#unlike this week when making my own quiz

[cannibalisticskittles]

today is another day where i Need To Get Shit Done

i've finished this week's assignments so I'm like. half a day ahead. i need to extend that. i need to keep getting shit done until I'm a week ahead. until I'm finished.

[the-uninformed-zennial]

So, uh, Fable ended.

And now I’m gonna be sappy on main.

I started watching Fable about half a year before I started being active in the fandom, around the time I started falling in love with my partner @hoardingpuffin . Watching Rae and Caspian’s relationship develop was actually part of what helped me realize that the things I was feeling for them were romantic and not just platonic. Surprisingly enough, that’s just the beginning of the profound effect Fable had on me.

I had never really interacted with fandom spaces before Fable. But when I caught up with lore sometime in November 2022, I decided to join the discord. It was a crazy place. Being someone who’d never really been in a server before I was completely overwhelmed and nervous, so I didn’t interact much for the first month or so.

Then I discovered that, despite the incredible love for the project, no one had made a “which character are you?” Quiz yet, so, I decided to fuck it and make one myself. The response I got to that was unlike any I had seen before. I was getting pinged weeks afterwards with people’s results and it made me really happy to see how much my work was appreciated by everyone in the community. It got me thinking about other ways I might be able to give back.

Then, as you all know, the stream “Call” and it’s partner “Response” came out on Ghosty and HeyHay’s channels. I’d been feeling so similarly to the two characters, dealing with my long distance relationship with Puffin. So, I took those feelings and the words Heyhay and Ghosty had used to convey them for their characters and put them into a song.

And then something insane happened.

Everyone liked it. Like, everyone liked it. This crappy recording I made at 2 AM suddenly got hundreds and then thousands of views when I put it on SoundCloud and YouTube. It was insane. I had written some songs before, but they’d always been ridiculed, so having a large group of people like the fable community enjoy something that I wrote was absolutely insane to me, and it encouraged me to make more.

I found myself being inspired by the characters in fable, connecting with different storylines or sentences said on streams. I found myself writing songs, one after another after another.  At one point I was writing a song a week for a period of about three months. I had never experienced this amount of raw creativity before, but every time I put a new song out, I only got encouraged to make more.

And then people started to ask me when I was going to put them on Spotify. And that was another moment that everything changed. I realized if I was gonna put these out there in such an official way I didn’t want it to just be a bunch of crappy recorded singles. So I needed to make an album.

That was something I had never considered doing before. I knew nothing about music editing or sound mixing. Up until that point all of my songs had been made on GarageBand at 2 AM with very little editing or mixing going into them. So, I started saving for a real music editing program and within a few months I got there.

Then came the actual making of the album. I took a few months off in the summer and just dove headfirst into it. Every spare moment I wasn’t modding for the Sherbathon, or the discord, or streaming my own lore, was spent working on those songs. And while looking back now I wish I knew what I know now about music editing, I’m so glad I did what I did. Putting that album out, seeing how you all responded to it… it made me realize that this is something I love, something that I don’t have to wait for someone else’s permission or teaching to do.

This fandom is the reason I’m a musical artist and that is something I don’t think I will ever be able to express the importance of enough.



As much as I could talk about the unending support and encouragement I received from the wonderful cast members throughout my experience making the album, or how being given the role of mod on the fandom discord taught me so much about how to be a creator in my own right, or even the amazing experience I had being able to make songs for the lore. When it comes right down to it, it was the community, cast and all, that impacted my life in the profound way it has been. So thank you, each and every one of you, whether you are a cast member, a fan, a fellow mod, or even just someone who streamed a song you didn’t have any context for. Thank you for changing my life, for giving me the encouragement to pursue my dreams.

Thank you Fable SMP cast, crew, and community 💕

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Bill Prutt for Slate:

On Jan. 8, 2004, just more than 20 years ago, the first episode of The Apprentice aired. It was called “Meet the Billionaire,” and 18 million people watched. The episodes that followed climbed to roughly 20 million each week. A staggering 28 million viewers tuned in to watch the first season finale. The series won an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Reality-Competition Program, and the Television Critics Association called it one of the best TV shows of the year, alongside The Sopranos and Arrested Development. The series—alongside its bawdy sibling, The Celebrity Apprentice—appeared on NBC in coveted prime-time slots for more than a decade. The Apprentice was an instant success in another way too. It elevated Donald J. Trump from sleazy New York tabloid hustler to respectable household name. In the show, he appeared to demonstrate impeccable business instincts and unparalleled wealth, even though his businesses had barely survived multiple bankruptcies and faced yet another when he was cast. By carefully misleading viewers about Trump—his wealth, his stature, his character, and his intent—the competition reality show set about an American fraud that would balloon beyond its creators’ wildest imaginations.

I should know. I was one of four producers involved in the first two seasons. During that time, I signed an expansive nondisclosure agreement that promised a fine of $5 million and even jail time if I were to ever divulge what actually happened. It expired this year. No one involved in The Apprentice—from the production company or the network, to the cast and crew—was involved in a con with malicious intent. It was a TV show, and it was made for entertainment. I still believe that. But we played fast and loose with the facts, particularly regarding Trump, and if you were one of the 28 million who tuned in, chances are you were conned. As Trump answers for another of his alleged deception schemes in New York and gears up to try to persuade Americans to elect him again, in part thanks to the myth we created, I can finally tell you what making Trump into what he is today looked like from my side. Most days were revealing. Some still haunt me, two decades later. [...]

Now, this is important. The Apprentice is a game show regulated by the Federal Communications Commission. In the 1950s, scandals arose when producers of quiz shows fed answers to likable, ratings-generating contestants while withholding those answers from unlikable but truly knowledgeable players. Any of us involved in The Apprentice swinging the outcome of prize money by telling Trump whom to fire is forbidden. [...]

Trump goes about knocking off every one of the contestants in the boardroom until only two remain. The finalists are Kwame Jackson, a Black broker from Goldman Sachs, and Bill Rancic, a white entrepreneur from Chicago who runs his own cigar business. Trump assigns them each a task devoted to one of his crown-jewel properties. Jackson will oversee a Jessica Simpson benefit concert at Trump Taj Mahal Casino in Atlantic City, while Rancic will oversee a celebrity golf tournament at Trump National Golf Club in Briarcliff Manor, New York. Viewers need to believe that whatever Trump touches turns to gold. These properties that bear his name are supposed to glitter and gleam. All thanks to him.

Reality is another matter altogether. The lights in the casino’s sign are out. Hong Kong investors actually own the place—Trump merely lends his name. The carpet stinks, and the surroundings for Simpson’s concert are ramshackle at best. We shoot around all that. Both Rancic and Jackson do a round-robin recruitment of former contestants, and Jackson makes the fateful decision to team up with the notorious Omarosa, among others, to help him carry out his final challenge. [...]

Trump will make his decision live on camera months later, so what we are about to film is the setup to that reveal. The race between Jackson and Rancic should seem close, and that’s how we’ll edit the footage. Since we don’t know who’ll be chosen, it must appear close, even if it’s not.

We lay out the virtues and deficiencies of each finalist to Trump in a fair and balanced way, but sensing the moment at hand, Kepcher sort of comes out of herself. She expresses how she observed Jackson at the casino overcoming more obstacles than Rancic, particularly with the way he managed the troublesome Omarosa. Jackson, Kepcher maintains, handled the calamity with grace. “I think Kwame would be a great addition to the organization,” Kepcher says to Trump, who winces while his head bobs around in reaction to what he is hearing and clearly resisting. “Why didn’t he just fire her?” Trump asks, referring to Omarosa. It’s a reasonable question. Given that this the first time we’ve ever been in this situation, none of this is something we expected. “That’s not his job,” Bienstock says to Trump. “That’s yours.” Trump’s head continues to bob. “I don’t think he knew he had the ability to do that,” Kepcher says. Trump winces again.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, “but, I mean, would America buy a n— winning?” Kepcher’s pale skin goes bright red. I turn my gaze toward Trump. He continues to wince. He is serious, and he is adamant about not hiring Jackson. Bienstock does a half cough, half laugh, and swiftly changes the topic or throws to Ross for his assessment. What happens next I don’t entirely recall. I am still processing what I have just heard. We all are. Only Bienstock knows well enough to keep the train moving. None of us thinks to walk out the door and never return. I still wish I had. (Bienstock and Kepcher didn’t respond to requests for comment.) Afterward, we film the final meeting in the boardroom, where Jackson and Rancic are scrutinized by Trump, who, we already know, favors Rancic. Then we wrap production, pack up, and head home. There is no discussion about what Trump said in the boardroom, about how the damning evidence was caught on tape. Nothing happens.

We attend to our thesis that only the best and brightest deserve a job working for Donald Trump. Luckily, the winner, Bill Rancic, and his rival, Kwame Jackson, come off as capable and confident throughout the season. If for some reason they had not, we would have conveniently left their shortcomings on the cutting room floor. In actuality, both men did deserve to win. Without a doubt, the hardest decisions we faced in postproduction were how to edit together sequences involving Trump. We needed him to sound sharp, dignified, and clear on what he was looking for and not as if he was yelling at people. You see him today: When he reads from a teleprompter, he comes off as loud and stoic. Go to one of his rallies and he’s the off-the-cuff rambler rousing his followers into a frenzy. While filming, he struggled to convey even the most basic items. But as he became more comfortable with filming, Trump made raucous comments he found funny or amusing—some of them misogynistic as well as racist. We cut those comments. Go to one of his rallies today and you can hear many of them.

If you listen carefully, especially to that first episode, you will notice clearly altered dialogue from Trump in both the task delivery and the boardroom. Trump was overwhelmed with remembering the contestants’ names, the way they would ride the elevator back upstairs or down to the street, the mechanics of what he needed to convey. Bienstock instigated additional dialogue recording that came late in the edit phase. We set Trump up in the soundproof boardroom set and fed him lines he would read into a microphone with Bienstock on the phone, directing from L.A. And suddenly Trump knows the names of every one of the contestants and says them while the camera cuts to each of their faces. Wow, you think, how does he remember everyone’s name? While on location, he could barely put a sentence together regarding how a task would work. Listen now, and he speaks directly to what needs to happen while the camera conveniently cuts away to the contestants, who are listening and nodding. He sounds articulate and concise through some editing sleight of hand.

Then comes the note from NBC about the fact that after Trump delivers the task assignment to the contestants, he disappears from the episode after the first act and doesn’t show up again until the next-to-last. That’s too long for the (high-priced) star of the show to be absent. There is a convenient solution. At the top of the second act, right after the task has been assigned but right before the teams embark on their assignment, we insert a sequence with Trump, seated inside his gilded apartment, dispensing a carefully crafted bit of wisdom. He speaks to whatever the theme of each episode is—why someone gets fired or what would lead to a win. The net effect is not only that Trump appears once more in each episode but that he also now seems prophetic in how he just knows the way things will go right or wrong with each individual task. He comes off as all-seeing and all-knowing. We are led to believe that Donald Trump is a natural-born leader.

Through the editorial nudge we provide him, Trump prevails. So much so that NBC asks for more time in the boardroom to appear at the end of all the remaining episodes. (NBC declined to comment for this article.) [... So, we scammed. We swindled. Nobody heard the racist and misogynistic comments or saw the alleged cheating, the bluffing, or his hair taking off in the wind. Those tapes, I’ve come to believe, will never be found.

No one lost their retirement fund or fell on hard times from watching The Apprentice. But Trump rose in stature to the point where he could finally eye a run for the White House, something he had intended to do all the way back in 1998. Along the way, he could now feed his appetite for defrauding the public with various shady practices. In 2005 thousands of students enrolled in what was called Trump University, hoping to gain insight from the Donald and his “handpicked” professors. Each paid as much as $35,000 to listen to some huckster trade on Trump’s name. In a sworn affidavit, salesman Ronald Schnackenberg testified that Trump University was “fraudulent.” The scam swiftly went from online videoconferencing courses to live events held by high-pressure sales professionals whose only job was to persuade attendees to sign up for the course. The sales were for the course “tuition” and had nothing whatsoever to do with real estate investments. A class action suit was filed against Trump.

That same year, Trump was caught bragging to Access Hollywood co-host Billy Bush that he likes to grab married women “by the pussy,” adding, “When you’re a star, they let you do it.” He later tried to recruit porn actor Stormy Daniels for The Apprentice despite her profession and, according to Daniels, had sex with her right after his last son was born. (His alleged attempt to pay off Daniels is, of course, the subject of his recent trial.) In October 2016—a month before the election—the Access Hollywood tapes were released and written off as “locker room banter.” Trump paid Daniels to keep silent about their alleged affair. He paid $25 million to settle the Trump University lawsuit and make it go away. He went on to become the first elected president to possess neither public service nor military experience. And although he lost the popular vote, Trump beat out Hillary Clinton in the Electoral College, winning in the Rust Belt by just 80,000 votes.

Trump has been called the “reality TV president,” and not just because of The Apprentice. The Situation Room, where top advisers gathered, became a place for photo-ops, a bigger, better boardroom. Trump swaggered and cajoled, just as he had on the show. Whom would he listen to? Whom would he fire? Stay tuned. Trump even has his own spinoff, called the House of Representatives, where women hurl racist taunts and body-shame one another with impunity. The State of the Union is basically a cage fight. The demands of public office now include blowhard buffoonery.

Bill Pruitt wrote in Slate that Donald Trump used the N-word on the set of NBC's The Apprentice in 2004 when referring to a Black contestant (Kwame Jackson)'s chances of winning the competition by saying "would America buy a n***er winning?"

This is yet another example of Trump's long record of anti-Black racism that dates back to the 1970s.

[ladythornofrivia]

Endless Reds and Blues

(Here's the link for the synopsis and the chapter list--before you read new chapters, please read chapter 1.) Pair: Kakucho x Reader (Warning: Inappropriate jokes and dialogue that includes bullying, gossiping and other things that aren't appropriate--dark content--for people under 18 (if you're under 18, I'm sorry but you can't read this)(Yes, I have to say it twice XD)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading the series I wrote! It means so much to me that you guys enjoy this story--I nearly cried. I know what it looks like--the romance between Kakucho and reader is slow or non-existent; they haven't properly interact with each other, and it seems that I might give off the wrong impression that another character has been interested in her instead (XD). So please bear with me on the romance part. Let me know if you want me to tag you whenever I write a new chapter (post a new chapter, I mean). I'm so pumped on getting another chapter out, and it's not even done yet. (Note: Report if someone decides to steal the synopsis and my story. And notify me. Thank you) ❤️

Chapter Three: Sinful Men

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Taking a one hour quiz was a real pain. Your hard work paid off well.

