and pleaded, but she received no response.

Convulsing with sobs, she curled up on the floor, crying her heart out. Her worst fears had just been realized. The Avengers hated her as much as she hated herself for what she did, and Steve, her Captain… he hated her, too.

“It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t my fault,” she whispered brokenly, wishing she could turn back time and reverse everything. “It wasn’t my fault.”

And that’s how Steve, the real Steve, found her.

When his vision cleared, he hauled himself up. Clint gave him the status report that he took Wanda out of the running, at least temporarily, and the archer went to look for Natasha.

Steve’s mouth went dry. Where was his girl? He reached for his earpiece, ready to command her to tell him where she was, when he heard it. The sobs.

He ran faster than he ever had in his life. It took him only a second to find her, curled up on the floor and crying.

He fell to his knees beside her, tearing off his helmet and setting down his shield. “(Y/N)... hey, hey, hey.” His hands fidgeted, longing to touch her but afraid of how she’d react. “Sweetheart, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

(Y/N) obeyed him, but her mind was still trapped in another world. Her eyes darted lazily around, the flow of tears never ending. She met his gaze and he flinched when he saw the raw brokenness in their depths. “It wasn’t my fault... it wasn’t my fault.”

Steve frowned and this time, he touched her. He ran his fingers through her hair, which had fallen out of its neat french braid. “What’s not your fault, sweetheart?”

“Please, you have to believe me,” she cried. “It wasn’t my fault, Stevie. You have to believe me. You have to believe me.”

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay. I believe you.” Steve’s tone was soft and gentle as he cooed to her, trying to calm her down. Frankly, he was freaked out, too, by her state and what he saw in his own vision. And he was angry. He’d been complacent. He promised her he would keep her safe, that he wouldn’t let Wanda infiltrate her mind. But he was careless, and now his girl was a wreck.

(Y/N) locked eyes with Steve, a bit of hope returning to her (e/c) depths. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve confirmed, forcing a smile.

Clint’s voice comes in on the earpiece. “All the tin men are down, but the Maximoffs are gone. So is Ultron. Tony said the Big Guy escaped and he’s fetching him. I think we need to head back to the jet. Tasha’s in bad shape.”

Steve pressed his own earpiece, looking down at the sweet girl who was crying silently next to him. “So is (Y/N). We’ll meet you at the jet.”

He placed his shield on his back and gathered (Y/N)’s weapons, placing them in his belt loops. He gently worked his arm into the crook of her knees and wrapped his other arm around her back. He stood, cradling her in his arms. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get outta here.”

She curled into him, and even though her tears had stopped flowing, she was still looking around blankly, like her mind was still adrift.

He carried her out of the warehouse, through the salvage yard, and onto the Quinjet. Natasha was slumped in a corner, pale and trembling. Thor looked tense and bewildered. Clint was unaffected vision-wise, but he was pacing the floor of the jet and scratching his head.

When Steve entered the jet, Clint turned and stiffened. “Oh, shit.”

Steve ignored his comment, clueing the archer into how worried Steve was. He followed closely as Steve sat down on one of the seats, arranging (Y/N) so she lay comfortably across the seats with her head in his lap.

“What did she see?” Clint asked quietly.

Steve shook his head, his eyes trained on (Y/N)’s face. His fingers gently combed through her hair, and his other hand traced light designs on her hand. “I don’t know. She wasn’t making much sense. She kept saying something wasn’t her fault. I’ve never seen her like this.”

Clint’s gaze was soft as he looked at her. “I was with her when Loki’s spell lifted. She barely spoke after.” He glanced at Steve. “Actually, it was you who got through to her. You got her to talk again. What Loki’s magic made her do… it damaged her. Being mind-controlled once is no joke, but twice?” He sighed. “Poor kid.” He stood and walked over to the pilot’s seat.

Steve’s heart was heavy, but at the same time filled with warmth. Had he really been the one to help (Y/N) come back to herself after 2012? As he gazed down at her, he decided it would be his job to bring her back this time, too.

So he kept stroking her hair, whispering to her. “(Y/N). Come back to me, sweetheart. It’s me, Stevie. If anyone can fight back against the power of that vision, it’s you. You’re strong, so strong. Stronger than all of us. I’m here. Your family’s all here. Just come back. I’ve got you, and I’m never letting you go. I promise. You’re safe with me.”

Though (Y/N) didn’t respond, her eyes flicked to meet his gaze and he could’ve sworn he saw a sparkle of recognition return to her eyes. Encouraged, Steve kept talking.

He lost himself in his quiet affirmations and gentle words to her, so much so that he didn’t notice Thor, Clint, and even Natasha watching. Thor and Clint smiled slightly, and Natasha, as shaken as she was, felt emotional watching the tender display. It was really obvious to everyone except Steve and (Y/N) that they had fallen for each other.

The three of them were so moved that when Tony and Bruce returned, Clint went out to meet them and warned them to keep their voices down and not make any comments-- with that bit being directed at Tony-- about what they were about to see.

All Tony said when they walked onto the jet and saw Steve with (Y/N) cradled on his lap was a grumbled, “Finally.”

***

They decided that it was too dangerous to return to the Tower. Ultron was everywhere, and after the whole Hulk incident they needed to lie low. Clint guided the jet toward a location he refused to tell the others about, and spoke quietly with Tony. They were the only two who hadn’t been hit with a vision at the salvage yard.

Thor was acting a little gruffer than normal, Natasha was quiet, and Bruce was weary, but the one they were really worried about was (Y/N). For the entirety of the Quinjet ride, her head rested on Steve’s thigh as she slowly came back to reality. It was Steve’s gentle touches and grounding words that eventually brought her back. But even then, she was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart,” Steve whispered. “Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t slip back into your head.”

She nodded once, her face lined with sadness and a hint of fear. It made Steve’s heart ache. He kept his blue eyes locked with her (e/c) ones. “Do you remember Clint and Natasha? They’re like your brother and sister. We’re your family. You’re safe with us.”

He kept having to repeat these statements in order to keep her present. He did so without complaint and with a heart full of affection and concern for his girl.

At the mention of Clint and Natasha, the fear grew on her face and Steve moved his hand from her hair to her face. He gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears. “We’re not gonna hurt you. We all love you. I-” He swallowed. “… care about you so much, (Y/N). You’re safe with us, okay?”

“Okay, Stevie.” Her voice was small and quiet, reminding Steve of his mom after getting her ass handed to her by his dad. He hated it, and wanted nothing more for (Y/N)’s smile to return. So, he kept forcing a smile for her sake and continued anchoring her with his words and touches.

After a few hours, Clint landed the jet next to a farmhouse. Steve stood and held out his hands to (Y/N). “Can you stand for me, pretty girl?”

She nodded shakily and stood, taking his hands. He wrapped his arm around her protectively. The other Avengers watched with a mixture of worry and awe on their faces.

He and (Y/N) trailed behind as Clint helped Natasha walk and led Bruce, Tony, and Thor inside the house. When Clint’s pregnant wife appeared, who the Avengers had no idea about (except for Natasha), they all were stunned. Laura and Natasha caught up and Clint introduced them all to his kids and explained why he kept their location a secret.

(Y/N) tried to smile and hesitantly shook Laura’s hand. The yelling of the kids and the chatter of the others made her tense up. Steve rubbed her arms and made eye-contact with Clint.

Having seen (Y/N) go through something like this once before, Clint strode over to them and kept his voice low. “Tasha’s gonna sleep with Laura. Me, Tony, Thor, and Bruce will sleep in the living room. You two can take the guest room.”

(Y/N) was too in her head to fully process what he said, but Steve’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to question why he and (Y/N) should share a room and protest that it wasn’t appropriate, but Clint rolled his eyes. “Just take the damn room. Go. You’ll thank me later.”

Wordlessly, Steve took (Y/N)’s hand and-- after hearing Clint’s directions-- guided her upstairs. He entered a small but quaint room and shut the door. (Y/N) silently sat on the bed, her eyes on her hands.

Steve exhaled deeply. He walked to her and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. She met his gaze, her expression clouded. Steve squeezed her hands lightly. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What did you see? I want to help you.”

“You won’t once I tell you,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

Steve’s tone was gentle but firm. “Try me.”

(Y/N) took a shaky breath. “Did… did I ever tell you how young I was when I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Steve frowned, concentrating. “You said you were seventeen. You were one of their youngest recruits.”

(Y/N)’s hands fidgeted in his grip. “Did I say why I joined?”

“You said you didn’t want to go to college, that you wanted to work there to honor your mother.” Steve sounded puzzled.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “That-that was-um… it wasn’t the whole truth.”

Steve looked at her encouragingly, and that just made it harder for (Y/N). She swallowed. “After I-uh… after I got my powers and my mom died, my dad… he became more violent. He was violent before, but losing Mom just… it just made him snap. He knew he couldn’t hurt me anymore, so he started taking it out on my baby brother. He was only twelve.”

“Go on.” Steve’s eyes were narrowed, but he made an effort to keep his voice soft.

The stinging tears made it difficult for her to see. “One-one day I heard my dad beating my brother, and when I found them, my brother was barely breathing. I yelled at my dad to stop, but he wouldn’t listen.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, one by one, and Steve let go of one of her hands to brush them away. “I eventually grabbed his shirt and shoved him away, but… but I-I shoved him toward the stairs.”

Steve closed his eyes and (Y/N) shook her head. “I couldn’t revive him. The fall killed him. I killed him.”

Steve’s eyes opened and he stared at her. “(Y/N), that was an accident. You didn’t kill him.”

“Stevie, I was too strong for him,” (Y/N) cried. “I should’ve-”

“Stop, stop, stop.” Steve cupped her face. “Sweetheart, you were a kid. Your powers weren’t under control yet. You didn’t mean to hurt your dad; you were just trying to save your brother.” And that monster doesn’t deserve your guilt and shame, he added silently.

(Y/N) sobbed once and Steve moved to sit next to her, pulling her onto his lap and encasing her in his arms. She cried into his shirt, staining it with her tears.

They sat like that for a minute, and he quietly shushed her and whispered words of reassurance. Once her sobs had died down, she pulled back a bit to look at him. “You… you believe me?”

“Of course I do.” His tone was matter-of-fact. Steve cupped her face again. “What happened to your brother?”

(Y/N) shuddered. “He broke a rib and it punctured his lung. I tried to give him CPR… but he was already gone. He’d lost too much blood.” The streams of tears continued to pour down her cheeks. “He was twelve, Stevie.”

Steve’s soul hurt for her, for that little boy he’d never gotten the chance to meet. He gently wiped her tears with his thumbs and kissed her forehead before pressing against it with his own. “I’m so sorry.”

(Y/N)’s small hands grasped onto his wrists as if they were her lifeline. “After that, I found Fury. He’s the only one who knows the whole story… other than you.” Her tone wobbled. “I asked him to lock me up. He gave me a job instead. He took a chance on me.”

Steve pulled her to him and his nose brushed her ear as (Y/N) continued to shake. “I’d managed to redeem myself in my mind. But then 2012 happened. When I realized what I’d done, what I’d been made to do… I was back in that house, with blood on my hands.” She gave a broken laugh. “It’s ironic, really. The girl with super-human strength and agility is weak in the head. She breaks everything she touches. She makes a fucking mess wherever she goes.”

“Stop, stop,” Steve pleaded, pulling back. “You’re strong, (Y/N). So strong. You’re stronger than me, that’s for damn sure, both mentally and in your heart. You don’t break everything you touch; you bring light to the darkest places. You gave a lost super-soldier a reason to smile again, inspired him to be the best hero he could be, which would never be half as good as you. When you make a mess, you own up to it. But you’ve never once willingly put someone in harm’s way. You’ve never once willingly allowed an innocent person to suffer. You love everyone around you with your whole heart.” Steve’s own eyes were brimming with tears now. “Everyone but yourself.”

(Y/N) stared at him. Steve took her hands in his and pressed kiss after kiss to her hands. “You’re a good person. It hurts me to hear you talk like you’re not.” He made eye-contact with her. “I have a feeling I know what you saw in that vision. You saw your dad and brother dying, right?”

“That’s… that’s not all.” Dare she speak the cursed words aloud? If she did… would that make it real? She covered her mouth briefly, looking anywhere but Steve. “You and the others hated me for what I did. You looked at me with pure disappointment. You-you told me… you told me that-that you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

If it was even possible, Steve’s heart broke even further. “Oh, sweetheart.” He lifted her chin with his index finger, gently forcing her to look at him. A tear rolled down his cheek. “I could never hate you for what happened. Neither could the others. I’m sure if they found out, they’d all feel nothing but compassion for you. What happened? It wasn’t your fault. We’d never blame you. We all love you.” He moved his hand up to run the backs of his fingers against her cheekbone. She unconsciously leaned into his touch. Steve’s tone held sincerity when he said, “I love you.”

(Y/N)’s breath got caught in her throat. The flow of tears slowed, and Steve noticed. A small, watery smile tugged at his lips. “I love you, sweetheart. Have for a while now.” He shook his head. “And you don’t have to say it back—”

(Y/N) cut him off with a gentle whisper. “But I want to.” She wiped her cheeks and moved to cup his handsome face in her little hands. “I love you, Stevie.”

Steve gazed at her with softness and adoration. He leaned forward and kissed her chastely. The kiss was delicate, but for both of them it felt as if sparks were flying. When he pulled away, (Y/N) pouted and Steve laughed. He rubbed his nose against hers. “Trust me, sweetheart, when you’re feeling better, I’ll give you all the kisses you want. But I don’t wanna take advantage.”

(Y/N)’s heart fluttered. Whether it was because he was from the 40s, or because he was just a true gentleman, he was the most considerate man she’d ever met.

She scrubbed her face, stifling a yawn as she did so. Steve noticed. “I think someone’s tired. Lie down.”

She could hear a tiny bit of his Captain voice as he spoke, and that made her smile. She was exhausted, it was true. Barely sleeping for the past couple weeks on top of the emotional baggage of today was more than draining.

She climbed under the covers of the queen-sized bed, and before she could ask Steve to stay, he shuffled over to her. “Scoot over, big guy coming through.”

(Y/N) laughed softly and did as he asked. Pretty soon, her back was against his chest and his big arms were encircled around her. He sighed, content.

She felt herself falling asleep already, but curiosity nagged at her. “What did you see in your vision?”

Steve sighed again, but this time, she could practically hear the resignation in it. “I saw myself going back to the 40s and dancing with Peggy.”

A bolt of jealousy and unease struck her. “Why did Wanda show you that?”

Steve buried his face in her hair, lightly brushing his lips against her ear and making her shiver. “Because she wanted to show us all our biggest fear.”

The unease faded to confusion. “Why was dancing with Peggy your biggest fear?”

“Because she wasn’t you,” Steve said simply. She felt his embrace get a little tighter. “I still care deeply for Peggy, and I try to visit her as much as I can, but I stopped dreaming about a life where I had been with her once I realized my dreams were now about you. I stopped loving her the minute I fell in love with you. Dancing with her… it was a picture of the life I don’t want anymore. It was empty and lifeless because you were gone. You’re my best girl.”

Tears sprung to (Y/N)’s eyes once more. He seemed to sense this and moved his lips from her ear to her temple. He kissed her hair and brushed his nose along her cheekbone. “Let’s go to sleep.”

(Y/N) nodded, and when she spoke she was half teasing, half serious. “Dream of me?”

Steve chuckled. “Always, pretty girl.”

They fell asleep minutes later, the super-soldier holding his girl securely to his chest. They didn’t hear the door open a crack, nor did they see Natasha peek her head in.

She smiled softly when she saw them and shut the door. She turned to face Tony, Clint, Thor, and Bruce, who all eagerly awaited the report.

“They fell asleep cuddling in the bed.” Natasha grinned at Clint. “They finally exchanged their “I love you”s.

Clint had a huge smile on his face, and he turned to Tony and held out his hand. Tony grumbled and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “You rigged it by giving them the same room.”

“Hey, I did that so he could comfort her in private.” Clint smirked and pocketed the money. “Them finally admitting their feelings was just an added bonus.”

Bruce glanced at Tony. “So if Clint betted they’d admit their feelings, what did you bet?”

“That the Leopard and Capsicle would break the bed,” Tony muttered nonchalantly.

Natasha thumped him and Bruce facepalmed himself. Thor beamed. “No, no. The Captain is far too chivalrous for that. The courting ritual back in Asgard--”

“We can hear you guys,” Steve called, his tone a mixture of tiredness and amusement.

Natasha grabbed the boys and shoved them away from the door. She apologized to Steve and (Y/N) and walked away, muttering, “I swear, men are idiots.”

***

Thanks for reading!!!

[nikguhsworld]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🎀୧⋆ ˚｡⋆MOVIE WITH GOJO⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🎀୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪...contents : gojo x fem! reader, smut, horny reader, praise, missionary, unprotected sex, pet names (baby, princess, beautiful, pretty), begging, teasing, gojo loves praising you.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪...notes : this is my first writing so pls be nice lol😭

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you and gojo had been laying down watching a movie for the past thirty minutes. as much as you love cudling with him, you simply couldnt fight how horny you felt. the way his arm was wrapped around your waist, warm breath tickling your neck and chest pressed up again your back definetely wasnt helping either.

you slowly started fidgeting against him, moving your hips in circular motions to get his attention. he shuffled slightly, assuming that you were moving around to try and get comfortable but when your hips didnt stop moving he realised what you were up to.

"baby what are doing?" satoru whispered softly, you could feel him grinning against your ear. "mmm, nothing," you muttered in the most innocent voice you could. " just getting comfortable."

"you sure?" he teased "if somethings wrong you can tell me you know ." he knew exactly what was wrong, he just wanted to hear you say it.

satoru loved hearing you beg for him. he would purposely ignore when you were horny until you told him directly and even when you did he would tease you until you were begging him to fuck you.

"im sure," you answered. he didnt say anything back, he just pulled you closer and rested his head against your shoulder. you continued grinding your ass against him, switching your movements from side to side to in a circle every once in a while.

satoru tried to act like you werent affecting him, but the way his grip on ur waist had tightened, his breathing had gotten deeper and his dick was now ridiculously hard told you everything you needed to know.

all this wasnt just for him. with each movement, you found yourself getting more desperate for his touch. it took everything in you not to turn around and tell him how badly you needed him, but satoru was constantly teasing you so you continued teasing him.

satoru was still trying hard not to give into you. his head was burried in your neck, eyes closed trying not to groan into your skin. his grip on your waist was beginning to get painful and so was your aching clit.

you grabbed his hand and moved it down into your panties. his head immediantly lifted from your neck and as soon as he felt how wet you were he snapped.

he turned you around to face him before smashing his lips into yours. usually his kisses were soft and gentle to begin with but this one was rough and sloppy. his hand gripped your ass harshly causing you to moan. he used this as an oppurtunity to swirl his tongue around your mouth, taking in every bit of your taste.

"is this what you wanted?" he spoke as pulled away to lay you on your back and climb on top of you. "answer me princess, was all that moving about just so i could touch you?"

"maybe," you said, pulling on his shirt to bring him back down to you. "so fucking needy," he mumbled into your lips before kissing them once again. you wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his undercut with the tips of your fingers causing him to groan into the kiss.

he pulled away again, moving down towards your neck and peppering kisses behind your ear. one hand worked its way to ur breast, softly playing with your clothed nipple whilst the other traced circles on your thigh. a soft whine left your lips as you fidgeted underneath him, desperate for him to touch you where you needed it.

"tell me what you want princess," he spoke softly as he stroked your chin. "you 'toru," you said, looking up at him with the neediest face he had ever seen. his dick twitched at the way you looked at him, he really did love making you beg.

"you have me baby, im right here." he wasnt gonna stop acting dumb until he heard you say what you want. your cunt was throbbing with the need to be touched. every second of stubornness you had in you had disappeared. you would do backflips for him right now if it meant he would touch you.

"need you to fuck me," you whined running your hands through his hair. "with what hmm, fingers, tongu-"

"your dick," you hated satorus teasing more then anything. you couldnt decide if you wanted to slap him or bounce on his dick right now.

"such a good girl," he praised, giving you lots of little small pecks for being so good for him. he stopped for a second to take off your top revealing your breasts. each hand cupped one boob whilst his mouth sucked on the sweet spots of your neck. after he was satisfied with the marks he gave you, he pulled away to take off his tshirt and grey sweatpants.

"what position baby," he asked, taking your shorts off and resting his hands on your inner thigh. " i dont mind, but i wanna see you." he smirked as you said this before coming back down to your face.

"you wanna see me fuck my pretty girlfriend?" he asked. "mhmm" you hummed, dangling you hands over his shoulders. "lets stay like this then yeah?" he gave you one more kiss on your lips before finally pressing his thumb against your clit. you sighed in relief as he rubbed you in small circles.

"fuck your wet," he groaned. "dont even have to eat you out anymore before you take me." he took off your panties and then his boxers. his dick sprang out, tip coated in sticky precum.

he stroked himself a couple times before rubbing his tip between your lips. "such a pretty pussy," he whispered, slowly sliding himself into you. you both gasped as he pushed his tip in, as if you hadnt fucked a thousand times before.

"satoru," you moaned, shutting your eyes as he slipped more and more inside of you. "you begged for it so take it," he spoke. "thats it, good girl. just a little more yeah?" you nodded at his words feeling him shove the rest of it in you.

his strokes were slow and gentle to begin with, letting you get used to his size. his hands interwined with yours over your head as he kissed you.

"you can go faster 'toru," you whispered. he immediantly listened quickening his pace. groans left his mouth as one of your hands rug into his back and the other tugged on his hair.

"feels so good toru," you moaned as your eyes fluttered shut. he loved watching the way your face changed each time he hit a certain spot inside you. " you look so beautiful taking me," he breathed out. "so fucking perfect," he used one hand to lift your leg up between the two of you and over his shoulder causing him to reach even deeper then before

"toruu, s'too much," you whined, both your hands raking up and down his back. he didnt mind though, he knew how much you liked seeing the scratches on his back after you guys fucked.

"you take me almost everyday, u can handle it." he groaned looking down at you as he felt you grab of his hands and wrap it around your throat. he felt your cunt tighten around him as he squeezed your throat slightly. a familiar knot began to build in your stomach causing your moans to get louder.

"hold it for just a little longer baby" he whispered. you nodded your head before moaning out his name and clenching around him once again.

satoru was close too, his groans turnt into moans and whimpers and his hips started to stutter into you. "you gonna cum with me? let me fuck that pretty pussy full?" he babbled on "fuck, feel s'good"

you wrapped your hands around his neck bringing him close, taking in the beautiful sight of your boyfriend infront of you. "cum with me baby,"

as if he was controlling your body, as soon as the words left his mouth the wave of pleasure you had been craving came over you. satoru burried his head in your neck as he came, the feeling of his warm cum filling you up made you clench around him, milking his dick.

you both laid there for a minute, satoru resting inside you whilst your hands rubbed up and down his back. "i love you, so much," he whispered. "you did so good for me princess," he pressed a kiss on your lips. " i love too satoru," you smiled, running your hands through his hair.

"lets stay like this for a little 'kay? ill clean us up in a minute."

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[xbellaxcarolinax]

Pls do one where The reader is like chubby and self conscience about her stomach and miguel convinces her that its okay and like fucks her 😋

I may have gotten carried away lol

Word Count: 1205

NSFW below the cut.

...

"Amor," Miguel called from the bed, "c'mere."