You didn't expect anything your usual results. You have been studying Math most of the nights because it's your least favorite subject. Japanese literature and History class were somewhat hard, but you managed to pull through unlike Mathematics. Whoever created Math must be punished big time. To hell with Math! Why put numbers with letters? What's the point of learning Math or what good it would do when it comes to insurance and taxes?

While obtaining on speaking and reading English, it is at your most advantage, everyone else in the class we're having a difficult time.

When Himiko asked your help regarding simple vocabulary and correcting the sentences, instead of answering her back in verbal communication, you wrote a note down saying that you couldn't tell or explain to her because your classmates will cheat by taking a credit you worked hard for, also taking credit from Himiko under the influence of your guidance.

Needless to say, Himiko respected your reasoning, due to the massive backlash you received in the last couple of weeks from a clash between you and a group of young men who are immensely adored by their faithful fans, and the comments you have been receiving ever since you transferred at your new school.

Each time your classmates come by at your desk, they discussed about studying English with you by giving an extension of invitation, as if the disturbing slanders and manipulative plans on 'taking you out' never happened. But you knew what they meant.

You didn't want anyone using you for a good grade, you didn't want to cry or get hurt again from stealing your hard work for their selfish gain. You wouldn't let it happen again.

So you happened to make an excuses by saying, "Sorry, I have work at this hour I can't be late on" or "My sister is sick and she needed my help, so I have to clean the house and cook food for her."

Whether they know it or not, there's nothing they can do about it but to talk shit behind your back again. And this will happen again every time your class studies for the next quiz regarding to English subject. Though of course the ginormous amount of letters you received in your shoe locker were gone, except you received a letter regarding to your bitchy nature for not helping them in English subject. What else is new? So you threw the letter in the trash and spit on it.

Truth be told, you don't have a job, and you don't have a sibling to begin with. You just wanted to get away from these "civilized" people.

You went back at the school's rooftop during lunchtime with Himiko. This time, you brought your own lunch; you prepped the meal last night. Thanks to cooking tutorials and secret tricks on making a tasty meal, you became a decent cooker while your parents are out at night, working at their new job.

"That looks good," Himiko commented.

"It took a bit long to cook this," you replied, smiling. "Around almost 3 hours."

"What is it? I don't think its Wagyu beef."

"It's Baby back ribs with rice," you explained. "With meat, you can never go wrong putting the baby back ribs with seasoning."

"It smells good," Himiko said.

You ate the first piece into your mouth. Your mouth tingled with delight.

"Drink?" Himiko handed you lychee flavored juice box.

Your hand reached the juice box. "Thank you."

From then on, Himiko accompanied you, whether during class or lunchtime, she doesn't like the idea of leaving you alone unless you ask for a quiet time to yourself. Most of the time, you and Himiko talked about anime and updates regarding to the manga.

"Are you okay?" your friend asked, studying your features.

"I'm doing fine."

"Your sadness is slowly fading--that's good!" Then she noticed you brought your school bag with you. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you bring your bag with you? We usually leave it at our classroom."

"Um...how do I put this in the simple terms? Let's just say that where I come from, we carry our backpacks--our belongings--to lunch."

"Ah, I see."

"But I have another reason for bringing my school bag with me," you added. "It's that dear classmates of ours. They ransacked my shoe locker, so I can't let anyone steal or touch or destroy my belongings."

"I don't blame you. These people are going way too far with everything for defending their so-called kings."

"Aren't you friends with them? I mean, no offense, but, if they hear you say stuff like that...you already saw what happened to me."

"I'm angry at them, too. I ignored them as much as I could. I can see why you're so annoyed by them. Remember that girl who was talking to me when I asked you about that thick book you were holding? Well, she tried to justify everyone's behavior by saying that 'no one deserves to get hurt' and that 'they're in full panic that they have to do something about the mess'."

"What else did she say?"

Himiko bit her lip. "While she tried to justify their behavior on defending their idols, because the guys filled the girls' lives with happiness, and they're forever thankful to them. She also said something about you."

Silence prolonged.

"Go on," you coaxed.

"She said that you're acting too rash, and that you need to get help. She almost called the police in order for you to get arrested and turn you in to a mental facility."

Your body and hands grew cold.

"Talk about harsh statement," you said, covering up with a laugh.

"That's where I broke my composure and started yelling at her on how you were just trying to defend me. I told her, "If I were defending you if you were in trouble, you wouldn't call me those names. Why the hell would you get mad at someone--at someone you barely knew--for trying to defend me?'"

You couldn't pull yourself together; you stopped eating the lunch you made.

"But all she said that the guys are their savior, and that she would never betray them."

Your hands balled into fists.

"I'm so sorry you have to experience this way." Himiko placed her hand on your back. "I talked to the teachers and principal about it, but they didn't care. And I'm sorry for being careless about where I was going. It's that stupid mistake I make that caused you to be put on an unfortunate circumstances."

You nodded. "It isn't too late to fix your mistakes, Himiko. We talked about this. It's your friend that tries to distract you, and you ended up getting hurt because of her."

"But still..."

"Your lunch is getting cold," you reminded, finishing up yours.

"Honestly, I don't blame you. Ever since that English quiz we took, they've been asking you to give them answers, even me, they even asked me if I get any answers from you because you're from a different country. They treated it as if nothing ever happened despite their efforts of trying to make you miserable. Once again, I'm sorry. You're too smart for your own good, (y/n)."

"So who were they?"

"The girls?"

"No, those guys they kept fawning about. I don't see the appeal to them. Not a slight of charm."

"Those guys you confronted with, they're known as what the girls whispered. Bonten. They're the ones who provided the school with best renovation. Thanks to their money, the school is the most wanted school to go to for high school students."

"Are you sure that's it? Because people go to school because they hear how much their handsomeness is exuding the building, and not because of having a 'good education'?"

"I heard this school is once a good one, where there's not much bullying to go around or extreme cases of hurting someone or ransacking personal belongings and slander--it's all about being well-educated for the sake of their futures. But thanks to them, this school was nothing but a playground for the girls, and for Bonten. Rumor has it Bonten is also a group of criminal organization."

You leaned back in shock. "You have got to be fucking kidding."

My parents are going to faint if they hear this...

Himiko shook her head with fear. "I mean, I'm not going to lie. They're good looking, but, I wouldn't date them or play with them just like the rest of the girls here. They would call their names to get attention from either of the boys. How handsome they look, the girls dubbed them as 'Sinful Men'."

"Sorry, I didn't hear a "ha ha" at the end," you said.

"Ha ha?"

"You're joking, right? I think your punch line needs a little bit more of improvement," you said. "Don't worry, we can work on that."

"As much as I want to say that 'it is a joke', I'm afraid that this is reality for us."

*~~*~~*

The house is quiet by the time you get home. Either your parents are watching a movie, or they're doing a quiet cleaning after work. As you stepped into your new household--a complex apartment, more like--you released a long exhale; the burdened nature of your school and classmates has been lifted off of your shoulders--detoxified by somewhere you were glad to see.

When you're at school, you speak Japanese, but at your home, you speak English; your mom often told you that you should never forget where you come from--be loud and be proud, as your mother always said--before and after moving into Japan.

"Mom, I'm back," you said, discarding the shoes and entered the living room, but your mom is nowhere to be found and went into the kitchen, where your mom is concentrating on chopping vegetables and meat.

"Mom," you said once more, your head poking out from the kitchen's entrance.

"Hi, (y/n)," your mom turned her attention at you for a second before concentrating back on her chopping ingredients. "How's school?"

"Great," you said, though you weren't happy.

"Doesn't seem like you're fine," your mom said. "You want to talk about it?"

"Right after you're done cooking," you said. "I'll go wait by the living room."

"Go ahead, no one's stopping you," your mother said, chuckling.

By the living room, your parents decorated almost in a meticulous fashion--everything is minimalistic--aesthetic wise. Though it had a few touches of old patterns like your old house, but improved. Before moving to Japan, your parents sold half off of the items they never used and got extra cash in case of emergencies when moving to another country.

Mostly they kept the most important--and sentimental--items they cherish and decorated it, not a single mistake.

Grabbing your bag, you unzipped your school bag to retrieve the current book you're reading. Your other book hasn't been returned to you since the confrontation between you and Sanzu. You tried to brush it off, taming your inner panic from trying to imagine on what they were doing with the book you last held.

If they somehow return it to you, will there be negotiations involved? If the negotiations are either respecting your classmates who made threats against you or to share your English assignment or quiz answers to them, or somehow becoming as Bonten's servant, you'd rather have expulsion than being polite to people who doesn't respect you and your boundaries.

Unable to read the book, you hid it inside your school bag and turned on the 80-inch television screen, watching your favorite movie, "Titanic". One good look of a 22-year-old Leonardo DiCaprio, and your troubles from school and Bonten have been forgotten.

"You watched Titanic around 10 times, (y/n)," your mom said, putting dinner meal at the table.

"I never get tired of looking at Leonardo DiCaprio," you said with a dreamy sigh. Nothing could ever go wrong when watching Leonardo DiCaprio's well-known movie.

Your mom sat down on the couch beside you. "You mean Jack?"

"I know what I said," you responded, giggling.

Your dad entered the living room, removing his shoes.

"I made dinner," your mom greeted merrily.

"I'm going to sleep for a couple of hours," your dad said, shutting the door.

"Let's eat while watching Titanic," your mom suggested.

"Good plan," you said in return.

While eating dinner, you couldn't help but to think back regarding to Himiko's words on people who harassed you and vital information about Bonten.

"How are your grades?"

"Perfect. I got A's on all of my classes."

"That's great! Keep up the good work."

Little by little, you couldn't insert the food portions in your mouth.

"You haven't been eating for a while, sweetie. What's going on?"

You didn't answer her question; the fork in your hand swirled and poked around the vegetables and the cooked meat.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You placed the fork down. "I've been bullied."

Your mom drew a sharp intake of breath. "When?"

"Since my transfer on the first day...until now."

"What did they do?"

"They ransacked my shoe locker, they send brutal messages on my desk and they tried to sabotage me in the worst way possible.”

"By what?"

"Taking me out," you said, pulling your phone out, you showed your mom the shoe locker ransacked with threatening letters and school desk. You made sure you took pictures first—when no one is around—before discarding them.

"Good god," your mom said. "What were they doing it for?"

"For the guys who never paid attention to them."

"Are they popular?"

And part of the criminal organization...

"Yes, they defend them to a point one of the girls almost called the cops on me to have me arrested and transfer in the mental facility."

Your mom's eyes narrowed.

"That's not all," you added, pulling the tape recorder out, playing the conversation about the girls' plans on how to take avenge for Sanzu by hitting you with the thick book, before you confronted them with a maniacal acting method to scare them off, and you explained a backstory to her about how guys were bullying Himiko, and that you stood up for her, not to mention how your classmates were trying to use you for a good grade in an English assignment and quiz.

"Do you want to switch schools?" she asked, tossing her red hair to the side.

"No, I just want to go home," you replied, tears falling down on your cheeks; you didn't have the strength to eat anymore.

Your mom stood and walked over to the side of the table to give you a hug. "My sweet baby..." your mom said. Her words made your weep grew stronger.

"What did I do wrong? I thought I did everything right. And yet, I've been accused and harassed by them. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Nothing, (y/n)," your mom answered. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You're a good person. I'll go contact my lawyer about this."

"No," you said, "I just want to go back to America. I don't see a point of staying here. I don't think I can endure it much longer."

"I'll let my friend know if she has a guest room available, and I'll book a flight for you."

"I hope I'm not a burden to your friend."

"She loves you, sweetie," your mother answered. "In the meantime, you have to send me the photos. I'm going to print pictures on what the bullies did to you. We need the evidence, after all."

"Thanks, mom." The heavy burden in your chest suddenly vanished.

Your mom pressed a kiss at your head. "Don't worry about this, okay? Go watch and read, I don't care. Oh, and since you're doing very well at school, I thought I might give a little something special to cheer you up."

In her hands, she gave you the video game--one that you're waiting for.

"It's a new Tomb Raider game!"

"I thought you would like it. You've been sad for a couple of days. I don't want to see you to get hurt again." Her open palm stroke your red hair.

Instantly, you embraced your mom. "Thanks, mom."

In return, she embraced you once more. "You're welcome. You're the nicest daughter that I ever had. You deserve the world."

You wiped your tears. "Just let me know when I'm going back to America."

Then your mother smiled. "I will. I'll go make some hot chocolate for you. You deserve a break and a reward from protecting your friend."

The rest of the night, your mind was thinking nothing but to return back to your homeland.

*~~*~~*

Voices reeled into your walls the next morning. It was a fine morning for everyone. Until that moment came.

A man and the woman next door were having a screaming contest.

Groaning, you shoved your blankets and walked into the kitchen where your parents watched a movie in a full volume, but no matter how high the volume is, the man and woman from outside your apartment doesn't know the life of learning how to have inside voices.

"How long have they been arguing?" you asked.

"25 minutes," your dad timed on his watch.

"I swear I thought this apartment is supposed to be completely peaceful," your mom said.

"I'll go handle this," you said, marching on the entrance door.

Bursting the door open, you said in English, "Hey! There are neighbors that are trying to have some peace and quiet in the morning. If you can't shut the fuck up, I'm going to have to--"

You felt like your soul died. Because at the scenery in front you, saw the girl with a sheer tank top and a thong and the shirtless young man, with a large scar across his face looked at you with wide eyes.

Oh, no.

You saw him again.

But you didn't expect Kakucho to be there, having a screaming contest with the girl.

At once, you shut the door, and went back into the dining room.

"How did it go, sweetie?" your mom said.

"Fuck," you mumbled.

*~~*~~*

"You sure you need any help from the Math assignment?" Himiko asked, walking with you.

The best part about school is after school. You just couldn't wait to go home. But you waited everyone else to go; you didn't want anyone following you.

"No, I'll be fine," you said, inserting one earphone, playing the music.

"I'm glad you're back to your usual self," Himiko said. "Do you want me to stay here in case the other people are picking a fight with you?"

"No need," you told her.

"See you tomorrow," Himiko waved at you with a smile.

"Bye!" You waved back, pressed the play button.

(this is what the reader's listening to.)

Bopping along the music, not realizing your surroundings.

A long limousine stood at your way, with a large man with weird angular brows stood in front of the vehicle with his hands behind his back, waiting for someone.

Turning, you saw no one behind you.

Whoever this person's waiting on must be really late.

As turn your eyes away, you heard him say, "Miss (y/n)."