You ignored him, staring at yourself in the full-length mirror in your bedroom. You frowned, poking and prodding at your stomach, grabbing the soft skin in your hands and squeezing.

You hated it. You hated the plumpness of your body, the roundness of your hips, the thickness of your thighs.

Something about the day made you more self-conscious than usual, your eyes searching for every detail of your body to detest.

"Hey," Miguel called out again, "you coming or what?" You didn't turn around to acknowledge him, choosing to look at him through the mirror. His thick brows were raised, and his body relaxed as he lay comfortably on your bed with nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. He patted the empty space beside him, ready for the movie night you promised him.

“¿Qué te pasa, hm?" He stood, stretching his limbs before padding over to stand behind you, pressing his chiseled body against your back. His hands fell on your shoulders as he towered over you. You couldn't see his face, the mirror not long enough to reveal anything above the middle of his chest. 

You leaned back against his warmth, feeling tears prick your eyes. You couldn't really explain where all these emotions were coming from. You felt ugly, even more so with Miguel's perfect form standing behind you. 

His large hand skimmed your chest, fingers dancing over your collarbone and up your neck, gripping it gently before tipping your chin up, forcing you to look up at him. Your watery eyes met his determined ones, and he could see the uncertainty within. 

"¿Qué pasó, amor?" He asked again, stroking the delicate skin of your throat. You sniffled, a few traitorous tears slipping down the sides of your face. 

You hated crying—and over something so trivial, too. You felt ridiculous, ripping yourself from his grip to furiously wipe your face free of the salty streaks. 

"You gonna talk to me?" He pursed his lips, arms now crossed over his broad chest. 

"Look at me, Miguel!" You cried, pointing at the mirror with an open hand. He grunted, bending down comically to be at your level, gazing at you through the mirror.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" He asked, his eyes raking over your form. You were in your sports bra and panties, skin bare and glowing from your recent shower. 

"Ugh!" You dropped your face in your hands, almost in hysterics. Your words were muffled, and Miguel sucked his teeth, standing to his full height again, yanking your hands away from your face. 

"Hablame claro." 

You sighed, biting your lip. Your hands went back to your stomach and down the sides of your hips, sniffling. “Look at me,” you repeated softly, your fingers pressing into your skin, “I look…”

“Beautiful?” Miguel offered, pulling you flush against his chest again, wrapping his arms around you. You scoffed, turning your head away when he tried to place a kiss on your temple. “Hey, basta,” he warned, pinching the meat of your thigh. You yelped, slapping his hand away.

“But, my stomach,” you continued, almost whining, more tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

“What about it?” Miguel tightened his hold on you, one of his hands laying over the plumpness of your abdomen. He brushed his thumb back and forth over your soft skin, finally able to place a kiss on your temple like he’d been wanting to. Your shoulders sagged and you looked away from your reflection, laying your cheek against the warm skin of his arm.

Miguel wrapped his fingers around your jaw, forcing you to look back toward the mirror.

“Look at you,” he whispered, holding you close, “look at how beautiful you are. Hermosa.” His hands moved down the sides, gently groping along the way, “And all this for me, hm?” One of his hands snaked down your front and past the waistband of your panties. With two skillful fingers, he parts your lips, swirling them against your clit before swiping down toward your entrance. He tapped his fingers there, once, then twice, before slipping them inside.

“M-Miguel,” your voice hitched, hands gripping his forearms. You whined when he began thrusting his fingers, holding your squirming form by your stomach, “w-wait, what are you—”

“Showing you how beautiful you are,” he growled, spreading your juices over your clit and your lips, “Look at yourself, look how fucking beautiful you look like this,” again he forced your head to face the mirror, “abre los ojos, amor.” 

By that point you had your eyes screwed shut, but he repeated his command, and you opened your blurry eyes, focusing them on your face, flushed and with a sheen of sweat. Your panties had a large wet spot from Miguel working you, his hand digging deep into the meat of your belly, gripping you firmly as he worked to bring you pleasure. 

“Mira,” he marveled at you, watching your body move against his fingers, grinding your hips as he circled your clit, “you see what I see?” You whimpered when he shoved his thick fingers inside you again, moaning as you threw your head back.

“Uh-uh,” Miguel chastised, “don’t you dare look away, keep looking—mhm, that’s it, feels good, right?”

“M-mhm.” You were mewling now, Miguel’s fingers stretching you deliciously. Your eyes were glued to the mirror, and you watched his hand move under your panties, noting how the wet splotch grew larger, your slick spreading between your thighs. You looked so good in Miguel’s hands, your body seemingly made just for him to hold and play with. You felt his length pressed against your ass, large and hot, ready for attention. That aroused you more than anything, knowing that he enjoyed you just the way you are. 

He was going faster now, an unrelenting pace that had moan after moan pulled from your throat, until finally, you released a moan that informed Miguel you were coming undone, and seconds later, you were gushing all over his fingers and palm. 

“Damn, mama, never made you do that before, huh?” Miguel chuckled, smooching your sweat-slicked hair. 

“Huh?” You pant, finally dragging your eyes away from your reflection in favor of glancing down between your legs. You were absolutely soaked. Your panties were soaked through, your juices running down your trembling thighs. That’s never happened before. 

Miguel pulled out his hand from between your heated legs. He was coated with your slick up to the wrist, his digits and palm shiny with it. 

“You’re a squirter,” he grinned when you attempted to elbow him in the stomach, “that’s my girl.” 

He released you, using his dry hand to pull down his briefs while the other coated his cock with your slick. He pumped himself a few times, pulling back the skin to reveal his large tip, weeping with anticipation. 

“You ready for me?” He muttered with a tilt of his head, eyes heavy with arousal. 

You attempted to get on the bed but he stopped you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you against his chest once again. 

“Not the bed,” he said hotly, “in front of the mirror. I want you to watch.”

....

Amor- Love

Qué te pasa- What's the matter

Qué pasó- What happened

Hablame claro- Speak clearly

Basta- Stop it

Hermosa- Beautiful

Abre los ojos- Open your eyes

Mira- Look

[transvampireboyfriend]

@steddie-week Day 1: Secret relationship

Rating: M Words: 2362

Modern AU

"I'm gonna get us some more popcorn" Steve says, slapping his hands against his thighs.

Eddie gives him side eye because it's only been ten minutes since the movie started and they're supposed to be discrete.

Steve silently shrugs at him, raising his eyebrows and pointedly looking at everyone in the room.

He's right, no one even reacted to Steve's statement. Jon and Argyle are absentmindedly playing with each other's hands, eyes locked on the screen; Chrissy and Robin are still whispering to each other; Jeff is still showing something to Freak and Nancy on his phone and Gareth is still dozing on and off next to Chrissy.

Okay then, Eddie thinks, and tries to communicate the same to Steve with a shrug of his own.

Steve smiles a small thing, and winks at him.

A blink and you'll miss it wink, but Eddie still has to bite the inside of his cheek to tame his answering smile and try to subdue the heat rising to his cheeks.

7:05 his watch reads when Steve leaves the room.

Five minutes should be fine right? For Eddie to follow without making their friends suspicious?

Eddie looks at the TV and tries to focus on the movie, but all he can see are colors.

He doesn't know what they're watching, was too distracted by the hair on Steve's arm when they discussed it.

The hair on Steve's arm, which Eddie only discovered yesterday, is so soft and fun to kiss.

And lick.

And mouth at.

Jesus, it's been a whole month since their first date, a little more than that since they first kissed and Eddie still acts like a lovesick fool.

7:06

Eddie starts bouncing his leg impatiently.

On second thought, popcorn takes like two minutes to be ready. And say it takes Steve an additional minute to put it into a bowl, then he'll be back in less than five!

Eddie's wasting precious time!

He stands abruptly and everyone does turn to look at him at that.

"Sorry," he smiles sheepishly, "need to use the bathroom. Be right back."

His friends turn back to the TV with hums and noncommittal grunts and Eddie at least has the sense to walk towards the hallway and not go through the kitchen's front door.

It's a redundant but necessary detour and in a few more seconds, he's opening the kitchen's side door.

Steve greets him by throwing his arms around his neck, "What took you so long?" he asks, leaning forward to bring their lips together.

Eddie hums against him and lets go of the door, letting it swing closed in favor of grabbing on to his boyfriend.

His arms circle Steve's waist and pull him closer as they kiss.

"Didn't wanna be too obvious" Eddie murmurs against Steve's lips, noticing there's no smell of popcorn or any sound from the microwave.

Steve hums, then grabs Eddie's face with both hands and soundly kisses him once, twice.

"I think I'm about ready to tell them," Steve comments when he pulls back, lowering his hands to Eddie's shoulders.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, feeling his heart pick up its pace.

Steve liking him back is one thing, getting to be together like this another, but him telling everyone about it? Eddie hadn't even dared to dream that big in the year or so that he spent pining after the most beautiful boy he's ever met.

Steve nods, a smile growing on his face.

"Cool," Eddie comments, unable to hide the huge grin that's surely showing his dimples.

Steve giggles, that wonderful sound reserved only for Eddie, and nods again, "Mmhm" he agrees, leaning forward again, placing his mouth on his and tangling his fingers in his hair.

Eddie searches his tongue the way he knows Steve likes, steals his air and sucks on his lower lip when they need to part, enjoying the way Steve's body goes boneless, melts against his hold.

"God, I love your mouth," Eddie sighs, making Steve laugh softly against him,

"Are you staying over tonight?" Steve asks, pleasantly scratching the back of Eddie's skull,

"If you want me to, babydoll," Eddie offers, thoroughly enjoying the blush that the ridiculous petname elicits as Steve scoffs and looks away from him.

Eddie takes the opportunity to smack a kiss on his cheek, feeling Steve's smile get wider.

He turns back to Eddie and his smile fades a little, Eddie turns his head to the side, worry creeping up inside him.

"Please stay," Steve asks, with something serious in his eyes,

Eddie understands. Maybe more than Steve would expect him to. So he makes it his priority to reciprocate his boyfriend's seriousness and moves both his hands up to hold Steve's face,

"For as long as you'll have me, sweetheart," he promised, hoping Steve can hear his sincerity, can understand how much he means it when they look into each others' eyes.

Steve smiles with something like wonder and brings their lips together again.

Eddie moves one of his hands to the back of Steve's head, and grabs onto his hair there, circling the other around his waist again and walking them back until Steve softly bumps the kitchen counter.

Steve sits on top of the counter with practiced ease, using Eddie's shoulders to jump up and then opening his legs like he always does.

And like always, it drives Eddie insane.

He takes his place between Steve's legs, kissing him insistently, his hands moving from his waist to the top of his thighs, rubbing there as he goes to kiss his neck, when the door opens.

Eddie's heart stops.

In the span of a few seconds which seem infinite to him, Eddie freezes, looks up from Steve's neck to his face, finds him staring ahead with eyes as wide as plates and straightens up, letting go of Steve's thighs to turn around and find Gareth rummaging through the fridge.

An agonizingly long minute passes.

None of them say anything, Steve staying atop the counter and Eddie frozen in place, until Gareth straightens up with a can on his hand, and looks at them like he hadn't even realized they were there when he came in.

Eddie can only raise his eyebrows.

"Sorry, Jeff did want a coke after all," Gareth says, like it explains anything, "You know how he is," he comments,

Eddie stares.

"Did ...you want us to pause the movie?" Gareth asks.

Eddie blinks.

"Uh, no. That's okay," Steve answers,

"Alright." Gareth says slowly, "...Cool," he concludes, and then he exits the kitchen without another word.

Eddie frowns, a little mindblown, immediately turning back to Steve and finding a similar frown on his face.

"Did you-?" Steve asks,

"No!" Eddie cuts in, scandalized and a little panicked, "Of course not! We agreed we wouldn't tell anyone!"