Your heart stopped. You wanted to look at the large, buff man, wondering what he’s going to do next.

But instead, you quickly headed to a different direction, but the large man caught up with you with a hand over your shoulder.

"What do you want?" you asked with anger in your eyes.

"You're going to have to come with us," the large man said.

"I have a friend waiting for me," you said, but with regret. You should've asked Himiko to go with you.

"You shouldn't have said to goodbye to her," he said.

"Okay, you creep, if you want to approach me, you could've just use your legs," you shot back, fear drumming into your heart. "Not just standing there in front of the limo menacingly."

The large man did anything but produced chuckles. "You have a hot-temper for a short lady." His eyes checked you out from head to toe.

"Okay, that's it," you said, adjusting the handle of your school bag on your left shoulder. "I'm going now."

He grabbed your right forearm.

"Let go," you seethed. "Now."

"Can't let a pretty face like yours go to waste."

What's that supposed to mean?

"Just come with us," he said.

The strands of your red locks tickled your nose; wind blowing. "Us? Us who?"

"I think you know who, Miss (y/n)."

"Fine, I'll go with you, just let go of my arm first," you said, your voice hardened.

"I'm afraid that's not possible." Then he slung your body over his shoulder.

"I didn't say anything about you carrying me!" you screamed.

Once the man placed you inside the limo, he went at the passenger's seat, telling the driver to start the engine, left you wondering to where you're heading next.

Taglist: @colored-tr-panels & @galactict3a

[sweetchotimochi]

tips for managing time (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

Disclaimer: these tips worked for me and based on my own experiences. It’s okay if this doesn't work for you! 

Lets start with some methods;

Method 1 - Bullet Journaling: This is a great way/method to manage your time! I have used this method for a long time and it really has kept me consistent with how I manage my time. It is, however, annoying to bring your bullet journal everywhere or try to write in it all the time. The problem is about how much effort you put into your “journaling”. We all see online how pretty or aesthetic bullet journaling spreads are and when we look at our own journal we stop using it because it is not pretty enough. That doesn’t matter. Instead, look at how well it can help you manage time. If not, this is totally okay. Try switching to an online platform. 

Method 2 - Google Calendar/Calendar app: Another tried and true method. This helps in organizing your day. Great way to manage your time, especially because you can edit your tasks and time-block your day. It is also really good because calendars can be implemented in your computer, phone, and other devices so you can check out your tasks on the go. They also have components for tasks, reminders, events and more. I really recommend this for a lot of people because it is a game-changer, especially for people who need something easy to use for managing time. I guess the only problem for me is that I feel guilty, sometimes, if I see an empty part of my day which makes me feel unproductive. That’s totally okay! You don’t have to be busy all the time, take some time off for yourself. Nobody is productive 24/7. 

Method 3 - Notion: This is all the rage nowadays, so I checked it out for myself. It is a really great way to implement aesthetics and different parts of a journal. Unlike a calendar app, you can make lists, add other parts, add calendars and many other things. Its also accessible on many sites. Unfortunately, after making everything look very aesthetic, I didn’t use this platform as much except for keeping track of my anime and books. I do also use this to keep track of my classes and planning on-the-go, but it may work for you, so try it out! 

Method 4 - Diary with template/Planner: This is a great idea for people who want to use something on the go, but also easy to use and still have room for creativity. Daily, Weekly, and Monthly planners are all great ways to manage your time. The only problem is the template itself for me. Let’s say you might not be doing anything one day or slack off. Personally, seeing that one blank spot makes me feel guilty and then I can’t keep up. If you feel like you might feel like this, that's totally okay! Try managing time at your own pace, or use another method. 

There are plenty of other methods out there, but these are the ones I tried. I believe everyone should use something to help manage their time, because I have yet to meet someone who remembers everything they have to do in their head. Here are some quick-fire tips:

Try writing your tasks for every day the day before: Write out your tasks the day before. It helps you plan for the future and gives you a clearer head for the next day.

Use a reward system for completing tasks: Let's say you complete something big, make a reward system for that specific task! For example, if you complete a really hard chapter and do well on the quiz, that task deserves some reward! 

Keep some time for yourself each day: Even I have a hard time doing this, but keep some allocated time each day for yourself. Relax, watch some tv, do something fun and wholesome. You deserve it.

Divide up your tasks if they are really big: This is such a repeated method, however it is super effective. Let's say you are trying to study for a couple of chapters in a subject. Try dividing them up along the week into smaller tasks. It makes the whole thing as a whole less daunting. 

Try color-blocking your tasks: I use color-coding to divide my tasks on google calendar. For example, things for school/work are in green, and chores are in white. I think, at a glance, it really helps you think about how the day will go. 

This was a long one, I hope you’re still here. Again, these methods may not work for you, and that's okay. TLDR; Explore your methods and figure out what works best for you.

[oneshotnewbie]

Loves the story about being Amelia younger sister. Can this came to my mind could you pretty please make this a reality lol. So the reader is Amelia and dereks younger sister ( obviously lol) and she gets sick. But she doesn’t want them to know because they will overreact. So without her telling them that she is sick she ends up getting worse and ends up in the hospital, just for Amelia and Derek to find out . Does that make sense. This came to me late at night lol. Thank you:)

For a few days your well being in your body had been lost. From an initial exhaustion and fatigue, for which you had perceived stress as the main cause to slightly stinging in the chest and body aches that you only stamped as tiredness of the last week, there was a lot going at university; lectures until late in the evening, answering 80 quiz questions daily on top of your homework so that you don't forget what you have learned and the tests you had to write in what felt like every subject you could possibly have.

It was almost midnight when you started to finish up your work. You were the only one in this house, at least you thought so, who was still awake to do things that had no time to be postponed.

"You look pale," did you hear your sisters voice and startled for a second out of shock before you looked at the clock for the 10th time this minute and slowly began to collect the papers and pens from the brown coffee table."Is everything okay?"

You just nodded a 'yes', not even bothering to talk out of feeling sick, and got up from your chair to pile up the papers in the back of the table when a wave of dizziness caught up with you and you used your hands to support yourself. "Just totally stressed." you mumbled as you felt a worrying glance and a hand on your back.

Slowly your vision returned to normal, you picked up your things into your arms and turned to Amelia who was standing right behind you. With an attempted smile, you squeezed past her and walked up the stairs. "I'm good."

Before you went to bed, you stole a pill from the bathroom cabinet and disappeared. -It is just a little cold- you thought.

---

"Y/N Shepard, 22 years young." the paramedic called as soon as the doors were opened from the ambulance and he pulled out the stretcher and got out himself. "According to first responders, she passed out while she was about to order a coffee.. Mild sinus tachycardia, blood pressure is low. Temperature is 102,38°F"

You became conscious before the ambulance arrived, but the people around you didn't agree to let you go and wanted to have you examined and now you were here, the attempt to escape from the mess was unsuccessful.

A little confused, you looked around and saw the faces of Owen and Meredith. Almost immediately, before the blonde could even say something, you cut her out. "Don't tell Amy and Derek."

She stroked your hair and looked at you confused and worried. She didn't understood why you wanted to keep your ambulance arrival a secret from your siblings. Even if she had a medical confidentiality obligation towards her patients, she had to tell her sister in law and husband. They were your family.

She nodded to Owen and he understood immediately that he should beep both of them on their pagers. As soon as he disappeared, Meredith pushed you into one of the examination rooms and started to look you up and down.

"Why don't you want the two of them to know?" she asked cautiously while placing some adhesive stickers on your chest and hanging you on a machine. "You know exactly how they are as soon as I am sick. Overprotective - and that is annoying. I am not a little kid anymore."

She stopped moving and looked at you. Her hands found their way onto your shoulder and squeezed them once just before she sat down in front of you and looked deep into your eyes. "They are your siblings, Y/N. Be glad that you have someone who cares about you."

She stopped for a short time and looked at your heart rate on the monitor before turning to you a little worried, adapting a blood pressure cuff on your arm, waiting for the results to show up on her chart. "You have cardiac arrhythmia. Have you had a cold lately?"

"No, I've just been pretty tired and exhausted. I also had a slight sting in my chest once in a while but thought it came from my stomach; I haven't been eating particularly well lately."

---

"What were you thinking by not telling us that you are not feeling well? You don't have three doctors at your home around the clock for nothing!" said Derek a little louder, his face flashed red like a tomato.

When he got the news, he immediately ran down to the emergency room, fearing the worst. He was pissed of when he saw you lying there and he was even angrier when he had to hear every information from Meredith that she had found out and what she suspected. "And that's exactly why I didn't want you to know. You always overdo it!"

"Y/N, heart muscle inflammation is not a joke! If you had carried off the crap and hadn't passed out in the cafe, it could all have been worse than just a few needle sticks and a comfortable hospital bed!" he shouted in disbelief as his hands clenched into a fist and the knuckles were already turning white at the strength of his nervousness which he underpinned by pacing back and forth in front of your bed.

He didn't understand how you wanted to become a doctor but couldn't listen to your own body. It was impossible for him to understand how you could let it get this far. Derek asked for an answer, but you didn't feel like arguing with him anymore so you just stood silent; you were too tired and exhausted to continue this discussion.

You knew it was a fatal mistake, but you couldn't change and jump back in time either.

Just before Derek wanted to let his anger run free again, Amelia, who had previously been quiet, had stood in front of him and gave him an urgent look and some slight knocks on his now crossed arms. "You go now and calm down. The shouting doesn't help anyone here and I don't think the whole hospital has to know our family issues." he bit his lip and looked between you and your sister before he disappeared, but not without slamming the door behind him.

Startled, you let yourself fall back on the pillow, put your arm over your forehead and closed your eyes. You knew you messed up big time. "I'm sorry, Amelia."

"You should have told us, then you might not be here and have to stay for observation." she said calmly, unlike your brother and started moving towards the side of your bed where Amelia sat down on the chair that was already standing next to it and gently stroked the back of your head.

Amelia understood why you hadn't said anything, she had gone through the same with him too. But on the other hand, she could understand Derek. It also hurt her that you hadn't mentioned anything and that you didn't let her help you. "From now on, no more secrets, understand? I don't want to have this horrible feeling in my stomach when I get a message like that ever again. When you are in pain then let one of us know, regardless of whether you think it is a cramped muscle or not."

"You are so over caring." you said annoyed and rolled your eyes.

You knew it was in their nature to react like that, but as a young adult you couldn't understand that exactly this small gesture showed how important you were to a person. You just found it annoying.

"At some point in your life, you will think back to that moment and judge it completely different. Maybe we are far too caring now, later you will perhaps be grateful to us for it and understand why we do this." she sighed.

"We do this because we love you and we don't ever want to lose you."

[mypoisonedvine]

A Year Gone By | dark!Bucky Barnes x reader

happy birthday @nsfwsebbie​!!

it was supposed to be a surprise but then I couldn’t stop myself from telling you I was writing something, I managed to keep most of it under wraps though!  I hope the suspense pays off.  

idk if it’s weird that i made it a doctor reader when you’re not a doctor but listen...half the fun of reader insert is getting to vicariously live through a cool career right??  the other half of the fun is the obvious thing.  and it seemed a little creepy if i made the reader exactly like you but if you want it to be more accurate i will totally write you something with actual you in it lol

ANYWAYS I hope you enjoy it and most of all I hope you have a lovely, relaxing, fun birthday.  and i hope it makes you h word lmao.  ily darling <3

warnings: noncon, dubcon, stalking/kidnapping, ddlg, loss of virginity, bondage, oral sex (m and f receiving), anal sex, d/s, pet play, degradation, painful sex/pain kink, cockwarming, breeding, somnophilia (slightly), spitting, pregnancy mention, breeding kink, mention of drugging... I think that’s everything.

word count: just over 15.5k (YIIIIKES my bad)

Bucky always looked forward to appointments with you.  It wasn’t just because he had a crush on you, honest; you really were the best doctor he ever had.  Then again, between chain-smoking Brooklyn doctors who handed out morphine like candy and cruel Nazi or Soviet scientists, you weren’t competing with anybody too incredible.

“It’s not so bad,” he bluffed, but he couldn’t hide the wince when you touched his bruise.

“You’re not a very good liar, Sergeant,” you told him with a smile.  God, he loved when you called him that.  He hoped his body wouldn’t react to it in any uncomfortably obvious ways.  “Honestly, I’m a little worried about the bones.  I want to do an X-ray, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead,” he shrugged, “but you’re probably worrying too much.”

“You plan to walk off a compound fracture?” you scoffed.

“Bet I could, if you kiss it to make it better,” he smiled.  He was expecting you to giggle a little at the casual flirtation, which you did, but he was surprised when you bit your lip at the end of it.  That made it impossible to stop his cock from getting a bit interested, but thankfully it was still easy enough to hide.  Clearly his casual flirting was starting to get to you, and it made him especially impatient but he tried to stay calm.

“I’m a good doctor, but I’m not that good.  A prescription will do more for you,” you replied as you wrote something in his chart-- presumably that he needed to go down the hall for some x-ray work.

“If you say so.”

“Anything else bothering you?” you asked him.

“Oh, no, I won’t waste your time,” he dismissed.

“I’m getting paid, don’t worry,” you laughed.  “I don’t have any more appointments until after lunch.  Is there anything else going on?”

He shifted a little, the paper on the examination table crinkling as he did it.  “Um… it’s nothing, I just--” he glanced up at you but then looked away again, still embarrassed to admit it-- “I’ve had a little trouble sleeping…”

“Nightmares?” you pressed.  “Or general insomnia?”

“Um, nightmares,” he finally admitted, “not as bad as normal.  The meds helped.  Just… I still get them sometimes.”

“How many nights a week would you guess?” you asked.  But you didn’t look to his chart like it was a quiz or something, you kept looking at him with patience and compassion.  That was what really made his heart melt.

“Probably 2 or 3.”

“So we’re down from 6 to 7,” you remembered from what he’d said before you’d given him the medication he was on now, “that’s good.  That’s progress.  But, maybe we need to up your dosage if you haven’t seen better results after 4 weeks.  You haven’t missed any doses, have you?”

He tried to fight his embarrassed smirk but it was too late.

“Bucky!” you scolded playfully.  “I can’t up your dosage until you’re actually being consistent on the amount you already have, okay?  I know it can be easy to forget but you have to stay on it.  Set a timer on your phone or something if you need to.”

He nodded, but the problem wasn’t forgetting to take them as much as it was being ashamed that he needed them at all.  But he’d stay on them if it made you happy.

“Anything else?  Headache, twisted ankle, burns when you pee?”