Steve's frown dissipates to give way to a soft smile. He places his hand against Eddie's cheek. "I know," he affirms, "sorry."

Eddie rolls his eyes a little, letting Steve know no apology is necessary and he sighs, calmer now that he can see that Steve's not freaking out.

He leans into his boyfriend's hand more.

"Do you think Robin-?" he ventures,

"I don't think so," Steve answers softly, "Last I heard Chrissy doesn't even know yet. And that was last week" he comments, moving his hand to tuck Eddie's hair behind his ear, absentmindedly caressing the strands after.

"I don't think she would tell Chris without telling me," Steve assures him,

Chrissy does suspect. Eddie met her a little later than he met Steve but she's rapidly become his best friend and regularly refers to Steve and Eddie as 'a couple'.

Eddie used to blush hard at the comments, before they got together. And she never pushed, but it was the thing that got him to notice that his looks were returned, got him to understand that Steve doesn't actually treat anyone else the way he treats Eddie.

Now he just sort of scoffs when she mentions it, but he hasn't told her either. Wanted to let Steve set their pace.

"I mean he is known to be distracted" Eddie offers about Gareth,

Steve laughs silently, "There's no way he didn't notice me up on the counter and you between my legs, baby,"

Baby.

Eddie blushes. He can't get over the pet names, especially when Steve only uses them in private.

He returns his hands to rest on top of Steve's thighs and leans up to kiss him, trying to cool the heat in his cheeks.

It does not work.

Steve rubs their noses together when they pull apart, resting his hands on Eddie's shoulders, "You wanna tell 'em?" he asks,

"If you do," Eddie says, "but tell me if there's anything that should change" he requests,

One of Steve's hands holds his face again, his thumb softly moving back and forth on his cheek.

"Like what?" he asks, barely above a whisper,

"I don't know," Eddie answers, racking his brain for an example, "like, ...are you into PDA?" he asks in the same tone, not wanting to burst the bubble they created,

Steve strokes Eddie's hair again, turns his head and purses his lips, thinking,

"I'd like to hold your hand" he settles on.

He's gonna kill Eddie, one of these days, his heart will grow so big from how sweet Steve is, that it'll explode.

Eddie has to press his lips together so he doesn't smile ear to ear.

"That's not PDA, I don't think,"

"No?" Steve innocently asks, he knows what he's doing, the bastard. Eddie wants to melt.

"No, angel,"

"You want us to kiss with tongue in front of everyone?" Steve asks, in the same tone, but with a shit eating grin,

Eddie snorts loudly, has to lean his head on Steve's shoulder to suppress his laugh.

"No, I don't think I want that," he says, straightening up while his shoulders still shake with his laughter,

"Good," Steve says, looking smug, "Me neither,"

He places a kiss against Eddie's temple, gently scratches the back of Eddie's skull and asks, "What about you? Do you have anything?"

"Was thinking I like the things you call me in private," Eddie murmurs, emboldened by the tender touch,

Steve smiles softly, but wags his eyebrows.

Eddie laughs again, almost shy, "Shut up." he protests, "You don't even call me anything different in bed,"

Steve joins him, laughing softly, but then his eyes soften too.

"Hmm," he hums, leaning down to close the distance between them, "I can save the pet names just for you" he murmurs,

Eddie leans up the small fraction left to join their lips again, and Steve softly kisses back.

"Anything else?" Eddie asks as they pull back,

"Can I have shotgun privileges? And hold your hand while you drive?" Steve requests,

" 'Course you can" Eddie grins, sure that there are hearts in his eyes when he leans up to briefly kiss Steve's jaw,

"What else?" Eddie asks,

"Want your hands in my hair" Steve answers easily, in the syrupy tone he always gets when Eddie gets his mouth anywhere near his neck,

"Anytime," Eddie grants, softly biting where he just kissed,

"You?" Steve asks,

"Would you wear my clothes out of the house?" Eddie tries,

Steve smiles and kisses both his eyelids, making him chuckle a bit "I'd love that",

"Something more?" Steve gently probes,

"We can figure out the rest as we go?"

"Sounds like a plan."

---

"Eddie and I are together" Steve proudly announces to his friends after the movie's over and the pizza's gone.

He takes Eddie's hand in his and Eddie smiles at him so wide, his cheeks hurt.

Robin squeals. Eddie turns to look at her and sees Chrissy doing the same, with a confused frown on her face.

Eddie thinks that's weird, but when he looks at the rest of their friends he finds expectant looks on their faces. Like they didn't understand or something.

After a beat, Nancy asks, "What do you mean?"

"Uh. We're dating," Steve answers, a little nervous now. Eddie softly squeezes his hand.

"Yeah, you have been for like a year, right?" Chrissy answers this time, "Certainly since I met you guys,"

Eddie gawks at her, "What?"

"Robin, did you tell her?" Steve asks,

"I didn't!" she defends,

"Tell me what?" Chrissy asks, turning to her,

Eddie cannot believe his ears.

"Wait," Jeff says, "you weren't dating before?"

"Before what?" Jon asks,

"Before we met Chrissy?" Gareth tries,

Eddie's whipping his head back and forth between them as they speak,

"When did we meet her?" Argyle asks,

"Was it last year?" Freak adds on,

"Shush! " Nancy urges, pulling everyone's attention to her,

"How long have you two been dating?" she asks Steve and Eddie,

"A month?" Eddie says, his head spinning,

"And a half" Steve finishes,

Robin snorts and the group erupts into protests,

"No way."

"What?"

"Nu-uh,"

"What the-"

"Oh my god?? "

"There's no way!"

Eddie nods at them, "Yeah, how long did you all think we had been dating for?"

"Before we met Chrissy!" they answer almost in unison.

"What? Why?" Steve asks,

"Because you go on dates," Jeff answers,

"What!? " Eddie's beginning to sound like a broken record,

"Yeah, you guys go shopping, and to the record store" Argyle explains,

"And to dinner at each other's places" Freak finishes,

"I do that with all of you!" Eddie protests,

"Yeah, as a group," Gareth counters,

Steve turns to look at him and presses his lips together when Eddie looks back.

"Don't you dare," Eddie warns, already trying to swallow the laughter bubbling up his throat,

"Wait, so you thought you were always sitting next to each other by happenstance?" Chrissy asks,

"You save our seats together? " Steve asks her like it's the most heart warming thing he's ever heard,

Eddie lets go of Steve's hand in order to bury his face in his own, he can feel his blush against his palms.

"You know we could hear you making out in the kitchen right?" Nance asks,

Eddie groans loudly just as Robin bursts out laughing.

"You platonically watched a movie together on Valentine's?" Argyle asks skeptically, "At the theater?"

"Oh my god " Eddie complaints,

That's what topples Steve. His laughter filling Eddie's ears.

He has to come out of his hiding place to look at him, seeing Steve joyful is what he was put on this Earth to do, Eddie thinks.

"You platonically got him a sunflower bouquet for his birthday?" Jon piles on,

"He said he'd never gotten flowers before!" Eddie defends as everyone laughs,

Steve chuckles, rubbing Eddie's back soothingly,

"What was I supposed to do?" Eddie turns to him,

Steve smiles brightly and places a kiss on his shoulder.

Eddie smiles back, placing a hand on Steve's knee.

As embarrassed as he is, he's really glad everyone finally knows.

Sneaking around was fun, but nothing can compare to having Steve like this.

[sanccharine]

loser's game | jh

pairing: jihyo x reader

genre: (questionable) comedy

word count: 6.1k

warnings: descriptions of blood, gore, violence. includes popular monsters/villains from horror movies. 

summary: when you and jihyo lose spectacularly as the mafias in the mafia game, you are both are forced to endure a horror house as punishment.

a/n: this started on feb 20, 2021... finally finished on oct 31, 2024 ·_· the banner is so serious for such a ridiculous fic, im sorry. this was inspired (100% stolen and copied) from run bts, going seventeen, and time to twice — like it is literally scene for scene going seventeen the tag. anyways thanks to my gorl indigo (@eternallyghosting) for correcting the shit out of my spelling...it was bad. and happy diwali and halloween (diwalloween if you will)

A soft curse escaped your lips as you observed the meticulously decorated building in front of you.  

Granite statues of goblins guarded the front steps, which seemed like they were a second away from falling apart. Along with their pointed ears and wrinkled foreheads, they had a grotesque grin etched across their face, more to showcase their rows of sharp teeth instead of a welcoming smile. The worst part was their eyes, hidden away from the rain by protruding eyebrows, they were caved in and greasy, making them twinkle in the night. 

The stairs were also of the same stone, splattered with what you hoped was dirt and grime, leading up to the entrance of the mansion. Beside them, led a staircase to the right side of the house all the way up to the upper floor. It was a beautiful house, truly, with its high roofs and many windows. Maybe in its prime, you would have been able to appreciate its beauty, maybe even dreamed of staying in such a place. 

However, in the darkness of the night, the pastel pink walls turned into an ugly shade of grey similar to a trodden sidewalk. It didn’t help that the paint was cracked and peeling to show the large splotches of mould. Then there were the overgrown vines spewing over the railing beside the entrance and crawling up the walls, reaching the open windows which creaked eerily with wind, barely hanging on. 

It was the type of house the protagonist of a horror movie would have to move into at the start of the film. Even with cleardistaste for the house and the knowledge of its past from the neighbours or rumours, they’d choose to stay there. The mere sight of it had you wrapping your arms around your stomach and pulling at your overcoat. 

For a random haunted house at an amusement park, they had spent quite the money to make it look…convincing. 

Beside you, Jihyo’s torso heaved as she inhaled and exhaled deeply, allowing a misty cloud to escape her lips. When she was done collecting herself, she spun on the balls of her feet as she proclaimed. “We’ll do the dishes, Jeongyeon! And vacuuming! For a week!” 

Normally, you would’ve nudged Jihyo, gesturing that you wanted nothing to do with cleaning duties. What with Jeongyeon breathing down your neck for every second of it? Absolutely not, you did not have a death wish. However, considering your current predicament, between cleaning with Jeongyeon badgering you every second or entering this haunted house of horrors, you would easily pick the former.  

Nayeon scoffed at Jihyo’s pathetic attempt at bargaining which caused you to turn as well. Next to the oldest, stood Jeongyeon with her hands in her pockets, completely relaxed at the knowledge of her friend’s imminent suffering. Beside the pair, stood Sana and Momo, who clung to each other for any sort of warmth during this late October night. However, there was no warmth in their mischievous eyes.

When Jeongyeon’s face stayed as expressive as the stone behind you, Jihyo continued with hands clasped in front of her chest. “Seriously! For two weeks, then?” 

But, of course, Jeongyeon was not easily convinced. 

“No,” Jeongyeon said with a composed smile as her eyes moved from the begging girl to you, who remained as stiff as a board. “Neither of you can properly clean. It’s just more work for me.” 

Nayeon folded her arms as her eyes flitted to the ground to suppress the cackle that would surely burst out. Jihyo’s clasped hands parted, shaking as they dropped. The corner of her lip twitched as she straightened herself, the facade of a begging innocent transformed into a character dead set on spilling blood.  

Before that could happen, finally coming to your senses, you offered. “I’ll pay for dinner.” 

Jeongyeon tilted her chin up to consider. Even Jihyo turned, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’ll pay for tonight,” you nod, resolving yourself. You need to sound confident. “Dinner at the new restaurant that opened down the street. Tzuyu wanted to go there, I’ll pay!”

Sana and Momo started giggling like schoolchildren at the thought of free food, while Nayeon nodded her head with satisfaction, convinced. However, Jeongyeon only raised an eyebrow at the offer, clearly mulling it over. The only thing that could distract the group of demons you call friends is food, they were primitive that way. You turned to meet Jihyo’s stare, which was oddly inexpressive, but all of you knew better than that. It was all just a mask, to cover the rage simmering right underneath, waiting to be unleashed. 