He laughed and shook his head.  “No, I think that’s everything.”

“Great, then I’ll let you get to your newly-booked X-ray appointment.”  You handed him a sheet of paper for him to take to the X-ray office which informed the nurses there what angles you wanted on his ribs.  “Just know that you can call me if you need anything, alright?”

He took the slip of paper but suddenly couldn’t respond, too lost in looking at you and wondering if you’d felt that same jolt of electricity when his hand brushed yours.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“You take care of so many people,” Bucky pondered aloud, “I just wonder if someone takes care of you.”

He could tell by your face that you didn’t like the way his tone shifted, but he refused to backpedal.  Just this once, he wanted to see you squirm a little bit.  

“Wanna lollipop?” you asked him nervously as you handed him the plastic-wrapped red sucker in offering, but he waved it away.  

He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how you would look with the cherry lollipop in your mouth: the way it would push your cheek out from the inside, stain your lips and tongue bright red, make your mouth taste like pure sugar.  

Of all the things he’d imagined before, that was the one that made him realize it couldn’t just be a fantasy anymore.  Thankfully, he hadn’t just been thinking of all the filthy things he wanted to do to you; he’d also been coming up with a plan.

~

The first thing you perceived when you woke up was the smell.  It didn’t smell like your room.  Such a simple difference, one you hadn’t even realized you would notice, but one that stood out instantly.

You opened your eyes and instantly spun your head around when you saw the grey cement room you were in.  The bed underneath you creaked, unlike your bed, and you looked down at it as if you somehow expected to be in an unknown room but still be in your own bed.  

It was then that you realized you were restrained with, of all things, satiny pink rope which pulled each of your limbs to the nearest bedpost.  There was enough slack that you could wiggle around some, but it wasn’t exactly roomy either.  Your heart raced as you pondered who could have possibly done this, and why.

You startled when you heard the door open, but relaxed when the menacing form suddenly struck you as familiar.

“Bucky,” you sighed with relief, “oh thank god you’re here-- quick, help untie me.”

As soon as you said it, though, you realized something wasn’t right.  He didn’t look concerned at all, or confused.  And that should be a good thing because it meant he had answers, except that you were suddenly realizing this was more complex than you were prepared for.

“Bucky… where are we?” you asked him, quieter, as you realized that he was not going to untie you immediately.  Even still you were coming to terms with the possibility that it wasn’t really a matter of where we were and where, specifically, you were.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered simply, stepping closer.

You didn’t exactly believe that.  

“Please, help untie me,” you requested again.

“I will,” he assured, “but I want to explain something first.”

Your heart sank straight through your stomach.  You didn’t understand what was going on quite yet, but you were getting the gist enough to know that this was really fucking bad.

“Bucky,” you pleaded as he sat down beside you on the bed, “please let me go.”  You felt very aware of how thin your pajama set was, how if he tried hard enough he could see your nipples hardening underneath your top for no apparent reason.

“Don’t get upset,” he soothed, “everything’s fine.  I’m not going to hurt you-- nobody will anymore.  You’re gonna stay here, with me, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Your eyes burned with tears you couldn’t fight anymore.  “Don’t do this,” you begged, “I’m your friend-- we’re friends, remember?”

“Of course I know that,” he sighed, “but that’s not enough.  Couldn’t you tell I’d fallen in love with you?”

You shook your head, trying to process everything you were hearing.  “This is insane.  This is not what you do when you have feelings for somebody, Bucky.”

“What, you’re saying I should’ve just asked you out?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to say yes-- because you’re my patient--”

“See?  That’s what the ropes are for!” he smiled, like he was actually proud of his problem-solving skills.  “You would’ve said yes if you could, I know.  But you couldn’t.  And now you don’t have to.”

You resented that he was right, that you would’ve dated him in a heartbeat if it wasn’t an ethical violation.  You got the sense there were going to be even more severe ethical violations in your future, though.

You continued to beg him to stop, but it fell on deaf ears as he reached under the elastic waistband of your pajama shorts and pulled them down slowly.  He gasped when he saw your pussy and you wished you could just disappear, turn invisible or, best of all, teleport out of here; anything to avoid this humiliation.

“Baby, you’re wet,” he observed.  You weren’t sure if the first or second half of the sentence made you more uncomfortable, but either way, you couldn’t stop the shivers from dancing up your spine.  “This all for me?  Do you like being tied up?”

You refused to answer, looking to the side as if the concrete wall was suddenly fascinating to you, but he grabbed your jaw and turned you to look at him.

“I know you don’t know all the rules yet, but here’s the first one, and maybe the most important: answer me when I speak to you.”

It was cold but not quite threatening; still scared you senseless, though.  You nodded.

“Do you like being tied up?” he repeated.

“N-no,” you answered.

“Answer honestly,” he specified.

You had, but you realized it was going to be safer to do what he wanted, so you cleared your throat and spoke again.

“Yes,” you whispered, “I like… being tied up.”

“That’s it?” he pressed.  “It’s not me being here, is it?  You never got wet when you saw me in appointments?”

This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.  It seemed like there was no right answer.

“Didja ever get wet for somebody else?  It was Steve, wasn’t it?”

“No!” you instinctively answered.  “Um, I like Steve.  But just as a friend.”

“Aw,” he smiled, “I knew you were the loyal type.  Remember just a minute ago when you were begging me to stop cause you were my friend?  I think you were lying then too, doll.  You didn’t want to be just friends with me.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, just do it,” you grimaced.  “I’m getting irritated.”

You yelped when he slapped the inside of your thigh, trying to pull away but only making it easier for him to dip under your leg so that he was between them, sitting back on the bed in front of you.

“Respect gets you a long way with me,” he promised, pulling a knife from a strap on his thigh and using it to quickly cut off the shorts.  “Sass does not.”

You winced as he slipped a finger into you-- metal, and it was cold, too.  Soothed the burn a bit, at least.

“Oh god,” he sighed, “just one finger and it barely fits…”  You watched realization pass over his face as his gaze moved to your eyes.�� “Baby, are you a virgin?”

You closed your eyes because you knew they would reveal the truth.  In all honesty it was probably better that he knew so there was at least some chance of him going easy on you, and yet you were still embarrassed for him to find out.

“Oh, you’re going to spoil me,” he grinned.  “You really are too good to be true.”

A second finger pushed into you and a bite to the lip suppressed your moan.  

“I’ll warm you up first, don’t worry,” he cooed.  “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Then why did you tie me up?”

“That’s for your safety, baby.  I don’t wanna have to hurt you,” he clarified.

A third finger, immediately after you had adjusted to the second.  You had never had so much inside you before and it made you feel a bit dizzy.  His thumb grazed over your clit and you nearly jumped right off the bed as your hips bucked suddenly-- since when were you so sensitive?!

“Oh, poor little baby, you need it so bad,” he faux-pouted.  You couldn’t tell if it was a mockery or genuine concern.  “You’ll get it angel, don’t worry.  Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

That word made you feel a little sick.  No wonder he needed to kidnap girls to get his rocks off, clearly this was the kind of stuff a normal date wouldn’t agree to.

Then again, it was Bucky Barnes.  He could probably get any girl he wanted, even if he had some weird tastes.  You still didn’t understand why it had to be you, specifically.  

His thumb stayed on your clit, the pressure moving from teasing to firm to nearly too much.  You tried to angle your hips away but the ropes stopped you (of course), and you were forced to take every sensation he gave you.

“You’re trying so hard to stay quiet, just let go,” he encouraged.  “I wanna hear how good I make you feel.”

“Maybe I’m just naturally quiet,” you bluffed, but even just those few words were strained, and surrounded by panting as you failed to catch your breath.

“Oh, we both know that’s not true.  I’ve heard you when you thought you were alone, doll.”

You knew what he must have meant, but it still made you whimper when he leaned in to whisper in your ear: “I heard you touching yourself.”

Your face was burning and you were sure you’d never blushed so hard in your life.  You couldn’t be sure how much he’d heard, but just the way he smiled down at you made you sure he must have heard the times that his name passed your lips as you reached your peak.  

Of course he couldn’t just let you stew in that, he had to mock you even further.

“Oh Bucky,” he recalled, raising the pitch of his voice a little, “please let me come, I’m so close, please…”

“Stop,” you begged, tears sliding down your temples.  The fingers twisted inside you as both of you groaned.

“Yeah, it’s not a very good impression,” he sighed, “it’ll sound better when you do it.  Don’t you wanna moan for me again?”

“You stalked me,” you realized aloud, “you spied on me at night, you kidnapped me--”

“And now we’re both getting what we want.  I know you wished it was my fingers instead of yours.  Doesn’t it feel good baby?  Admit it.  Tell me it feels good.”

You were determined to resist until he pulled his fingers out and used the metal hand to slap your pussy, both of you gasping at the wet noise it made.  He did it again and your hips bucked wildly even as you were trying with everything in you not to react.  One more and you finally moaned, the pain brief but strong while the pleasure never seemed to lessen.

“Just be honest,” he demanded, “I know you love it.  I just need you to say it.”

One more spank and you were finally willing to cut your losses.  “It feels good!” you exclaimed.  You cried out when he hit you again, not having seen it coming at all since you’d done as he asked.  “Say it again.”

“It feels good, Bucky, your fingers feel good,” you whimpered.

He finally seemed to calm down, giving you an oddly friendly smile.  “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head, just trying to appreciate the stillness while you could.  

“One little thing though: you don’t call me Bucky anymore.  My friends call me Bucky; you’re so much more special than that.  You’re my perfect little angel, and you call me Daddy.”

You saw it coming, but it didn’t make it any less awful.  You squirmed a bit as he pushed up your top, biting his lip when he got a glimpse of your breasts.

“Oh, when did these get hard, huh?” he smiled as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers.

“It’s… cold in here,” you explained uncomfortably.

“Uh huh,” he pretended to believe you.  “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to warm you up.”

He let go of your tits so he could pull back and start undoing his belt; you swallowed dryly, not wanting to watch but unable to look away.

Of course he was big.  It explained his personality, and you’d had your suspicions (and/or fantasies), but now all it did was scare you.

“Will it hurt?” you asked weakly.  He smiled as he pulled off his shirt from behind his neck, tossing it aside.  

“No baby, I stretched you with my fingers so you can take me.  Might be a little bit of an adjustment at first, but we’ll go slow, okay?”

You couldn’t decide if it was sweet or patronizing.  A little of both, perhaps.

He leaned over you, resting one hand beside your head as the other guided his cock to rub through your folds.  You struggled again, barely able to process that this was actually going to happen, that you were going to lose your virginity tied up in some creepy sex dungeon to an obsessive patient who demanded you call him ‘Daddy.’  This wasn’t exactly the situation you had been saving it for.

“Ready for me, baby?  Want me to make you mine?” he asked with a look of excitement, even vulnerability.  Your body craved more after he’d left you dangling on the edge from his fingering, but your brain was thankfully still functioning properly.

“Please don’t,” you whimpered, “you can stop now, and I won’t tell anyone, and--”

“Baby, don’t talk like that,” he frowned.  “This is it, okay?  Us.  Just us.  Nobody else to get in the way.  You’re not gonna tell anyone ‘cause there’s no one to tell.”

“You can’t,” you denied, “I have a life-- people who care about me, who are going to notice that I’m gone--”

“No, babygirl, stop-- you’re not listening to me,” he growled.  “Stop fighting.  You’re mine.  You’re finally where you belong.”

“This is crazy,” you spat, “you’re crazy!”

“Baby…” he looked dejected, crestfallen.  “You’re the only one who’s ever helped me feel normal again.  If I’m crazy it’s only because I love you so much; I need you, doll.”

“You need intensive psychiatric care!”

Sadness shifted to anger as he sat back and stuffed his cock back into his trousers, even though it barely fit now that it was fully hard and leaking from the tip.

“I realize now I’ve given you more than you can handle.  I knew you liked me back so I figured you would understand a little sooner but… I should’ve known you need more time before you really admit to yourself that you need someone to take care of you.”

Your relief shifted to fear when he stood back up off the bed and stepped away.

“Wait, don’t leave me here,” you squeaked, “untie me, please.”

Instead he knelt down and pulled a box out from under the bed.  You couldn’t see what was inside when he opened it, but he seemed to find what he was looking for when he pulled out a vibrator and shut the lid.  It was thin and a little curved, so when he roughly shoved it into you it hit right on your g-spot.  You tried to squirm away but he held your hips down and turned it on to a setting that strobed the vibrations, teasing your spot but never giving you enough to get very far.

“I’ll come back when I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he informed you quickly as he started to leave the room.

“Bucky-- Bucky wait!” you called after him.  “There’s no food or water you can’t leave me here wait don’t go BUCKY!”

But he was long gone.  The door slammed behind him and echoed around the room; only when the sound was completely dead were you sure that he wasn’t coming back any time soon.

You had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity of you wiggling against the ropes, trying to either knock the vibrator out of you somehow or get it to move enough that you could at least come and feel some relief.  Trying to push it out with your muscles was useless since the curved shape kept it inside of you, and you couldn’t arch your back enough to press it into the bed-- and if you could, you weren’t sure what good that would do.

Every once in a while the vibration would echo through your clit and it made your eyes water.  You sobbed and bit your lip, hoping he would come back soon.

It was at least twice as long before he did, and at that point your voice had gone hoarse from calling out to him.  You cried out for Bucky at least a hundred times and got nothing; but when you called for ‘Daddy’ just once, he suddenly appeared.

Somehow his return didn’t bring much relief, because you weren’t exactly safe with him around… but at least you weren’t alone.

He reached between your legs and turned the vibrator off, though he left it inside of you.  You took a deep breath and appreciated the stillness, though your body panged with hunger from so much pleasure with no release.

“I hated doing that to you,” he breathed deeply as he sat beside you on the bed, “but it had to be done.  You were behaving so poorly.  I’ve gone easy on you up until now but I can’t tolerate any more rebelliousness, alright?”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his disappointment sink over you.  

When he pulled out the vibrator, the tip of it grazed over your abused and sensitive g-spot and you bit back a groan.  He set it aside and admired the mess you’d made; you couldn’t see it, of course, but you could tell that there was a wet patch of arousal beneath you on the sheets.

“Your body is ready for me, but I’m not sure your mind is right yet,” he explained, steely gaze finally meeting yours.  “Are you going to be good, little girl?”

You were too exhausted to notice the nickname, or even to speak your reply.  You just nodded again, watching him as he started unlacing his boots and slipped them off, then took his socks, trousers, and underwear off along with them.

Shit, you’d nearly forgotten how big he was.  You swallowed with a dry throat and closed your eyes, just hoping it would be over with quickly.  

“Open your eyes babygirl, I wanna look at you,” he murmured, running a finger across your cheek.  You reluctantly obeyed and saw him hovering above you.  He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and it felt so wrong, so empty and peculiar.  It was a weak facsimile of what a kiss was supposed to be like.  He closed his eyes and ran his fingers into your hair, and it had all the trappings of the kind of kiss you’d share as a goodbye after a first or second date, but without any of the stuff that mattered like positive feelings or consent or not being in a creepy cement sex dungeon-- or whatever this was supposed to be.

He pulled away and looked down at you again, anger just starting to brew in his eyes.  “Kiss me back,” he demanded.  This time when he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue slid between them and it made you feel a little sick but you did your best to reciprocate.  You found yourself trying to reach up to put your hands on his hair or neck but of course, the ropes made it impossible.

You felt his cock pressing between your thighs, rubbing up and down slowly, and your heart began to race.  One hand slid between your bodies to guide his cock towards your entrance and he said something but you couldn’t hear it because your ears were ringing.  

As soon as he pushed into you, your body jolted, trying to squirm away, but he just kept going, sliding into you in one long stroke.

Physically, it wasn’t painful.  The vibrator had helped relax your walls, even numbed them a little bit.  And yet, even without pain it was so much.  You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, like you were so full you couldn’t even breathe.  

When he was fully seated inside you, Bucky moaned deeply, kissing your neck and mumbling something about how perfect you were.  But all you could focus on was his cock pulling back only to slam home again.  

“Fuck!” you yelped.  You had no idea anything could be so deep inside you.  

“Watch your language, angel,” he purred, biting at your earlobe.  “You promised to be good, remember?”

The hand that had been gripping your thigh suddenly moved to rub your clit and you choked on a moan.  

“It’s okay, it’s supposed to feel good,” he encouraged.  “It’s okay to come, baby.  I know how bad you wanna come for me.”

You were embarrassingly close as he had observed, a side effect of having been left on the edge for so long.  You could feel your walls rippling around him, and you wondered if he could feel it, too.  Every thrust stroked parts of you that you hadn’t even realized existed, and when he pushed as deep as he could into you, the tip of his cock hit something so sensitive that you genuinely couldn’t tell if it was painful or pleasurable.  

“Are you close?  I don’t know how much longer I can last, you’re so tight,” he groaned.  “Fuck, you want me to fill you up don’t you?  Wanna be full of Daddy’s cum?”

Before you could even consider ignoring his question, he wrapped his left hand around your neck.

“Yes, Daddy,” you croaked through the weight on your windpipe, “fill me up, please.”

Talking like that made your heart twist with shame but somehow pushed you even closer to your peak.  You knew he could tell that you were turned on by it from the way your muscles tightened around him.

“I will baby, I promise,” he smiled.  “Do you wanna beg to come, like you did when you were by yourself?”

You moaned because it was like a fantasy come true, in a monkey’s paw sort of way.  This is what you had wanted, right?  Just… in a way completely different from how it was turning out?

“Daddy, please,” you answered, so quiet and heavy with embarrassment that it was barely above a whisper, “please let me come.”

“Oh fuck,” he responded hoarsely as his thrusts came faster, more ragged.  “Come, princess.  I wantcha to scream for me.”

As you started to fall over the edge, you felt like you had lost control over your body; your arms and legs tugged at the ropes as jolts of pleasure coursed through them, and your mouth was spilling moans and whimpers and even his name.  His real name, specifically, though he thankfully didn’t seem to mind.  He kissed you again as he came, moaning into your lips and still inside you.  

You felt cold and sticky and humiliated as he sat up and pulled out, admiring the way your hole leaked out his seed and flexed involuntarily around nothing.

“Oh look at you,” he praised, “my perfect little girl.  You’re even more amazing than I dreamed, doll.”

You tried not to listen or watch him as he got off the bed, coming back with boxers on and a damp washcloth to clean you.

“I’m gonna untie you now, okay?  Promise you won’t kick me or anything?” 

You quickly nodded, willing to promise anything if it meant getting untied.  “You’ll just do more harm to you than to me if you try anything, angel,” he reminded you quickly as he started work on your right ankle.  The ropes were silky so they hadn’t been rubbing your skin too raw, but there was still soreness from the tight knots.  You were a bit surprised when he gave your ankle and foot a brief massage once he was done untying the rope, and did the same to your other foot, and then your wrists and hands.  It helped a lot with getting the blood flow back to normal, and you almost considered thanking him but that would’ve been ridiculous.  ‘Hey, thanks for the foot massage, next time don’t tie me up and rape me first but, otherwise 10/10.’  

~

Bucky was so impressed with the progress you’d made in a week.  Only two escape attempts and you’d taken your punishment quite well both times.  He had expected a rocky start, he’d understood what he was getting himself into, so none of it really came as a surprise.  You’d managed to get a good crack at his nose once, kicking him straight between the eyes before making a run for it.  Yes, it hurt like a bitch and took a few days to heal, but it had actually been a blessing in disguise; that day you’d made it out the front door and realized that you were in the middle of nowhere.  When he’d caught up to you, you were standing barefoot and half-naked in the snow, not even running anymore because, apparently, you’d realized there was nowhere to run to.  

“I built this place for us, for you,” he explained.  “Somewhere far away, all to ourselves.  Nobody for miles.”

“How many miles?”

He chuckled a bit to himself.  “Baby, it’s a really big number.  You’re too little to understand.”

Normally you resisted that sort of talk but this time it shut you up.  Hopefully you were beginning to properly realize that this was your new life.

“Are we in New York?” you asked, quieter.

“I’m not sure if I should tell you that yet.  I don’t want you to get any complicated ideas in that pretty little head,” he cooed, kissing your forehead for emphasis before leaving you behind to start cooking dinner.

“I’m not eating with these,” you announced firmly as he set your place at the table with a set of pink, rubber-coated utensils.  

“It’s too messy to eat with your hands,” he frowned.

“Do you honestly not realize that I want to eat with normal utensils?  Or are you just trying to drive me insane?”

Bucky set your plate down a little too firmly, making you and the food on top jump.  “Don’t talk back to me.”  

“I just… it’ll take me forever to finish an adult-sized portion of food with child-sized utensils.”

“Then maybe you’re not ready for an adult-sized portion,” he threatened.  That seemed to get your attention, but you stayed quiet.  “Maybe you’re not hungry at all?”

“I’m hungry,” you denied.  “Please, I want to eat.”

“And I want to eat with you.  But this roundabout is getting on my last nerve, doll.  Now are you gonna be good and eat your dinner?”

“...yes, Daddy,” you sighed.  He smiled and sat down across from you.  You were learning.  Slowly, but surely.

Bath time was always a fight, though.  You still had some ridiculous notions about ‘privacy’ and ‘autonomy’ and crap like that, and it meant that you were likely to act up and refuse to be washed.

“I can do it myself!”

“But you don’t have to, don’t you see?”

“I want to.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around what you want, angel.”

“Let me guess: it revolves around what you want?” “No,” Bucky shook his head and tried to summon some more patience, “I have to take care of you.  Sometimes that means doing things you don’t like, because I know what’s best for you.”

“I hate you,” you mumbled as you turned away, and that really broke his heart.  He knew you didn’t really mean it, but it still hurt.

“Baby… don’t say that,” he pleaded as he turned your face to him.  “It hurts Daddy’s feelings when you say things like that.”

“Yes, that was the idea,” you hissed.  “I just want to take a shower, alone.”

“Any chance you had at that is long gone,” he grimaced.  “What you’re getting is a bath, with me, and if you quit this attitude now you might still be able to avoid getting a spanking as well, do you understand?”

Your shoulders slumped as you nodded.  He knew your poor little bottom was still sore from the last spanking, and as he helped you undress for the bath, he could still see a few welts along the skin.  He kissed them quickly, a reminder to both of you what he was capable of, before helping you into the water and slipping in behind you.  It was spacious, so there was ample room for the two of you, but he still held you close and pressed your back into his chest.  

He had a lot of ideas about what you two could do in this bath, but he knew that now was not the time.  Still, he let his mind wander and smiled to himself when you gasped from his erection pressing into your thigh.

He helped you wash your hair, and for that moment where your head was nearly submerged and he was using his fingers to massage out the shampoo, you looked so peaceful.  He normally only got to appreciate this look on your face as you slept, but you were almost smiling this time, and it made his heart sing.  A week of tantrums was worth it for just a few quiet moments like this.

“I’m gonna let you finish up on your own, okay?  I trust you not to do anything dangerous…” he decided as he stepped out.  

“Really?” your face instantly lit up.  Sure, you’re never supposed to leave them alone in the bath, but he was feeling extra generous and he sympathized with your desire for control.  Freedom could be good for you, in moderation.

“Of course.”

“T-thank you, Daddy,” you awkwardly responded.

He dried off and dressed, and waited nearby in the living room, listening to you drain the bathwater and start a shower.    

You emerged wrapped in a towel and looking slightly lost.

"Honey, where are your clothes?" he asked you with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you informed him.  Oh, right.  You were being resistant to wearing the clothes he had picked out for you.  Apparently you found the overwhelming presence of baby pink to be tacky, and you hated that everything was cute and tiny… he couldn't understand seeing something cute and tiny and not liking it.  After all, you were the most adorable thing he'd laid eyes on and it made it impossible not to like you.  You just needed clothes to match.

“I have clothes laid out for you,” he explained.

“I’d rather be naked than wear what you pick for me,” you snarled.

“Hey, I wouldn’t complain,” he shrugged, trying to suppress his frustration.  “Don’t come bitchin’ to me when you’re cold, though.”

You sat next to him on the couch, defiantly naked and confidently ignoring him.  He admired your stubbornness, or at least he found it amusing.

“Do you wanna watch a movie now?” he asked, but he knew you had figured out that this was a mandatory activity.

“Don’t see any reason to wait,” you smiled sarcastically.

Of course, when he got up to show you some DVDs so you could pick what you wanted (Wall-E; he knew you didn’t actually want to watch that since your typical fare was horror and action movies, but it was your favorite of the options), he quickly turned down the thermostat.  Perhaps a comfortable 55 Fahrenheit would help you remember why it’s important to take what Daddy gives you.

He hadn’t seen Wall-E before but he found it oddly relatable.  A robot, built for someone else’s purpose, abandoned in a filthy, empty world… it brought back some old feelings that he managed to press back down.  

Regardless, he was distracted from it when he could literally feel you shivering from across the couch.

“Are you cold, darling?” he asked presumptuously.

“No,” you denied, barely managing to suppress the chattering of your teeth.

“Do you want the clothes?” 

“Shut up.”

He just laughed a little to himself, ignoring your rude language and turning back to the TV.

It did kill him a bit to have to pretend he didn’t care when you were obviously uncomfortable, but you would’ve been even more irritated with him if he’d held you down and forced you to put the outfit on.

~

This fucker was smart, you’d give him that.  Or maybe it was just that you were stupid.  Not stupid, really, but having no sense of self-preservation.  Why had you chosen this hill to die on?  You couldn’t even remember why you’d put up a fight at all.  You were so cold that you couldn’t even understand what could’ve ever compelled you to reject an offer of clothes.  Didn’t help that you knew he was so close, that if you cuddled up to him you would be warm, but that it would mean the loss of your last shred of dignity.

Only a week and you were starting to completely lose your sense of yourself.  You searched within and couldn’t find any of the fight you’d had so many times before.  You remembered that time you kicked him right in the face, and where you once found pride at the memory, you found guilt.  You felt guilty for hurting him, after everything he’d done to you-- why?

“B-bucky…” you finally relented not even an hour into the movie, stammering from the force of your shivers.

“Hm?”

“I want… I want the c-clothes.”

He smiled a little, in an insulting way.  “Ask nicely, doll.”

“P-please, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He came back with the clothes in hand, but when you reached out for them, he shook his head and motioned for you to stand up.  You sighed but obeyed, your entire body shaking with violent shivers as your bare feet hit the cool concrete floor.  

He knelt down, holding the lace panties open for you as you shyly stepped into them.  He pulled them up to your hips and let the elastic slap your skin a little as he let go, making you jump.  He did the same with the fuzzy pink pyjama pants, running his hands over soft fabric for just a second as he stood up, helping you into the loose grey sweatshirt.  It was the least feminine thing he’d ever let you wear, noticeably absent in anything pink or fuzzy or girly or adorned with bows.  You only realized as it slipped over your head that it was his, because once you plunged into darkness inside of it, you were overwhelmed with the smell of him.  You wouldn’t have known that you could recognize his smell, but now that you were in it, it was undeniable.

You were almost surprised to see him when your head popped through the neckline, somehow.  It’s not as if you had forgotten he was there in the three seconds you couldn’t see him, just that he looked so different to you now.  He had this stoic, nearly stern look on his face as he helped you get your hands through the sleeves, and the way he caressed your fingers as they emerged from the cotton was so upsettingly tender.

“Daddy…” you mumbled, and he looked back at your face.  

“Is this better?  Are you warmer?”

“My feet…” you realized, looking down at them.  

“I’ll get you some socks, baby,” he nodded, dashing away for a moment.  You felt colder with him gone.  It couldn’t be loneliness, could it?  Even knowing he’d only be gone less than a minute, you were unduly anxious for his return.

He came back and held your feet up by the ankle one at a time as he rolled pink fuzzy socks-- with lace at the ankle, of course-- over your feet.  You wiggled your toes into them, finally feeling like you’d be able to get warm again.

“Let’s finish the movie, okay?” he suggested, rubbing his hands on your arms.  You nodded, allowing him to guide you back to the couch and finding yourself cuddling into his side as he laid an arm over your shoulders.

You barely managed to pay attention as you felt his hand slip lower, resting on your waist.  Then your hip, then your thigh.

Something about the way the lace panties rubbed against your pussy made you feel so oddly sensitive, and even the inside of his sweatshirt was just rough enough to make your nipples react every time you adjusted your position.

You figured he realized your condition pretty quickly, but he didn’t react until a moan, so quiet that you were sure he wouldn’t hear it, passed your lips.

“Everything alright, doll?” he asked, failing to hide the fact that he clearly knew the answer.

You didn’t respond, distracted by his other hand reaching over and stroking your thigh.  You were caged in his embrace now, and your heart raced in a way that was oddly lacking in fear.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he demanded, watching your nervous reaction to his intensity.

“Daddy I… I feel tingly,” you murmured, feeling yourself blush.

“Where, baby?”

“D-down there,” you admitted as you forced your eyes shut, too embarrassed to look him in the face as you said it.