“No,” Jeongyeon said with a clenched half-smile, one that would accompany an apology, but she looked anything but apologetic. 

Right next to you, a shrill yowl erupted that nearly shattered your eardrum. Instinctively, you shifted and threw your arms around Jihyo’s waist. Fortunately, you’d caught Jihyo just before she could pounce and tear out Jeonyeon’s bleached hair strand by strand. Although, with the way she thrashed in your arms she was only a second away from escaping and doing just that, maybe you’d even join in. Nayeon let out that cackle while Sana and Momo continued to giggle, all at the sight of their friend going absolutely feral. What must’ve irritated Jihyo even more though was that Jeongyeon stood in the middle, completely unaffected. 

“You set us up!” Jihyo shrieked, but the ringing in your ear didn’t deter you from your task. “Jeongyeon, you set us up!”

Joining Jihyo, but also tightening your hold on her, you agree. “She’s right! You purposely put Chaeyoung as the police and Dahyun as the doctor, while Jihyo and I were the mafia. Obviously, we’d lose!”

“Lies and defamation,” Jeonyeon shook her head before placing her hand over her heart, “I did no such thing. I would never, ever, do that.”

“Or maybe you’re just bad at playing mafia!” Sana said, sticking her tongue out. Momo let loose more giggles while Nayeon let out another hearty cackle, this time, smacking Jeongyeon’s shoulder in the process.

“As if you’re any better!” Jihyo growled, panting but still caged in your arms. “As if you–”

“What’s going on?” Mina’s small voice asked as she came over, holding two ginormous sticks of cotton candy. Behind her, the three youngest members of your circle followed like little ducklings after their mother. 

Dahyun was busy counting leftover change and checking bills to see if everything was accounted for. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, on the other hand, lugged in more carnival food—enough snacks to skip dinner. Of course, they’d never actually skip dinner. They’ve bought buckets of popcorn as if they’re out to watch a movie, which was true in a way, your misery will be their entertainment. 

Sighing at the image, you accepted your fate. 

Momo eagerly took a stick of cotton candy from Mina, while Nayeon answered. “Jihyo and Y/N are trying to weasel their way out of their punishment, you know, like a bunch of weasels.” 

Nayeon shook her head with two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in feigned disappointment. Mina flashed her gummy smile just as a carnival worker came out to call you. Jihyo turned to offer a small bow, as your friends began to holler. The woman arrived with two selfie sticks in her hand attached to cameras and handed them to the two of you. She offered a kind smile, completely missing the dread swirling in your eyes.

“Welcome to Mysterious Mansion! Your objective is to find the four keys necessary to escape the mansion in under thirty minutes. That’s it!” She said with a small shrug and you narrowed your eyes at that obvious lie. “Once you enter, there will be a map of the mansion to your right as well as a few rules outlining the gameplay, please read them before proceeding. When the two of you are ready, just raise your hands above your head and you’ll hear a buzzer which will be the start of your time. 

“As for the rest of the group,” the woman leaned to Jihyo’s right to offer a kind smile to your already snacking friends, “please follow me to the back where you can watch them play the game.” 

When the girls hollered, you slowly turned to Jihyo’s stare. There was a mismatch of emotions passing through them, none of which you could make any sense of, apart from the fact that neither of you wanted to do this.

One last attempt at a saving grace, your eyes landed on the cost for one run of thirty minutes. It was quite pricey. “Damn guys, this punishment looks like it will be really expensive, instead I’ll just buy dinner—”

“Just go already,” Tzuyu deadpanned to your offer, her voice muddled as she munched on popcorn. 

“Plus, we paid in advance. All of us!” Dahyun added in her chirpy manner. 

“Right, of course, you did,” you muttered to yourself. “Why did I even bother?”

What were the five stages of grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance? Yeah, well it was about time you accepted your demise. Jihyo must’ve come to the same conclusion after having gone from being scared to offering to clean to going absolutely mad, completely skipping the depression stage as an odd light filled her eyes. 

“Thirty minutes, right?” You snapped to your right at Jihyo’s words. “What’s the record time?” 

“Eight minutes!” The worker said in an unnecessarily chirpy tone. “Three guys made it out in a flash, best run we’ve seen!”

Jihyo mumbled something and nodded to herself while Nayeon began to snigger, completely aware that Jihyo’s competitive spirit would be a thousand times worse than whatever was waiting for you inside. 

Jihyo offered her empty hand and you sighed dejectedly as you took it, your fingers quickly entangling. Your so-called friends giggled and howled like the irritating children they were, offering encouragement that was mostly empty. You were sure Jeongyeon had a wicked grin plastered on her face, you didn’t have to turn around to know that. 

With a camera stick in your left hand and your right in Jihyo’s, the two of you approached the steps. You tried to drown yourself in the giddy laughter of little children visiting the carnival, the same overplayed pop music blaring from speakers, and the vibrant flashing lights adorned on various rides to remind yourself that the horror house you were entering was just another ride. None of it was real, and you were not going to get hurt. As the worker put it; just find the keys and escape, that’s it. Simple. 

With a final few rowdy howls from the young college girls, the entrance to the mansion closed behind you. To say the place was dark would be an understatement. You could just barely make out the grand stairs leading to the upper floor, and by baseless deduction, you assumed there were rooms on either side of the staircase because right now all you could see was black. Jihyo squeezed your hand and you stopped staring blindly into the abyss to stare at something you could see. 

As the worker had mentioned, there was a map to your right. It was lit up by flickering yellow light and detailed both floors. There were a total of six rooms aside from the three bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, and the main hall. Basically, the place was ginormous—again, quite the budget for an amusement ride. The exit was marked with a large red ‘X’ on the upper floor. 

Jihyo quickly read aloud the rules as you let out another dejected sigh, bringing up the camera to glare at it, you mumbled. “You know this is all your fault?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jihyo scoffed, turning to you before yanking her hand out of your clasp. “My fault? If anything, this is your fault?” 

“Oh, please enlighten me.” You replied, throwing your arms up, sending a scathing glare her way, though she probably couldn’t see it well. 

“If you didn’t look so suspicious, then—”

A loud buzzer sounded and the two of you froze—both of your hands had been raised, even if it was only for a second!—as the dim yellow lights changed instantly to hues of crimson. 

Jihyo’s hand grabbed yours and brought it down before interlocking fingers again. She then hissed as she took the first step. “If you didn’t look so damn suspicious, then you would’ve lasted more than two rounds and we would’ve won.”

“That’s just my face! If I smile too much I’m suspicious, if I don't smile at all I’m still suspicious! What am I supposed to do?” You hissed back, squeezing her hand tightly. Clearly, both of you have regressed back from acceptance to anger. “And what about—let’s go left—what about you?”

Jihyo turned left, dragging you along, and entered a grand dining room. In the centre of the room stood a large mahogany table, large enough to feed eight people and was neatly adorned with plates. If you squinted, you could make out the beautiful patterns on the plates and the intricate engraved details on the ends of the cutlery.

Letting Jihyo lead you around the table, you continued. “What about you, huh? The second Nayeon mentioned your name, you blew up. It was clearly a trap, and you walked right into it!” 

Jihyo sighed, leering over the table to check for a key among the silverware, and admitted. “I should’ve killed Dahyun after you were voted out.” 

Dahyun was too good of a doctor and managed to save everyone you tried to kill. If Jihyo had taken her out, that would’ve given the mafias an easy win. You grumbled your agreement while eyeing the strange baroque painting at the end of the dinner table. 

The painting was of a woman in a silk gown, glancing to her left, wholly uninterested in the elaborate platter she held. Strange since the platter held a severed head. The man was bearded, his mouth frozen agape in shock as his sockets had been carved out, devoid of eyes. He was adorned with pomegranates, grapefruits, and plums—the juice of the fruit and the blood from his neck pooled and dripped down the woman’s hands, soaking into her sleeves. What a terribly morbid painting, it disgusted you but for some reason, you couldn’t look away. Deciding to search the table along with Jihyo, you opted for one last glance. 

Probably the worst decision you’ve ever made, as your heart nearly burst through your ribcage. 

The woman’s eyes in the painting looked straight at you. 

If Jihyo sensed you crushing her hand in a panic, then she ignored it. Instead, she shuffled around, tugging you, and aggressively prodded the table with the camera stick, prioritizing finding a key over a broken hand or the camera. Not trusting your voice, you nudged Jihyo to warn her, unable to break your gaze from the painting. Of course, completelyused to your irritating behaviour, she overlooked it. Jihyo only offered low grunts, much like a caveman, when you nudged her more frantically, panicking after you caught sight of the blood dripping from the painting and onto the floor. 

Jihyo was about to reach her limit from all your nudging, especially when she was the only one trying to find the keys. You knew she was preparing to give you a verbal lashing when suddenly she went taut under your grasp. Jihyo let out a guttural scream, loud enough to break the sound barrier, and jumped a meter into the air. In response to that, a horrid screech escaped from you and as you were still very much stuck to Jihyo, you were yanked harshly out of the dinner hall. 

“There was something under—something grabbed my leg!” Jihyo repeated frantically, shivers passing through her body as she ran back to the entrance. Jihyo let go of your hand, though with a lot of difficulty, to try opening the door. No such luck because the door was locked shut.

You swore profusely, before obsessively jangling the door handle with your now free hand. Rage had quickly enveloped your fear and this was the only way to let out your frustration—bullying an inanimate object. You sent a kick to the handle after trying to slam the door open with your shoulder. When these failed, you finally acknowledged what had already been proven. “Damn it, we have to find those stupid keys!”

“Should we split up?” Jihyo asked, already studying the map, while you glimpsed at the dining room. It was difficult in the dark, but you were sure you saw a shadow moving. “How about you take the ground floor, and I’ll take the other?” 

Jihyo glanced at you as if she was offering you the better option as if she was being generous. Yeah, the ground floor had fewer rooms, but that was only because the rooms were larger. Plus, the dining room, kitchen, and the main hall were all open spaces. Your only proper refuge would be the smallest bathroom, which was at the very far end to the right. 

You were just about to decline and suggest you stay together when something—well someone—came growling from the kitchen. The two of you screamed as much as your lungs would allow you. Without a second of hesitation, Jihyo bolted up the stairs still yelling, successfully leaving you for dead.

Well, guess you would be taking the ground floor then. 

Personifying the fight in the fight or flight response, you wielded your camera stick like a bat and stood your ground. You jumped side to side on the balls of your feet, swinging the makeshift bat as the monster came to a slow stop in front of you. It was too dark for you to make out the costume and makeup, but with the tufts of fur and leaves hanging from the torso, you’d assume this was some sort of swamp monster. Perhaps you would have criticised how a swamp monster took away from the immersive experience considering you were in an elaborately decorated mansion, but at the time, you were too busy screaming to think of such things. 

“I swear I will hit you—don’t come closer!” You shrieked, with only the stick in between you and your murderer. 

Whoever this poor actor was, was probably not paid enough to do this every night, especially with the makeup and heavy costume, but right now, that wasn’t your biggest worry. If this person were to make any sudden move, you were more than ready to whack the life out of them. You could live with that. Covering their medical bills and assault charges will be a problem for you in the future. 

The two of you circled each other until your back was to the dining room entrance and you let yourself be backed into the room. However, the second your back hit a chair, you grabbed whatever silverware you could find and hurled it in your attacker’s direction. Lucky for you, the cutlery was not attached to the table, or worse, made out of porcelain. The spoons, knives, and forks clattered to the ground while you dashed to your left, moving to the kitchen. 

There was a strange bubbling noise but you decided to return to this place when you’re not so close to being killed. You exited the kitchen through its proper entrance and opened the door on the left. It was a small storage room, littered with nothing but a few discarded canvases on the floor—you don’t remember this room on the map. 

Oh, also, there was a crying woman in white, huddled in the corner. 

Greeting her with a quick bow, you immediately shut the door before you could register what you’d seen. Ignoring the violent shudder that passed through your spine, you ran back towards the main entrance, just about to cross the staircase to follow through with the plan you never agreed to when a blood-curdling scream came from the first floor. 

Your self-sacrificing instincts kicked in and you climbed two steps at a time while cursing your feet which carried your body towards Jihyo’s screams. Crashing into the first door on your right, you burst into the room screaming all the while swinging your camera stick strong enough to make baseball stars weep… only to find Jihyo backing her assailant to a corner. 

You paused, chest heaving violently, as you witnessed Jihyo in her warpath. Her hands were clenched in tight fists as she stomped forward, making the poor actor back up. She let loose those guttural gnarls that would have one’s throat grating as if someone were pulling it taut. Surely, by the end of your punishment, Jihyo would end up with a sore throat that no amount of honey could cure. Her attempt at asserting dominance slowed down to snarls and hissing before she came to a stop at the sight of surrender. You would have been impressed had she not looked completely mad. 

Jihyo heaved and moved back to the enormous bed in the room, with her eyes still trained on the poor zombie, who tried to become one with the wall. When she sat down, huge plumes of dust wafted into the air and she began coughing violently but had no energy to move away. 

Catching yourself on the door frame seeing that Jihyo had saved herself, you whimpered out. “Got all your anger out now?” 

Both the actor and Jihyo stiffened at your voice before Jihyo said. “I’m going to kill Jeongyeon.” 

You cringed at Jihyo’s hoarse voice, which was nothing but air, she seemed to speak every word as if it pained her. You close your eyes to collect yourself before asking. “Did you find a key?” 

Jihyo wordlessly raised her hand, holding a whole ring of keys, glinting in what little moonlight the tattered curtains allowed. You gasped and walked forward, reaching over the bed to take them. Ignoring the dust being released when you dropped your camera stick carelessly, you counted the number of keys. There were exactly four, all seeming to be in different colours, shapes, and sizes. One of them even had the number three on it. 

Before you could ask, Jihyo pointed behind her and croaked. “Drawer.”

You repeatedly muttered okay to yourself, giddy to finally be free from this mad house. 

So giddy, that you failed to notice the traumatised actor in the corner shaking their head when you exited the bedroom. Getting a head start, you made it down the corridor and found the room where the exit was supposed to be. You opened one door and were met with four other doors. Two to your left, one to your right, and a metal one in front of you. Otherwise, the room was completely barren. 

This was not good. All of these doors were closed meaning you had no idea what monstrosity was hiding behind them. Hearing the muttered curses and stomping, you know Jihyo wasn’t far behind. Quickly, you pulled apart the ring, separated the four keys, and laid them out in the same order with key number three in its place. The door right in front of you was clearly the exit, as it had four coloured and numbered squares with keyholes in the centre.

What do you know? The colours of the keys matched the squares!

Even then, your mind in all its excitement failed to see the obvious trap, like it had failed to predict Jeongyeon’s plans to frame you and Jihyo. You hurried and put all the keys in their respective holes, some with difficulty, with you standing in front of keyhole numbers one and two while Jihyo was in front of the others. With one last glance at Jihyo, you tried the first key.

Except that it didn’t turn. 

“No,” Jihyo mumbled before harshly turning key number three which worked. She tried turning key number four but it wouldn’t budge, she pulled it out and threw it to the ground. “Damn it!” 

Right at that moment, the door on your left swung open revealing a person with the Jason Voorhees mask and a machete to match. Once again, in unison, you and Jihyo were screaming as much as your lungs would allow. However, this time, both of you bolted out the door you’d entered and Jihyo closed the door behind you just in time, so your attacker couldn’t come. Panting, you leaned on the wall by the door, hand wrapped around Jihyo’s own hand which clung to the door handle. 

“Swamp monster, crying ghost, zombie, and Jason,” you count out as you catch your breath. “Four monsters so far, you think that’s it? Four keys, four doors, four monsters?”

Jihyo, panting herself, nodded. “Has to be.” 

“We need to get those stupid keys,” you sighed. Even panicked and running high on adrenaline, you could feel your fear giving way to frustration. You were ready to get this game over with. “I didn’t find any, but I’m assuming it's two per floor.” 

Jihyo nods again, while her attention is on the door, pressing her ear to make sense of the killer behind. But it was silent. 

“Do you want to stay here, and I can find the keys on the first floor?” 

“I’d be a sitting duck,” Jihyo shook her head. “I’ll ransack the top floor, there are still the bathrooms.”

“Dining hall is a red herring with too many clues,” you said, unsure if the room was to be misleading, but it definitely was a waste of time. “I’ll recheck the kitchen and main hall.” 

You glance back at the door and frown. 

“Give me some time before running to the bathrooms, I don’t have places to hide downstairs,” you say and gently take your hand from the door handle, shaking off your nerves. 

Again, Jihyo nodded as she leaned beside the door, taking your place. 

Nodding back at her, you headed towards the stairs. Forgoing the steps, you sat on the railing and quickly slid down, landing easily at the bottom. Your first location was the kitchen. 

You knew the swamp monster had to be waiting in the dining room for you. As well as the crying ghost in the nearby storage room. You’d take your chances with the ghost any day. Taking the route from the back, you entered the kitchen. Walking to the nearest cabinet, you tugged on the handle—it was glued shut. Nodding to yourself, you squinted at the marble counters for anything, nothing seemed to stand out apart from the bubbling pot on the stove, lit up by a flame—it was a light, not real fire. 

A shuffle in the dining room, made you snap your neck to the left. Your eyes, like magnets, turned to the eyes of the morbid painting, glaring into you. Any moment, the swamp monster would return. Turning your attention to the pit, you lifted the lid to see stagnant liquid—so the bubbling was just a recorded sound—that helped break the immersiveness. Rolling up your sleeve and steeling yourself, you stuck your hand in the freezing cold water—or what felt like water. You were grateful for the low viscosity, anything else, and you would have given up finding the key. 

Speaking of, your fingers brushed against shaped metal and pulled out a handful of keys. Cringing at the metallic clangs and clinks as you dropped the wet keys on the counter, you easily found the only key that had a number on it. 

Just as you pocketed the key, the swamp monster made itself known. 

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered and tipped the pot over. They really should glue that down too. 

Water splashed onto the tiled floor, covering the space between you and the monster. Yes, there was another door leading straight to the main foyer from the dining room, but the distraction was all you needed for time. 

Taking the back entrance again, you sprinted out of the kitchen, past the main foyer, and into the room you’ve never been to before. The main hall. 

The moment you entered you had to clasp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from shrieking.

Every corner of the room, every shelf, every breathing space from the mantle of the fireplace to the couch to the emptyspace of the majestic piano were seated with antique dolls. Dolls of all kinds, and colours, and clothes with their glassy eyes and rosy cheeks and perfectly brushed hair. Not to mention that all the oil paintings of young girls, similar to the antique dolls taking up every inch of the walls. 

Somehow this was worse than the painting that dripped blood onto the floor. 

But much like that painting, it was like all their eyes followed you. That couldn’t be. 

The dolls’ eyes were all looking in one direction, up at the paintings. And the paintings looked up at the ceiling, following them, your head tilted up. 

If you didn’t have trypophobia before, you certainly did now. 

The ceiling was filled with magnificent glass-painted lights, barring the eye-like structures all clustered to look into a direction. Letting the hairs on your neck raise, you followed down the ceiling to the back of the room, once again met with paintings on the wall as your eyes landed on something marginally worse. 

A clown. 

Gulping so loud, you stayed frozen. 

Had the actor just waited until you figured out the eyes?

Their grin widened as their head tilted in an almost robot-like manner. 

Trypophobia and clowns were not fears you expected to gain tonight, but life works in mysterious ways. 

“Come on, man,” you hoped to sound a little relaxed, but with the way your voice shook, you’re doubtful cool confidence came across well. 

When the actor’s grin only widened, you let out a pained whine, like a child throwing a tantrum.

Regressing to your throwing habits, you glanced at the dolls. If they weren’t glued to their places, and also if they weren’t porcelain, you could kick a few to the ground as a distraction. However, touching or holding any part of the dolls matched with those lifeless dead eyes, chubby rosy cheeks, and coloured pouting lips was a thousand times more revolting than facing discount Pennywise. 

“I will swing the camera stick and I know you’re not getting paid enough to take that,” you bartered instead, both hands on the camera stick, once again like a bat. 

The actor chuckled and shook his head. “It happens more often than you think, even though it's against the rules.”

“Rules?” you question, camera stick slightly lowering. 

“The ones under the map,” he offered. 

“Shit, yeah. No, we didn’t have time to read those,” you frowned, completely dropping your stick to your side. “Assuming, we’re not supposed to throw and spill stuff either?”

“Generally, not proper etiquette but it happens,” he shrugged. The casual action was so odd when he was dressed as a horrifying killer clown. 

“Really sorry about that,” you frown deeper with a sigh but he only shakes his head, dismissing your apology with a wave of his hand. 

“You’re all good,” he smiled. Now, you knew he was trying to be friendly and accommodating, but in his make-up, his grin was chilling. It was exactly the reminder you needed. 

Lifting up the stick, almost as if going into an act yourself, you steeled your nerves. The clown followed you as he lowered himself, his eyes narrowing while his grin widened. “Where’s the key?” you asked. 

You were sure he was about to recite some quote from the source material, or just something to elevate his performance. However, both of us were distracted by the ear-shattering scream that could only be Jihyo’s. Perhaps, you’d have jumped the couch and run to her, that is if she wasn’t swearing like a sailor. 

Knowing she had herself covered, you used the distraction to run. The clown followed. 

Maneuvering in a room filled with dolls was difficult, but it was difficult for the clown as well. Following the eyes and where the clown had just been was key number two, all the eyes had been pointing towards it. Such a simple find, but the dolls and clown were such huge deterrents. 

In a sprint, you made a grab for the key notcaring as you rustledsome dolls and exited the main hall. Swamp monster, much like a game character, was waiting at the entrance to the dining room, and themoment he saw you run to the stairs, he was activated. 

“Jihyo, get to the door!” You screamed climbing the stairs two at a time and ignoring the fact that swamp monster and Pennywise himself were on your trail. Jihyo’s answer was only a snarl back, no doubt fending herself from Jason Voorhees. 

Making a quick right, you entered the room and sprinted straight to the metal door. Jihyo was in some circling match with Jason Voorhees as you slotted in key number two and turned it. When you slotted key number one and turned, the swamp monster, the clown, and the zombie piled into the room. 

“Jihyo!” You shoved open the door, which to your embarrassment, while coloured like metal, was not metal, so you nearly planted head-first into the ground when it swung open with ease. 

Catching yourself on the corroded metal railing, Jihyo followed you out and slammed the door shut. Both of you panted, staring at each other as noises from the carnival once again surrounded you. The back of the mansion was… barren to put it kindly. 

None of the money that was spent at the entrance and inside was spared for the back. It looked merely like a storage container. 

You crumpled to the floor, leaning on the railing, and sighed. Your camera stick fell by your thigh with a thunk as Jihyo closed her eyes. You were done. You made it out. 

“Well done, losers!” 

You looked over your shoulder, following the taunt and the clapping. Nayeon giggled as Jeongyeon slowly clapped from the ground. 

“Come down!” Jeongyeon said with a blinding grin as you pulled yourself up to stand. By the way, Jihyo held her jaw, you knew she was seething. However, she was far too exhausted to do anything. 

The pair of you took the stairs down and headed into a smaller shed by the mansion followed by Nayeon and Jeongyeon. Inside, the rest of your friends were gathered as well as the worker who had greeted you. The room was filled with cameras inside the mansion, two screens still transmitting from your camera sticks even as you handed them over.  