“You need Daddy’s help?”

“Please,” you whispered, hating yourself a little for needing him but too desperate to really care.

In one motion he’d already turned the TV off, pulled you onto his lap, and started kissing where the baggy neckline of the sweatshirt exposed your collarbone.

You were rubbing yourself on his thigh and you didn’t even know how to stop.  It felt so good.  It made your skin warm up even faster as you recovered from the cold.  

He slipped his right hand into your pants as the other pulled you closer until your face was buried in his neck.  If there was anything worth appreciating about Bucky, it was how good he was with his fingers.  He knew your body better than you did at this point-- but then again, he had spent so much time exploring it in one week that he was probably competing with you already in terms of practice time.  

“Oh my god,” you moaned as his fingers moved faster and firmer, making your hips jerk forward unexpectedly.  

“It feels good?” he asked in that way that made it obvious he knew the answer.

“Yes, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whimpered.  You’d gotten pretty good by now at appeasing him by performing the role he wanted you to play… so good, in fact, that it was starting to feel very real.

Just as you were grabbing onto his shoulders to hold you steady through your orgasm, he was pulling out his hand and reaching for his own pants instead.

“Need to be inside you,” he explained quickly as he pushed them down and revealed his hard, leaking cock.  “I need to be inside you when I make you come.”

He helped you slide off your pants and underwear but pulled you back into his lap the absolute second they were discarded.  He slid you down onto his cock with a groan, and your face was so hot as you processed how wet you were, how easily he entered you.  Your joy halted, though, when he held your hips down.  You tried to wiggle around for some friction but he was so strong that it was a complete waste.

“Daddy,” you mumbled with confusion, “what are you doing?”

“You’re mine, baby, ‘m gonna use you how I please,” he reminded you darkly, “and right now I want you to stay still and wait.”

“But--” 

He slapped your ass harshly, and you whimpered but decided not to put up much more of a fight.

All the while as you tried to stay still, he was kissing your neck and jaw and cheeks, murmuring praises and leaving the softest bite marks every once in a while.

“Please let me move,” you sobbed against his shoulder, having to fight everything in you not to start grinding on him like your life depended on it.

“I’m not ready yet,” he denied.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you whimpered.  “I’ll do anything.  I just need to come, and I need to make you come, please…”

With a hand on either side of your hips, he started to move you on top of him, excruciatingly slow.  Your head fell back from how wonderful just that felt.  

“Anything?  You’re gonna spoil me talking like that, doll.”

“Oh god, anything, just move a little faster, please,” you begged.  Of course you knew it was a bad idea, and you figured you were going to regret saying it, but your need was surpassing your sanity at the moment.

He grabbed your face and pulled you down until your lips were almost brushing his, but not quite.  “Keep riding my cock, babygirl.”  You nodded, finally free to pick up the pace to where you wanted it, and you bit your lip as his cock stretched you exactly how you needed it to.

“Daddy, you feel so good inside me,” you moaned.

“I can tell,” he smiled, “you’re making those perfect noises, it’s killing me not to flip you over and fuck you so hard right now.”

You were much more inspired by that mental image than you expected to be.  Those few times he’d gotten really rough with you, it had made you so wet you thought you might get dehydrated.

When he spoke again, his voice was so low that it sounded like a growl, echoing in his chest and making shivers run up your spine.  “I know what I want you to do for me.”

You swallowed and braced yourself as he pulled you even closer, looking right into your eyes.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded.

You gasped, tears starting to burn at the back of your eyes.  It was the last thing you expected, but it also tracked.  Of course that was what he wanted.  But now that you were trying to form words and nothing would come out, you were kind of wishing he’d just said he wanted anal.

“D-daddy,” you stammered, distracted by him grabbing your hips and moving you even faster on top of him.  He was practically throwing you up and down on top of him, and somehow doing it effortlessly.

“Just say it,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you whispered back.  He smiled and pulled you into a deep kiss, swallowing every moan as you felt yourself barrelling towards your peak.

“Please, I’m about to come-- can I come, Daddy?”

“Almost,” he nodded, “say it again, babygirl.”

“I love you,” you panted, “Daddy, I love you, please--”

“One more time,” he grunted, watching your face. 

“I love you!” you yelped, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer and feeling your walls flutter as sensation washed over you.  Thankfully he wasn’t far behind, only thrusting up into you a few more times before he spilled himself with a groan.

He kissed you long and slow, staying inside you even as his cock began to soften a little.  When he pulled away, he looked up at you with an expression that brimmed with restrained excitement.

“Oh, doll, you have no idea how good it is to finally hear you say that,” he beamed.  “We’re gonna be so happy here together… just me and my best girl, right?”

“Right,” you smiled, but as soon as you blinked a tear was rolling down your cheek.  He wiped it away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, “everything’s finally the way it’s supposed to be.  You’re finally where you belong, with me.”

You nodded weakly and felt whatever grip you had on your sanity loosening.  Dreams of escape faded as he carried you to bed, holding you in his arms all night long.  You were beginning to embrace the simplicity of just letting life happen to you.  For every time you felt belittled and patronized by his coddling, there was another time that you secretly felt protected and loved.  The truth was, even though you had experienced so much that you couldn’t begin to describe in the past week, you had been relieved of so much of the stress you dealt with before.  As you drifted to sleep, you only hoped that you could manage to hide that truth from yourself just a little bit longer.

~

He was honestly proud of himself for managing to keep his hands off you while you slept all this time.  But it wasn’t too much longer before you woke him up with your stirring.  At first he was just going to give you a quick hug and then get back to sleep, but then as he pulled you closer, he realized you were dreaming.  And when you moaned quietly in your sleep, he realized it wasn’t just any dream.

He smiled to himself as he kissed your neck gently, wondering if you would wake up or not.  It was sort of a win-win either way for him.  He let his hands slide down your body, listening to your breathing as it began to pick up.  Your mouth fell open and it made your sounds even more apparent as he carefully opened your legs.

“Oh baby, you’re drenched,” he murmured to no one in particular, admiring the way your pussy glistened in the low light of the room.  This was one of those times that he really appreciated his choice to make you sleep naked almost every night.

One metal finger sliding through your folds made you shiver.  He wondered if it was from arousal or if the metal felt cold on your warm skin.  Your clit was swollen, and apparently extra sensitive from the way your sleeping body erupted in goosebumps when he drew lazy circles around it.

Suddenly lacking in the patience more foreplay would require, he found himself shoving down his boxers and stroking his cock, preparing to push into you.  If that didn’t wake you up, he’d be slightly concerned… but he wasn’t sure if he’d be concerned enough to stop fucking you.  Thankfully he didn’t have to face that dilemma because the second he was pressing his head into your opening, your eyes flew open.

“Daddy!” you yelped, your voice sounding a little strange as you were torn from your sleep.

He bottomed out and groaned softly, relishing how tightly you wrapped around him.  “You looked so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t help myself.”

You mewled but said nothing, only wrapping your hands around his biceps as he pulled back to thrust into you again.  

“What were you dreaming about?” he asked firmly.

“N-nobody-- I mean, uh, nothing,” you stumbled over your words.

“Oh, you can’t lie to me very well can you?  It’s okay doll, you can tell me, but if it’s someone other than me I’m probably gonna kill him.”

He felt you tense up a little and he knew he’d scared you.  He sort of wanted to do it again, because he loved the way your cunt tightened in that moment, but he decided against it.

“Aw, I’m just joking,” he dismissed, though he wasn’t quite sure if he actually was or not.  “Go ahead, tell me what you were dreaming.”

“Y-you were there,” you explained, “but it wasn’t just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Um, yeah,” you deflected nervously.

“Go ahead, spit it out,” he hissed as he started to thrust into you a bit harder.  

“Well, uh, Steve was there too,” you finally admitted.  A lot of emotions hit him at once when he heard you say that.  Of course jealousy was prominent, but it was different than it would’ve been before... you were home now, and nobody could take you away.  Both of you knew that.  So it might have been a slight blow to the ego, but he didn’t see Steve as a threat.  What he did see was an opportunity to make you squirm, which he was always looking for.

“Was he watching us?” Bucky pressed.

“Uh, sort of…” you trailed off.

He leaned down, putting his lips right against your ear.  “Was he fucking you?”

You whimpered but he could tell you were turned on.  He reached down and roughly rubbed at your clit.  “Be honest, darling.”

“He wasn’t,” you explained, “you were; you said he wasn’t allowed to… but I gave him a-- a blowjob.”

As much as Bucky wasn’t exactly the sharing type, he was intrigued by the mental image of you stuffed with cock at both ends like that.  Even more so he was intrigued by the fact that it apparently turned you on.

“Is that what you want, huh?  One cock isn’t good enough for you?  Who knew you were such a fucking slut.”

“‘M not!” you denied.

“Then why are you soaked from dreaming about choking on somebody else’s cock while I fuck you, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“And how did you feel when I told Stevie he wasn’t allowed to fuck you?  Even in your sleep you know your Daddy owns you.  That this is my hole and I decide everything that happens to it.”

You moaned so loud that he was afraid he would come right then and there.  You sounded like heaven.  He thrust into you as hard and deep as he could, slamming into your cervix and hitting your clit with his pelvis with each brutal motion.  You cried out and dug your nails into his skin.  

“Fuck, you like it rough don’t you?  Of course you do.  ‘Cause you’re Daddy’s needy little whore.”

“Yes, I’m close!” you yelped.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna let you come until you beg for it.  Seems like you need to remember that I’m the only one for you.”

“Just you, Daddy, I only want you!” you reassured, but he wasn’t buying it.

“I’d die before I let you get on your knees for another man, do you believe me babygirl?”

“Yes, I know Daddy, I’m yours, there’s nobody else.”

“If you wanna come you better start askin’ really nice,” he growled.

“Please, Daddy, I want you to make me come!  It feels so good, please…”

“Keep going.”

“You’re amazing, your cock feels amazing, I wanna come for you so bad--”

“Fuck, baby, beg me to use you.”

He knew you were flustered by that.

“I-- I don’t know how,” you protested.

“Oh come on, you’re dumb but you’re not that dumb,” he grinned.  “Just how I said it.”

“Use me,” you murmured in defeat, “please.”

“That’s it,” he praised, “just like that-- come for me, doll.”

You were so obedient, tightening around him and nearly screaming with pleasure the moment he commanded you to.  He wasn’t far behind, succumbing to the perfection of your wet heat and filling it with his climax.

“Fuck!” he groaned when he hit the peak of it, trying somehow to focus entirely on both the way you felt and the way you sounded.

Normally he cleaned you up after this but right now he wanted his come to leak out of you all night, make your thighs and the sheets sticky.  Apparently you had some sort of implant or something which kept you safe… he was trying not to count the days until it wore off.  He figured you would totally lose it if he told you that he wanted to get you pregnant, and yet, he was surprised that you hadn’t asked him about getting your implant replaced.

~

You knew that life was unpredictable and all that, but if never in a million years would you have expected for the Winter Soldier to be painting your nails.  But there he was, focused intently on each stroke of the tiny brush as he held your hand still.

“This’ll help you stop chewing your nails,” he gave as his excuse.  It was almost believable, except that he did your toes too.  Amazingly enough, you’d never chewed on those.

They were actually sort of pretty, if you were being honest.  You admired them a little, as they dried.  It wasn’t a perfect paint job by any means, but much better than you expected from Bucky and honestly, a bit better than you would’ve done it in all likelihood.  The baby pink color was a little nauseating as always, but it admittedly did look nice with your skin tone. 

“What do you say?” he prompted.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you smiled.  “It looks nice.”

“You’re welcome, angel.  I think so too.  We’ll take ‘em for a spin when they’re dry.”

You swallowed.  You had a pretty good idea of what that would entail.

Next was your hair.  Pigtails, the way he always did it.  You never quite understood what he liked so much about turning you into a girlier, more childish version of yourself, but you were finally embracing the things that you liked about being in this role.  He certainly pampered you, which was hard to complain about.  In your whole time here (you struggled to keep track but it must have been over a month now) you'd never cooked once.

After lunch he had you on your knees, looking up at him while you started to unzip his fly.  You found yourself salivating a little as you pulled his half-hard cock out of his boxers.

“Baby, your hands are so small…” he noticed reverently.  “Barely fit around it.”

“It’s not that they’re small, it’s that you’re so big,” you replied, more honest than you were used to being with him.

“You flatter me,” he grinned.  “Do it some more.”

You felt put on the spot, but feared disappointing him.  “Daddy, your cock is… so big,” you improvised, still stroking him as he got harder for you, “I can’t believe it fits inside me.”

“Hmm, it almost doesn’t,” he recalled.

“But it feels so good when-- when I get used to you and, um, your cock… stretches me…”

He groaned a little, and you moved your hand faster.

“Fills me up so good, Daddy,” you moaned, getting more into it than you had intended to.  “Your cock feels so fucking good, it’s like it’s made for me--”

He cut you off suddenly by pushing you back onto the mattress, hovering over you as a muscular hand wrapped around your throat.

“Got quite the mouth on ya, doll,” he growled.  “Do I need to wash it out with soap?” 

You shook your head; he wasn’t choking you hard enough to stop you from speaking entirely if you had really wanted to, but you were too stunned to say much.  His attitude could flip on a dime like this, and you could never see it coming.  The fear made your heart race; the anticipation made your thighs clench together.  

He smiled as he pulled back, letting go of your neck and reaching for his cock instead.  “I can tell you’re worked up.  Go ahead, touch yourself.”

You hesitated because typically that would be an infraction, but he nodded for you to continue as you nervously reached between your legs.   

You gasped softly when you touched your clit: it was swollen, and especially sensitive.  You hadn't realized how turned on you really were.  Slowly, you started to rub circles around it as your hips rocked with your movements.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, and when you looked up at him, he was stroking himself as well.  You nodded quickly.  "'M gonna come on that pretty face, little one.  Beg me for it."

"Daddy…" you murmured in shock, "I… want you to come on my face, please.  Wanna be covered in it."

"You're not a good liar," he grinned.  "I know you really want me to fuck you."

He wasn't wrong, so you nodded again and watched his hand speed up as it moved up and down his length.

"You poor thing," he cooed.  "I fuck you daily and you're so disappointed to be going without, to just be getting my come on your face like the dirty little whore you are."

His words stung but your hand was moving faster between your legs.

"You're getting close, aren't you?  Wait until I'm ready," he ordered.  You swallowed dryly but slowed down a little to buy yourself some time.  

He grunted a bit and you really hoped it was signalling an orgasm because you felt yours building unstoppably.  You didn't even think you could pull your hand away from yourself if he asked you to, you needed to come so bad.