“Good job!” The worker said with a forced smile, though you glanced behind her. One of the cameras caught the swamp monster pulling off his mask and taking a seat on one of the chairs while Jason Voorhees just flopped to the floor, his head tilted to the ceiling. All the while Pennywise and the zombie helped clean their respective rooms with the help of cleaners. 

“We’re sorry,” you sighed, Jihyo only nodded, her eyes were still narrowed. She looked anything but apologetic, but you knew she was. “Adrenaline just—poof, you know?”

“It’s alright,” the worker sighs, her taut smile dipping more into a genuine one. “It happens.”

“Yeah, Pennywise said that,” you gave her a small smile. “Good experience, good game. Terrified the shit out of us.”

You ignored the way your friends laughed behind you.

“Please rate us well on the website,” you nodded as the worker pointed out a QR code printed out on the wall. 

While Jeongyeon pulled out her phone to do that, Jihyo sighed and stepped forward. “What was our time?” 

There was no point in asking. The pair of you definitely did not beat the eight-minute record. 

With a frown, the worker answered. “Twenty-seven minutes and fifty-four seconds—”

“Twenty-eight minutes,” Jihyo’s entire form deflated like a burst balloon. You rolled your eyes at her while your friends laughed. 

Instead, you asked a question that bugged you most as you studied the camera screens. 

“Where is the fifth one? Ghost lady?” 

The worker frowned as your friends became silent. Both you and Jihyo looked around to meet everyone’s faces, their expressions ranging from confusion to apprehension. 

“The one in the storage room? She was crying,” you prompted again, glancing back at the cameras to see the four monsters now all in the dining room picking up the utensils you spilt. 

When the worker cleared her throat, you and Jihyo turned back. Her face ashen as she gulped. 

“There is no crying ghost.”

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: i believe the house was based off of coraline house and the painting i described was judith slaying holofernes by artemisia gentileschi :] gonna go binge gose now, good day/night everybody !

tagging: @someone-who-likes-broccoli

[totothewolff]

Chemtrails Over the Yacht Club Collection

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader(fem service staff)][💘 Romance][🥵Smut][🎀 Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🛳Yacht Culture][✍️WIP]

Summary: The number of sleepless nights you spend thinking about what you would say to his face, to that gorgeous, gorgeous face, if he ever dared to cross your path again. And now here he is, that fucker! Did he get amnesia or something?! Why is he acting so calm? As if Toto didn't leave you the way he did? The fact he still looks at you that way after all the years, and that he is aging like a fine wine, looking even better with those couple of years added to his age, still fit, still charming, still intimidating, still him, it doesn't help you remain angry at him for abandoning the ship.

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3 - Not all who wander are lost

Your life after Toto and college has gotten much better. You like your current job. It's not the highest salary, but it's enough to enjoy yourself, buy cute clothes, and invest in revamping the apartment you once shared with your aunt.

It's nothing glamorous, though. It's just some cosmetic repairs and better decor, but you couldn't imagine affording it before.

Humidity is such a bitch in Monaco. There's more hidden inside those walls than you expected when you started restoring them.

Your phone buzzes in the front pocket of your washed-down tiny shorts, which you wear with an old oversized T-shirt. A proper attire for working with paint!

A text from an unknown number arrived.

"Are you in town?" it reads.

You dismiss it and continue your Bob The Builder activities.

"I'm near your place," comes a following text.

"Hi, wrong number! No idea who you are."

"This is Y/N's number, right?"

"Yes... but who is it?"

Now, you need help. All your friends and family are in your contacts, but a photo loads in the chat before you can text back.

It's a picture of one of Toto's hands. His long finger appears in the photo as he is about to press the bell button on your unit building.

It takes you a minute to grasp the reality of what the fuck is going on.

Okay, this is indeed happening.

This is not one of your fever dreams.

Don't panic! Don't panic!

Fuck. It's been a while.

Fuck! Fuck!

For the past four years, you have successfully avoided the thought of him.

You even feared it back in the day, knowing quite well what the mementos of Toto did for your body.

You did your best to get clean from him, casting Toto away from your heart and body till there was left no trace of him in you at all.

And now this?! Shit.

But your body reacts on its own and instinctively for you, hitting the entrance button fast.

A buzzing sound on the front door allows Toto to access your building.

What the fuck?! That was a fast reflex.

Toto's footsteps on the stairs and the soft knocks on your door follow.

You walk so quickly to get the door, more than you feel proud to admit, already feeling the self-love leaving your body by your actions.

Fuuuuuuck.

The view that greets you feels like something out of a stupid rom-com movie. Argh! He is why you despise those films and distrust men, romance, and relationships.

Toto looks gorgeous as fuck! With that stupid beautiful face and those ridiculous bambi eyes he is putting on, holding those silly flowers, and wearing that tailored suit, accentuating his best features.

He is aging like a fine wine and looks even better with those couple of years added to his age. Still fit, still charming, still intimidating, still him.

He is holding a massive bouquet for you. In his other hand, he carries a paper bag with a bottle of wine and other items inside.

"This one is for you." The sound of his deep voice reaching your ears brings back many memories, more than you can handle.

To your lack of response, he moves to place the flowers in your hands, watching you frozen before him, and then reaches closer to kiss your cheek as a greeting, way close to your lips.

The warm touch you feel in the corner of your mouth takes you out of the trance and back to reality.

This is happening, he is here. It's not one of those frantic dreams you used to have, ala Bella Swan.

"And this is for your aunt," he adds as he walks past you and enters your place.

He goes straight to leave the bag on the brand-new trendy table you recently bought. That table is pulled in a corner away, safe from the chaos and the paint.

Toto is already walking around your apartment as if he had the right to it, checking out what's happening.

"It's a good thing you haven't changed your phone number! That's a nice wall color," he tells you with a big smile, his beautiful teeth showing.

Did he get amnesia?! Why is he acting so calm, as if he didn't leave you like he did and in pieces?

"Us regulars can go with just one phone number our entire lives, you know?" There's a hint of anger hidden in your first words to him. It's been a while, yet it feels like yesterday.

Oh, the number of nights you spend fighting to sleep in your bed, thinking about what you would say to his face if he ever dared to cross your path again, to that gorgeous, gorgeous face.

And here he is, the fucker! What a nerve.

You move peacefully to place the flowers in a vase, which is contrary to how you feel inside. Still, you frown but hold your feelings. You bite your tongue not to lose it.

Silence reigns for a moment.

"Are you planning on moving out?" Toto asks, his voice lingering with worry and nervousness. He points with his finger to the revamping.

"No, I'm just making it my own since now it's just me here."

His eyebrows go up immediately. "Is your aunt..?" He doesn't get to finish his question as you instantly reply, interrupting him.

"She moved in with her longtime boyfriend. It took her a while to finally decide to move out, and she kept returning to the apartment most of the nights, knowing I didn't cope well with those changes. She feared I could go back into a bad place... once again."

"The one you sent me to. Thanks for all the mess you caused me!" it's what you feel like screaming at Toto, but you don't. You are grasping at composure with your nails.

Toto stares at you solemnly, sensing the mood shifting. "Frankly, it's going better than I hoped for. I'm surprised you are not screaming at me or slapping me so far," he expresses with a smirk, arms on his hips, flexing those biteable, toned arms.

Your eyes finally move from the water stream coming from the tap to face him. Hurt is visible in them. "It's been years, Toto. You chose to move on without me, and so I did."

He clears his throat before slowly walking closer to you, closing the gap between you, and stepping over the splatted plastic covering the brand-new wooden floors on his way to you. It's the only sound heard in the apartment.

You feel a nervousness in the base of your stomach as his towering body approaches.

"Answer me this question," he looks at you so intensely. You lean on the kitchenette counter, his body almost trapping yours against it. "Do you regret me?" he whispers, his body nearly touching yours.

You take a minute to answer.

"I do regret..." you answer, each word gaining momentum. You pause to look up straight into Toto's eyes. The man looked so hopeless for a second. "...not taking that juicy tip you offered me." You let out with a smile, feeling victorious.

You lil' shit.

If he wants to play some game this time, it will be with your rules.

-

As the bottle of wine reaches its end and the coat of paint on the wall is almost complete, he taunts you with the fresh brush he's holding, getting you an ivory splat of paint on your forearm with a cheeky smile.

You playfully toss yours on his way, staining his nose. You two start making a mess, throwing paint at each other.

"Hey! Don't fuck up my clothes! Is this a cheap excuse to make me take off my shirt?" he teases you.

"Oh, no, none of that! I love myself nowadays!" you snap back, laughing.

"Fuck you," Toto pushes you to the side.

"Let's grab dinner somewhere. I'm getting high with this smell!" Toto invites you.

And you accept.

-

Being around him feels so good. Indulging yourself with him is fixating and delicious, like a fantastic drug. You have his full attention, and you can make him laugh and smile like that and make him look at you with those eyes.

The moment he reaches your cheek over the table and caresses it with his hand and thumb, provoking you to close your eyes and seek more of his touch immediately, wanting the contact of his warm skin with yours desperately, makes you feel like a trained pet coming back to his master, and it breaks something inside you.

God, you used to be desperate for him, craving anything he gave you. No matter if it were crumbs, you would settle for anything to have him. Gosh, you were so young and dumb.

-

By the moment you get the question, Toto silently asks you with his eyes, as he drops you back at your place later that night after spending a great time together downtown.

After you two, you don't want to throw around the word "date," but yeah, basically, you just had one. You feel decisive enough to say no, even if, in reality, you were scared of what Toto provoked you only by a simple touch.

Oh, and to think there was a time when the simple idea of Toto taking you someplace fancy, out of that fucking Yacht Club, in public, opening doors for you, pulling your chair, looking at you with sparkling eyes across the table, and sharing soft touches here and there, was something you only could dream of and used to beg for it to happen back in the day.

As you take off his jacket, the one he gave you to keep you warm in the nightly breeze, both of you stand by the entrance door of your building. His eyes speak volumes to you, almost in a plea to let him inside, into your life once more, into your bed and your core.

You feel his nose tenderly brushing yours, the warmth of his mouth brushing your lips, his muscular arm stretching next to your face as he leans in on you.

"Good night, Toto. It was great seeing you," you say almost in a whisper, getting on your tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek before entering your place without looking back.

-

Every once in a while, texts from Toto start to arrive.

-

As the days go by, your chat remains active, not daily, but every week.

-

Here and there, you two have a casual call to share, you know, life or when important things happen.

-

Maybe once a month, you find yourself Facetiming with him when you feel you miss or need him, even if you hate to admit it.

-

The number of instant likes he gives you on Instagram every time you post something —the only social media account you, and he have— constantly reminds you that Toto is there, looking over you.

It doesn't matter if you appear in those photos hanging out with random dudes or kissing your new Portuguese boyfriend. Toto still leaves you a like, maybe just to let you know he saw it or that he is still there for you and that none of it matters.

He always knows all about your new relationships anyway.

How can the two of you talk about each other's love lives? Well, it's mostly about your love life. Toto only has flings, and sometimes, he doesn't even remember the girls' names.

But still, none of you can even dare to mention your past one, the one you two shared, which needs to be studied.

-

Almost two years later, Toto randomly shows up in person at your place again and at a terrible time.

You are still dealing with your painful breakup with now the French boyfriend, which Toto knows as "The One," and you are all frail.

You believe Toto showed up to be a supportive friend since, by accident and while entirely drunk, you confessed to him on a call you made him in the middle of the night. That same night, right after Manu ended things with you and you sought comfort in a bottle and Toto's voice, revealing to him how you felt Manu was the one, that this one truly hurt, not as much as when he left you, but close enough.

But you had no idea how to fix things since Manu asked you to get rid of "this weird dynamic" before the two could move further. "To leave the other relationship you have! Which sometimes feels like the real one!" Manu confronted you, raising his voice, angry and jealous, referring to "him", to Toto.

-

You and Toto are having the most friendly chit-chat, chilling around in your finally-completed, rebuilt place. When he lets you know, he will be staying in Monaco for weeks.

"I'll be staying at the Yacht Club," he says and looks amused at your reaction to his words.

"Shocker!" you answer, pulling a faux stunned face, making him chuckle.

"Well, not so. That place has outstanding customer service! 5 out of 5." His eyebrows go up and down several times, teasing you and hinting about your past whereabouts. "Well, still..."

"Oh, so you are fucking the girl in turn?" escapes your lips, without much thought, interrupting him.

Yes, you are still bitter after all these years, even if you like to pretend you aren't. Four? Five years have passed?

"I didn't mean that," he clears his throat before answering. "You cut me halfway through the sentence, well, still... it's not the same without you. That's what I was going to say."

"Oh, please, don't mind me if you are doing so! It's none of my business. Just, if you have another fiance you want to leave, please inform the girl she's an excuse beforehand." You start vomiting words coming from deep within you, out of nowhere.

Shit, you have been so emotional lately, and his presence is not helping.

It gets quiet and awkward so fast.

"You weren't an excuse. You were the reason," Toto confesses, getting visibly irritated too.

"Weren't you already running away from her? That's why you arrived there in the first place! Before you put it inside me, isn't it? And to what?! To immediately leave me? That makes total sense. How romantic!"

"It wasn't the right time for what you asked me for. You were too young, and we just had met to move together that fast. I wasn't ready for that then, to take you fully as my responsibility. It was for the better. I don't regret my actions." He sounds dead honest.

"I wasn't?! Then?!"

You roll your eyes at him, and you're done with the conversation. You change the subject. You don't feel like going to war right now.

-

The following day, at dawn, Toto is already there at your place, all joyful, with iPad in hand, as if you hadn't discussed heavy subjects last night.

He always looks too comfortable in your place, claiming the armchair for himself as usual.

Some minutes later, another couple of knocks come on the door. Toto quickly gets up, stretching those long muscular legs as if he knew who was on the other side.

He slides in his socks like a kid on the now freshly cleaned wooden floor and avoids stepping on the Roomba currently doing its work on his way to the door.

He lets in his hot, busty redhead assistant.

She enters your kitchen holding two massive fancy paper food bags. Toto made her get you breakfast from your favorite dinner in town. He still remembers which one is and your order.

As you finish setting the table, his assistant prepares him his coffee, grabbing things from your drawers.

Yeah, girl, go ahead! Feel free!

Halfway through your Croque Madame, you remember you need to install a higher bookshelf, so you ask Toto for his help.

"I don't do any of that, but my people will handle it. Please leave it to me, anything you need." He offers you a big smile. "You know that, right?" he looks straight at you, placing his fork down on the table for a second. Anything you need, you just ask, a quick text or a call," he leans forward on the table. "And I will get it done."

Your face shifts to an expression he wasn't expecting and a prominent frown forms on your eyebrows. "Oh! Now you do that, huh?! Good to know!" you let out, angry.

Fuck, here it comes.

He stares at you, serious. Everything goes silent.

"Y/N..."

"It's not like I had asked you for something before!" you laugh off, resentful. "Not a single "I'm sorry" has come out of your lips, yet"

"Kid, I won't ask for your forgiveness since I don't regret what I did. I told you that before." he sounds solemn now, his smile fading.

"Don't call me kid," you answer, rage building up.

Okay, you sense those repressed feelings pouring out of you.

"Then stop behaving like one." He sounds so calm, but his voice is more in-depth than usual. His beautiful dark eyes dispatch you a glare.

Oh, he is mad but not as furious as you are.

"Would you mind?!" you let out loud, losing it at the noises coming from the kitchen amidst your fight. You turn your head to the hot girl still doing shit for Toto at the counter.

Okay, that was rude of you, but you are pissed off.

She looks at you, perplexed, before nodding and exiting the place to give you two some privacy.

"I don't have to take shit in my own house," you warn Toto, returning your attention to him.

"You are the one who allowed me in. You let me spend all the time I want here and be by your side whenever I feel like it. Oh, please don't tell me it didn't cross your mind all things that could happen by doing so?"

"Oh, right, then save me the fights. Why don't you go back to stay gone? How about that?! Why don't you leave, better? I mean, you have done it before."

"Y/N," he sighs your name, exasperated, his hand going through his hair, a tic he has.

"No, seriously, 'cause I did fine without you! Or do you need to fuck me first to disappear then?"

HOLY FUCK! Are you going to take things that far? Phew.

Toto looks visibly hurt at your words, but he only slightly nods. He is still sitting in the chair across the table from you, arms tightly crossed, his tight shirt showing his muscles.

Then Toto starts shaking his head in an "I'm about to lose my cool" way.

Yet you dare to push for more. You want to let it all out of your system. You have been holding, eating, and carrying these feelings for years!

You go on: "Let me ask you the same question then, you showed up here, don't tell me you weren't expecting this," you point with your finger referring to this exchange, "to happen at some point after you used me relentlessly for your enjoyment and pleasure, and then left me out of the blue, not caring about my feelings, why don't you use that energy better to..." tears are menacing to slide down your eyes, you lose it and he looks like he does too.

Toto looks at you with such dangerous intensity that he gets on his feet and drops his hands on the table forcefully before leaning in his tall body and overpowering you.

You immediately shut up, witnessing his reaction.

His body language screams at you, "Abort, abort, danger."

"Go on," a threatening sound comes from his trembling lips. It's both a command and a whisper. His long nose is almost touching yours. You can feel his anger and the extremely tense static in the air. "What were you about to say?"

"...To fuck another idiot who is willing to keep your bed warm, like I was." you let out against his mouth.

"You know quite well there's no other like you," he says without hesitation. He looks angry in capital letters.

Toto starts walking your way, rounding the table. He looks menacing.

You feel intimidated for a brief second before adding the killer punch, "Were you just looking where put your dick in?"

"That's enough!" In a quick move and with a firm grip, he pulls you up from the chair, wrapping your legs around his waist, and smashes his body and yours against the wall, pressing himself on you, no inch of space, trapping you between his warm body and the cold wall.

He starts whispering to your ear and neck, "I keep coming to your place because I can't bear to be in my villa without looking at the bed and desiring you wrapped around me, to be buried deep inside you, to have you moaning and begging me for more, don't you think that every corner of that place reminds me of you loving me" his hand slide from your calf to your tight. At the same time, he leaves a trail of kisses from your neck to your lips.

"I fucked your twin the night you didn't let me come in. You have no idea what number of girls I have called your name. They all look like you," he confesses to you between a ravenous kiss as you run your hands on his hair and undo his shirt.

You feel the adrenaline rush coursing through your veins as your eyes lock and memories flood you until you finally articulate, "I missed you."

The corner of Toto's mouth twitches upwards into a small smile, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "I missed you too, kid," he replies, a hint of huskiness in his tone that is too much for you to bear.

His eyes scan you from head to toe, drinking you in like a thirsty man, and you suddenly feel naked under his gaze.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his cologne. He still wears the one you picked for him, the one you liked, the one that was for you. His eyes meet yours again, and you mirror back that same hunger.

The years apart melt away like a morning fog, with it, the anger, pain, and regret.

His lips brush over the curve of your neck, and Toto starts pressing in circles his erection against your thighs and core. You let out a gasp, the pleasure so intense that you break away from him.

"We shouldn't," you mumble, struggling for air. Toto's hand reaches up to cup your cheek, and you feel his smile against your lips.

"Yes, we shouldn't," he echoes your words, but his fingers are already tracing your lower lip, as addictive as always.

"But we will," you say as your fingernails dig into his now naked back, and you pull him closer by the waist, your legs still wrapped around him, and he captures your lips in a more urgent, passionate kiss as his dick get pressed hard against your core.

With each piece of clothing sliding from your bodies, the more urgent you two become. As if you two were magnetically drawn to each other, you stumble towards the bed, unable to separate a second.

He carries you there while kissing you, stumbling and throwing stuff to the floor by accident in the desperate pursuit to merge your bodies.

"You have no idea the number of times I have jerked off to your boudoir photos; I need new ones," Toto mumbles as his intense gaze looks into your soul, stirring sensations that you had long tried to bury, memories that you had attempted to obliterate.

His thumb finds its way to your lips, gently pressing against the softness, leaving an imprint of his skin on yours before his mouth reaches your breasts, taking a rigid nipple within his lips, teasing it with his teeth and tongue until you cry out.

When he releases it, Toto turns his attention to the other breast, showering it with the same love and desire.

His hard-on is pressed into you, eager and persistent, a hot, demanding presence between your thighs. You let out a moan as you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer. With every lap of his tongue over your sensitive flesh, you feel your hips bucking against him.

You want him to fill the void he'd left behind inside you. The throbbing of your pussy lets him know just how much it craves him.

Toto pauses for a moment as he takes in the sight of your sweat-slicked body, your heaving chest straining with every shallow breath. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around his cock, positioning himself at your entrance.

You feel the head of his dick rubbing along your swollen, aching lips, the warmth of his skin so intense.

Toto leans back, his brow furrows with concentration, and with a crude growl, he pushes himself hard inside you.

You let out a guttural moan as he fills you balls deep, your bodies connecting in the most delicious of ways. After a second, his hips start to move in earnest, pounding into you with focused intensity.

There is no time for tenderness or affection, just two bodies engaging in an animalistic rhythm fueled by pent-up lust and long-denied desires.

Your nails cling to his sweat-dampened muscular shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as he smashes your pussy so hard.

"Fuck, you have no idea how much I missed your tightness, this pussy," he grunts, withdrawing slowly before slamming back into you with bruising force.

The bed squeaks and creaks beneath you, and your intense pleasure movements shake the bed frame as well.

You can feel every inch of him, the veins snaking down the length of him, the hot, heavy weight of him inside you. "Daddy, more!" you cry out. He groans and flexes his hips again, grinding deeper.

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the room as he starts to piston in and out of you in a steady rhythm.

You hear the slaps of skin on skin as he thrusts you harder, as well as the growls of pleasure and the filthy, dirty talking that comes out from both your mouths.

It feels as glorious as you remembered it, this relentless pounding leading you to a fantastic climax.

"Oh Daddy, oh Daddy, oh Daddy," you moan eagerly, hips colliding with his.

Toto is really here, plunging you deep and hard all those years without him. Your hands grip the sheets, and you arch your back as his thickness claims you entirely.

"Fuck yeah," Toto's voice is almost unrecognizable between your gasps and moans. "That's it, kid, take it all."

The scent of sweat and sex clings heavily in the air as you feel like your body might shatter with each push into you.

His fingers dig into your hips as he pulls you to another position again, and you claw and scratch at the sheets beneath, searching for something to ground you as he fucks you so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't ever stop," you moan desperately, your teeth grit as Toto gives it to you relentlessly.

"I'm so close, fuck!"

You are his, completely and utterly his, after all these years. It's inexplicably raw and shows in how you two devour each other at that moment.

"Oh," Toto moans loudly. His cheeks are all red, and his eyes are becoming watery.

Loud and extended growls from both of you start coming out as you reach your peaks.

Within a second, you feel yourself releasing with such force, unable to hold yourself a minute more.

"Unf, kid, you are so gorgeous," Toto moans out as he enjoys the view of you, his eyes filled with lust as he watches you climax in front of him.

He is barely able to thrust you three times more before pulling himself out, quickly and between groans, while you stroke his cock, feeling him release over you, his warm cum dripping in your skin and his big dick throbbing on your belly.

-

When Toto wakes up after taking a much needed post-angry sex nap and doesn't feel your body resting on top of his, he instantly knows what it means.

"Until you are willing to say I'm sorry, don't forget to close the door on your way out."

He reads on the sticky note you left for him on the door.

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