"Fuck, open your mouth baby-- stick your tongue out," he commanded quickly, stepping forward until his cock was casting a shadow over your face.  "Oh god, just like that… ready baby?"

You nodded one more time and heard yourself panting loudly through your open mouth, your moans only interrupted by a wince as his come spurted forward and painted your face and exposed tongue in hot stripes.  Your orgasm hit just in time, embarrassingly spurred on by the degrading position you were in.  

When he was done-- which seemed to take forever because he came so much-- he started to catch his breath before slipping his softening cock onto your come-coated tongue and into your waiting mouth.

"Mm, you look so good like this," he praised, "I'm not sure I wanna let you wipe it off."

A flesh thumb moved down to your cheek and rubbed a stray drop of spend into your skin.  

"My perfect little cum dumpster, huh?" he said proudly, as if it was an award or achievement or something, and not a sick, insulting term.

Weird thing was, you felt proud of yourself, too.

~

He’d been working outside all day, chopping firewood in preparation for the upcoming winter.  Sure, the cabin had heating, but he had a lot of ideas about cuddling in front of the fire, or maybe making love beside it.  

Regardless, even super soldiers tire and must rest after working.  He decided to head inside and heat up something warm to stave off the cold.  You were still sleeping last he’d checked, exhausted from a long night-- yes, that kind of long night.  He almost felt guilty for putting your body through so much…  you were so delicate, sometimes he forgot you couldn’t always handle what he could.  However, you were stronger than you realized, and such a perfectly obedient little girl; he smiled at the memory of your skin under his fingertips, your fragile form writhing and whimpering beneath him as he’d taken you for hours.  As he daydreamed and began to enter the kitchen, he was torn from his imagination by a sound from your room.  At first he wondered if he’d misheard it, but when he heard you cry out again, he assumed you were hurt and nearly tripped over himself to run to you.  His heart was racing and he almost considered reaching for his sidearm-- there was no way someone could’ve broken in and tried to hurt you, right?

But as he flung open the door, instead he found you alone with your hand between your legs.  You jumped up when you saw him, but it was too late.

“The fuck are you doing?!” he exclaimed, climbing onto the bed and trapping you before you could crawl backwards away from him.

“I-- I was just--”

He cut you off with a quick slap to the face.  Not to hurt you, just to get you to focus on him.

“You know you can’t touch yourself without my permission.  Did you forget?”

“No…” you murmured ashamedly.

“If you knew it was wrong, why did you do it?”

“I… I just missed you…”

“Why didn’t you call me for help?  I can’t take care of you if you don’t ask.”

“I knew you were busy, I didn’t want to bother you--”

“Show me what you did,” he growled, watching you sheepishly spread your legs again to reveal your wet pussy and swollen clit.  “Oh doll, you really did a number on yourself.  Did you come without me?”

You looked away.

“Don’t bother lying.  Did you make yourself come with your fingers?”

“Yes…” 

You were hiding something.  He almost didn’t want to know the entire truth because it was breaking his heart to know you’d disobeyed so severely, but he had to know what happened if he was going to discipline you properly.

“Was it more than once?”

You shook your head and his blood went cold upon the realization that you were hiding something worse.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked you slowly.  He could hear your breathing quickened and he was sure he might die if you said what he was afraid of.  “Answer me.”

“I was thinking about… being fucked…”

“By who?” he asked.  You opened your mouth instantly but he cut you off.  “Don’t lie.”

You spoke but it was so weak that it wasn’t even a whisper.  “What was that?” he pressed.

“Sam,” you finally relented, “it was Sam.”

He was livid, but at least it wasn’t Steve.  

“Go stand beside the bed and kneel,” he commanded firmly.  You nodded weakly and slithered out from under him to do as he asked.  

He took a deep, slow breath hoping to calm himself a little.  He had heard that you shouldn’t punish little girls when you’re angry.  But he needed to nip this in the bud.

He got off the bed and approached you after a moment, running a finger under your chin and guiding you to look up at him.

“You understand you’ve been very naughty, don’t you?” he asked with a cold fury tinting his voice.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answered.  Clearly you were trying to be extra good and dutiful, hoping that strict adherence to the rules from here on out could save you some pain.  You weren’t wrong, but he wished that you would’ve had that attitude a little sooner.

“And if I don’t teach you a lesson, that would be unfair to both of us.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and opened his belt and fly, pulling out his cock.  He sensed that you were compelled to lean forward and take it in your mouth, but you stayed still; you knew he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do.

As he stroked his cock to full hardness, he glared at you so intensely that you couldn’t keep his gaze, looking up briefly but always glancing back down to the floor shamefully.  

“I-I’m sorry, Da-” you began weakly.

“You’ll speak when spoken to,” he interjected harshly.  Finally, he held your jaw with one hand, the other holding his cock forward as he plunged it between your lips.  He moaned a little when you swirled your tongue over it, doing your best to coat every inch of it in wetness.

As quickly as he had pushed in, he pulled out again.  He slapped his cock on your face, smearing your own spit on your cheek.  He rubbed his tip over your lips in a circle, but when you opened up your mouth for him, instead he leaned forward and spit into your open mouth.

“Swallow it,” he demanded through his teeth, and you did though it made you shudder with disgust.

Only then did he shove his cock in again, and with brutal force as well.  He used fistfuls of your hair to pull your face up and down on his cock, ignoring your whimpers of pain.

The room was filled with the sounds of your choking and coughing, until those extended periods of silence when his cock was shoved all the way into your throat and you couldn’t even get enough air for that.  It was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard in his life.

When he pulled you off of him to look at your face, he grinned proudly.  “Doll, you look like a fuckin’ mess.”  And it was true; spit and pre-cum dribbling down your chin and onto the floor, red nose and puffy eyes from crying… truly a sight to behold.

He gave you one more slap for good measure, the fist in your hair preventing your head from spinning to the side.  

“Gonna fuckin’ come in your throat.  You’d better swallow it all, bitch.”

He could feel your whole body jerk when he said it, and it only served to make your throat even tighter around him.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, “just like that, choke on me, fuck, oh god, fuck--”

He came with a stuttered moan and the sounds of protest you tried to make were lost as cum filled your throat and mouth.  

He smiled when you swallowed quickly, determined to obey.  He wasn’t even done coming yet and you were swallowing it.  Probably a good strategy; he had been pent up for a while now and he probably could’ve filled your tiny mouth until it was leaking.

When he was sure every drop of come had been spilled and swallowed, he pulled out and gave you some reprieve.  You gasped for air loudly, coughing a few times but mostly maintaining your composure like the good little slut you were.

He watched you shift your hip uncomfortably and realized you must be quite agitated yourself.

“If you want something from me, just ask,” he encouraged.  “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?”

“Please fuck me,” you whimpered.

He wagged his finger disapprovingly.  “I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Please!” you yelped, and he yanked you off the floor and into his lap quickly.

“You get so dumb when you need me,” he growled into your ear.  “So desperate that you don’t know how to think about anything else but cock.  Isn’t that right?”

You nodded with a gasp.

“You’re my dumb little baby, aren’t you?  Say it," he hissed in demand.

“I’m your dumb little baby,” you repeated breathlessly.

“Get on your hands and knees and get that ass up.”

You obeyed quickly, almost eagerly, and he grinned at your obedience.  You really needed it bad, and he was helpless but to oblige you.  As soon as he was on his knees behind you and lining up with your sopping entrance, he was shoving his cock into you all at once.

You yelped at the brutality of the intrusion; he stayed still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your warmth, before pulling back out again.

“Wh-?” you began to protest in confusion, but he was a step ahead of you.

“That was just to get my cock wet, baby.”

One metal finger slipped into your puckered hole and you yelped.  “D-daddy, not there!”

“Shhh, just relax,” he soothed.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you whined.

“That’s sort of the idea,” he explained.  “I know what you can handle, doll.”

“And I can handle this?”

“I never said that.”

And with only one more finger and a few more minutes of hasty preparation, he was pushing his cock into your tighter hole.

“Shh,” he soothed when he felt you clench around him, but still pushing forward, indifferent to your hiss of pain.  

“It hurts!” you sobbed.

“I know baby, you’re just gonna have to take it.  This wouldn’t be happening if you had just asked me to help you.”

You pouted and it was equal parts adorable and pathetic.  “I’m sorry!”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time to apologize.  Right now you just need to be quiet.  Don’t you wanna be a good little girl?”

“Y-yes.”

He started to move his cock inside you and you shivered under him.  

“Please come,” you begged weakly after a few more minutes of thrusting.

“You wanna get it over with?  Don’t like it?”

You nodded and he did feel bad for you, but he knew it was what you needed.

“I’ll come when I’m ready, doll.  Just take Daddy’s cock, ‘s all you’re good for anyways, right angel?”

You nodded and bit back another sob, blissfully unaware of his adoring gaze; you looked so cute crying for his cock.  He liked being strong enough to hurt you almost as much as he liked being strong enough to protect you.

“My perfect little crybaby,” he cooed.  “Don’t whine too much or I’ll have to stuff that filthy mouth with a paci, alright?”

He watched you bite your lip and try to stay calm.  Out of pity, he moved a little slower than he wanted to, giving you some more time to adjust.  Eventually he felt you relaxing, though you still yelped a little when he pushed in all the way.  It was hard to choose between watching your face or watching his cock stretch open your hole.

“God, you’re takin’ me so well,” he praised.  “Who knew you were such a whore, huh?”

Before you could deny it, he reached down and swiped his fingers through your folds quickly, groaning when he felt how swollen and wet they were.  “Fuck, baby, you’re drenched.  You like getting fucked up the ass; such a dirty little slut.”

“Just for you, Daddy,” you informed him with a weak voice.  He was still angry with you, of course, but he was so proud of you, too.  He could remember all those times you’d tried to run or fight, now you were just laying there and taking it like a champ-- no restraints, no threats, just the desire to be good for him.  You were everything he’d ever dreamed you could be and more.

The thought spurred his orgasm ahead sooner than he expected, but he still wanted to hold back.  You needed more to learn your lesson, and he wanted to savor this feeling as long as possible.

His fingers had been digging into the supple flesh of your hips and ass, hard enough to bruise, but you felt too warm and too soft, so he gripped the sheets instead in his attempts to stave off his rupture.

But it wasn’t much longer until the tightness of you, the heat of you, the sweetness of your sobs all became too perfect to ignore.  His cock was aching for release, and if he denied himself much more, he figured his balls would never relax from their tightened state.

“I think you’re ready to apologize now,” he groaned.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you sobbed.  “I swear, I’ll never touch myself without your permission again-- and I’ll never think about anybody but you!  I only want you, I swear!”

“You sure, baby?  You don’t think Sam would treat you better?” he mocked.  Sam definitely would be nicer to you, but there was no way he could treat you better than Bucky did.  Maybe you wanted a guy who was sweeter, more traditional, but this was what you needed and only your Daddy could give that to you.

“I’m sure!  I only want you, please!  Please, please come.”

“Is that what you want, angel?  Want me to come in your tight little ass?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please…?”

“Please, Daddy.”

And he came, though it was a little more physically taxing since it was the second of the night.  You whimpered a little but he could tell you were relieved it was over.

You didn’t put up any fight at bath time that night, just curled into his arms and let him wash you as you whispered more apologies.  

“Shh, it’s alright,” he soothed as he washed your hair, whispering right against your ear before giving it a little kiss.  “You did good, baby.  You made a mistake but you’re gonna learn from it and we’re gonna be better than ever.  You took your punishment so well, darling, you should be proud.”

~

Today you'd woken up to an empty house, with a note on the kitchen table:

Gone for groceries, I'll be back in the afternoon.  When I get home, greet me at the door wearing what I've laid out for you in your closet.

You figured it wasn't going to be something conservative by any means, but you were still taken aback by finding a tail, collar, and cat-ear headband.  The collar was pink leather with a tiny bell and a little heart-shaped steel tag with your name on it.  The realization that he had this custom-made sent a shiver down your back.  On the back of the tag was another engraving:

IF LOST RETURN TO BUCKY BARNES

You were a little concerned about wearing only a collar, ears and tail… especially when you realized how the tail was intended to be worn.

Still, you had become thoroughly obedient, and you trusted that this would make him happy which was all you could hope for.  You fought past your hesitation and changed out of your pajamas into the outfit (if it could even be called that when it contained no actual clothing).

He had the biggest grin on his face when he opened the door to find you on your knees just outside the entryway.

“Oh look at you, kitten,” he beamed.

Being naked on the floor was cold and awkward.  You crossed your arms to cover your chest, frowning as you tried to avoid his penetrating gaze.  “This is stupid.  I feel stupid.”

“You are stupid," he smiled.  "But you look great!  Now behave or you’ll have to eat out of a bowl on the floor until you’ve learned to love being Daddy’s pet.”

Your eyes went wide.

“You’re gonna behave, right?”

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

He smiled and curled his finger, motioning for you to come closer.  You awkwardly crawled towards him on your hands and knees, biting your lip absent-mindedly.  When you were on the floor in front of his legs, he knelt down a bit and grabbed a handful of your ass.  It made the plug inside you shift and you whimpered.

“Mm, this tail looks lovely on you,” he praised.  “And the ears… you’re a natural.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you shyly accepted the compliment.

"I bet you got wet putting this on, huh?" he presumed.  You nodded as he moved to rub two fingers through your folds, proving himself right.

When he leaned back and pulled his cock from his jeans, you were surprised at how hard it already was.  Clearly the kitten thing was working for him.

"Go ahead kitty, I know you want a taste," he encouraged.

You leaned forward and gave, fittingly, small kitten licks to the tip of his cock and he groaned.  “Just like that, fuck.”

You hummed when you tasted his pre-cum on your tongue.  You’d gotten so accustomed to it that you actually enjoyed the flavor now.

Hesitantly, you wrapped your lips around the head and suckled on it gently.  Apparently, he didn’t care much for the slow-but-steady method; he slipped two fingers under your collar and used it to pull you down further until you choked.  

He continued to guide you forward and back, moaning every time your throat accepted the leaking head of his cock.

“You don’t want me to come in your mouth, do you?” he asked with a grunt.

You shook your head.  

He grinned knowingly, pushing you back until your mouth was empty and free to respond.  “Where do you want it?” 

“In my pussy.”

“Full sentences only, please.”

“I want you to come in my pussy, Daddy, please.”

“Hmm, you did ask very nicely,” he smiled.  “But I have something else to do first.  Go get on the couch, kitten, hands and knees.”

You almost stood up but realized he wanted you to crawl again.  As soon as you’d done it, he was behind you, humming contentedly as he ran his rough hands over your skin.  You mewled when he started to kiss along your back, down your ass and between your thighs until he was licking long stripes through your folds.  Both of you moaned when he sucked your clit into his mouth, even allowing it to graze against his teeth which nearly hurt but made you gush with wetness anyways.

"Please-- I'm close, Daddy, can I come?" you whimpered.

"Go ahead," he mumbled before returning to his work, knowing exactly how to use his tongue to take you apart in mere minutes.  Your hands grabbed desperately at the back of the couch for stability as your legs began to quiver with the force of your orgasm.  You yelped and bit down on your lip as it crashed over you; sometimes when he ate you out, he wouldn't stop after you'd came and keep going until you were begging for mercy, but he was apparently feeling generous today and stopped once you'd finished.

That, of course, did not mean he was finished with you.

He pushed his jeans down to his thighs and laid back onto the mattress, cock so hard that it was pressing into his abs.

“Come on kitten, ride me,” he grinned, motioning for you to climb on top of him.  The moment you did he was rubbing his cock against you, pushing it upwards for you to sink down onto it.  You moaned as it stretched you open, and when your hips met his, the tip of it brushed against the deepest places inside you.  You yelped and tried to move back up but he suddenly grabbed your legs and held you down.

“Nuh-uh, kitten, no running away.  You’re gonna take all of me.”

“It’s too deep,” you protested weakly, even though you felt your walls throbbing with pleasure.

“Not at all, angel; you’re made for me, so you fit me perfectly,” he explained.  “If I let you go, you’re gonna ride me properly, take my whole cock, right?”

You nodded and he eased up his grip.  You felt your legs shaking as little as you pushed yourself up only to drop back down, wincing as he filled you so completely once again.  You repeated the movement over and over, picking up pace and moaning every time.  You could feel his cock moving the plug inside your ass, and each bounce on top of him made your collar jingle a little.

You did your best to keep up the pace, but to lift yourself required use of a muscle that you clearly hadn't been getting much exercise for; it wasn't more than a few minutes before you were faltering, your moans of pleasure accented with the struggling groans of exhaustion.

"Oh kitty, are you too weak?  Too wimpy and small to ride my cock?  Baby… that's pathetic," he moped.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," you pouted.  "I'm just tired…"

"Just a little longer, kitten, just ride my cock a little more then I'll help you out, okay?  I know you can do it.  I know you can be a good girl."

You hoped he was right.  You nodded weakly as he looked at you expectantly, before slowly beginning to move again in spite of your sore thighs.

Soon, as he'd promised, he pulled you down and wrapped his arms around you, thrusting up into you.  Your moans echoed against his skin when your face was shoved into the crook of his neck.  When his cock slammed into your most sensitive spot, you bit him there as a way to stifle yourself and he slapped your ass.

“Only bad kittens bite, doll.  I thought you were going to be a good kitten for me?”

“Feels so good,” you tried to explain though it came out slurred, “please don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop, baby.  Not gonna stop until that pussy is full of my come.  That what you want?”

“Yes,” you pleaded, “oh god, yes, please…”

He moaned loudly as his thrusts lost all rhythm, his cock moving so fast inside you that the sensation became one hot blur against your walls.  Finally, as he groaned and gripped you tight enough to bruise, he spilled inside you. 

As he let out a long breath and his body relaxed under you, he smiled softly.  "You really are perfect, pet."

"C-can I take off the ears now?  And the tail?"

"Hmm, not yet," he grinned, "we need to take a few pictures of you like this first."

~

He was working in the kitchen when he heard your footsteps approaching.

"Don't come in here!" he ordered you.  "Wait for me at the dining table."

"Why, Daddy?" he heard you respond from the hall.  He smiled just to hear your sweet voice.

"It's a surprise, babydoll," he explained.  "It's almost ready-- just wait, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," you answered dutifully, your footsteps moving to the dining area as he'd requested.

Stepping back and admiring his work, he lifted it and turned out the door to deliver your surprise: a cake, with pink frosting and one pink candle.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him holding the cake stand, being careful not to tilt it or get the flame of the candle near his long hair.

He smiled and set it in front of you, looking to your face for a reaction.  Suddenly he felt self-conscious about it, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.   "Um, I made it myself.  Sorry if the decorating isn't that nice…"

"It's beautiful, Daddy, and I bet it'll taste great, too," you beamed.  "What's the occasion?"

"It's our anniversary," he replied, his voice suddenly low and dark.

He saw recognition cross your face, though you looked confused as well.  The meds he'd given you throughout the year had disrupted your memories, and probably distorted your perception of the passage of time as well, but it was all necessary to get you compliant.  He hoped reminding you of that somewhat violent first day wouldn't set back any of your progress.

"I've… been here a year?" you asked weakly.

"We've been here a year," he corrected, sitting down beside you and wrapping an arm around you, "but that's not what we're celebrating."

The hand on your shoulder slipped down to the underside of your arm, stroking it slowly.

"We're celebrating that a medication somebody gave you a long time ago, before we were together, is finally worn off," he explained slowly, a grin creeping across his face. "We're celebrating that the next time I come inside you, I'm gonna get you pregnant."

He didn't fuck you for three days after that, loving the way you were clearly on edge as you waited for him to make good on his promise.  And he didn't blame you for being nervous about it, even if you seemed to understand that any protest from you would fall on deaf ears.

So, he was quite taken aback when you came onto him one night, bedtime cuddling quickly turning into something more as you rubbed your ass against his crotch.  He hadn't even realized that you would want it all on your own.

God, you were so fucking perfect he couldn't stand it.

"What are you doing, angel?" he asked you with a growl as he grabbed your hips and forced them to still.

"Nothing, Daddy," you answered coyly.  He grinned and nipped at your earlobe.

"Are you horny, babygirl?  Because you're acting like a whore."

You nodded and gasped, shivering under his touch.

"Want Daddy's cock inside you?" he pressed, voice getting darker.

"Yes, please!" you begged.

He sat up and flipped you onto your back, caging you in with his arms as he hovered above you.

“You wanna have my baby?” he asked in a husky whisper.

“Yes,” you nodded your head quickly.

“Want me to knock you up, doll?  Right now?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

He leaned down, almost close enough to kiss you, as his gaze wandered over your face  “I don’t want it to be like the other times.  None of the crazy shit, nothing rough.  If I’m gonna get you pregnant--”

“Whatever you want,” you pleaded.

He kissed you suddenly, deep and slow.  “I love you,” he told you quickly as he pulled back, breathless but confident.  

“I love you too,” you answered without even questioning it.

He was gentle, and thorough, and patient.  It was love-making in a way that was out of character for him.  He lifted your legs to wrap around his hips, pushing into you as deep as he could but with a contemplative slowness; he cradled your face in his hands and kissed all over it as he praised you in whispers.

My pretty girl, my perfect little girl, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.

You were only moans and sobs, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.  

The first time you came was unexpected, building slowly but crashing into you all at once, judging by the way you went from softly whimpering to nearly screaming in seconds.  The second was quieter, more subtle, but he could tell by the way your walls tightened around him.  The third left you in tears, beyond overstimulated and broken down into a babbling mess.

“Please,” you cried, “please I need you to come-- come inside me.”

He struggled to resist that offer, but he didn't want it to be over too quickly.

“Soon,” he promised, “I’m close.  You feel so good.”

You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close for a kiss but stopping as his mouth brushed against yours.

“Please, Bucky… please come…” you whispered.

He moaned, his thrusts getting a little more erratic.

“Need it so bad,” you whimpered, “need you to put your baby in me--”

“Fuck,” he hissed, “‘m gonna, promise.”

“Now,” you demanded through your teeth, “I need it now.”

“Not until you come one more time,” he responded.  You whined and he knew you were questioning whether it was possible.  “I know you can, just gimme one more.”

His angle shifted and he stayed deep within you, grinding his hips on yours just the right way to rub your clit with his pubic bone.  Your back arched but he held you close, barraging you with the sensation and pressing his forehead to yours.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for dear life, as if you were afraid to fall.  He smiled and kissed your neck, feeling your walls flutter around him once again.

“That’s it,” he praised, “I know you’re close.  Just let go.  I’ve got you.”

Tears streamed down your face as it tore through you, hitting you so hard that instead of moans it was just silence.  He watched your face intently, breathing through his teeth as he summoned all his willpower to hold on just a little longer.  

"Daddy!" you yelped, and he couldn't take any more: with a high-pitched, stuttered moan, he felt his cock flexed as he came harder than maybe he ever had before.  Knowing that you were fertile made it all so much more intense.  Normally, his orgasm just meant the end of sex-- maybe just for a few minutes on a good day.  But now?  Now it was the beginning of something.  His perfect little angel was going to finally fulfill her final purpose and give him a baby.  He'd waited so long, dreamed of it every day for years, and finally it was going to happen.  

He refused to pull out or let you move until he was sure it would take; he killed the time by kissing every part of your face and neck that he could reach.

He hadn't even gotten you pregnant yet, technically, and he already couldn't wait for more children.  He'd always wanted to have a big family, but he gave up on that dream years ago; meeting you had brought it all back, and made him realize that all this time he'd just been waiting for the perfect wife to start it with.

You were well worth the wait.

[renaerys]

22. for reds 🤡

This is 100% not what you asked for (yet...👀), but I give you part 1 of what we're calling the Weird King AU. I'm turning this into a proper multi-chapter High School fic because I love you and I'd jump on any bandwagon for you.

xxx

Like most young, conventionally attractive Supervillains, Brick had made a bit of a habit of failing upwards. It was pretty easy in a town full of simpering morons content to project their own narrative assumptions onto him, and who was he to crush their dreams when they made his life a little easier?

For example, dating.

“You can tell me, you know.” His cute date, Tracy, sipped her milkshake across from him.

“Tell you what?”

She softened and reached her hand across the table. “Your tragic backstory. I’ll listen without judgment, I promise.”

Brick tried to think of something tragic, but it all seemed pretty underwhelming as far as Supervillain origin stories went. “You mean like how I was born in a toilet?”

She made an oh shape with her lips. “We all have those days where we feel like we were born in a toilet, Brick.”

He’d dated Tracy for three months before she broke up with him out of the blue in tears: sorry she couldn’t fix his baggage, she just wasn’t strong enough to handle all that tortured darkness, but she wished him nothing but health and happiness. Brick deleted her number from his phone and spent twenty whole minutes staring at the toilet in his bathroom, wondering what the lesson here was.

But everything changed when Mojo got out of prison and moved Brick and his brothers back to Townsville, where he enrolled them in the local high school alongside their former arch nemeses, the Powerpuff Girls.

Suddenly, everything Brick did pre-supposed ill intent. These people remembered him as the pest who had graffitied their local monuments and blown up their cars and endangered their children. They held no love for him, and at best they feared him. This was not Citiesville, where he’d been a tall, cold glass of Voss water in a sea of recycled Dasani.

He found himself thinking about his birthing toilet again as he stepped into the cafeteria alone and the conversation quieted down as his new classmates watched him from the safety of their tables. His next moves here were critical. He was no longer at the top of the food chain, but fear and mystery surrounding his origins and character gave him a certain power over his peers.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of social suicide, I will fear no cringe,” he said to himself.

The jocks were out. Capable though he may be, Brick was not much of a team player unless there was a blood contract involved requiring his participation on pain of satanic torture. The drama kids were also a hard pass, not because he thought drama was lame, but because they had barely noticed him walk in, and Brick did not have the energy to deal with people more self-involved than himself. Some of the unaffiliated tables could be safe, but without a good understanding of the nuanced social dynamics in the high school, he could be heading toward irreversible doom, and that was a risk he was not willing to take.

He saw his salvation just ahead. It was the only option, all else being equal. In an environment where he couldn’t be certain of his baseline status and potential for upward mobility, there was greatness to be had only by association and certainty only in the devil he knew.

Brick helped himself to the empty seat directly across from Blossom Utonium to a chorus of gasps and staring.

Blossom did not startle like her table mates had. She watched him critically behind a head full of bangs as she balanced her soup spoon in her hand. “Really.”

Brick unwrapped the burrito he’d purchased in the lunch line and brandished it before him. “Really.”

He took a bite of the burrito. It was not hot enough. The two girls to Blossom’s left whispered to each other about that bad boy and he’s hot, though.

Blossom daintily spooned soup into her mouth without spilling a single drop as she continued to watch Brick for signs of his imminent dark side transformation.

The guy next to Brick was brave enough to ask him what his next class was. Brick had a mouth full of disappointing burrito, so he passed the guy the printout of his class schedule in lieu of answering.

“Wow, all APs, huh? Hey, we’re in U.S. History together next period, nice. I’m Mike Believe, by the way. Brick Jojo, right?”

Brick didn’t answer him immediately on account of the burrito currently occupying his mouth hole, and Mike took it the wrong way.

“Oh, yeah, we all know who you are. Blossom sort of filled us in.” He winced like he’d inadvertently revealed a terrible secret.

Brick swallowed his food and washed it down with a gulp of water. “Saves me some time.”

Mike looked super relieved. “For sure! Hey, I could lend you my notes if you want to catch up. Gershwin’s giving a quiz on the Progressive Era on Friday, and she’s a hard-ass who definitely won’t care that you just transferred…”

Brick chewed on his lunch as Mike continued to talk at him about classes and other vaguely helpful, albeit uninteresting, information. But Mike seemed normal enough, a little chatty but not in an overeager sort of way. Blossom was no longer clocking his every move and seemed to be absorbed in her friend’s latest swim team cheating scandal, until Brick reached for his water bottle and she suddenly laser-focused on his wandering hand.

Her keen attention to him was honestly flattering, if expected. It was in his nature to be noticed, and in this narrow respect she was no different from anyone else whose head he turned. If she chose to feed her interest with the flames of suspicion, then it was no difference to him.

But if she was anything like him—and on a chemical level she was probably the closest to him that a person could get—he suspected it took tremendous effort to hold her full and sustained attention. The world they inhabited was as vapid and mundane as the humans that surrounded them, and even the most gracious of gods grew bored of worship. Which explained all the smiting and fucking and generational curses upon entire households in everything from Greek mythology to the Old Testament.

Brick was pretty deep into a fantasy of Blossom going full Ixion and the Wheel on the swim team when Mike tapped his shoulder. “You ready to go?”

It took him a moment to realize the bell had rung and he had a class to get to—AP U.S. History with Mike, apparently. Brick gathered his tray and his bag and followed Mike. When he looked back at the table, Blossom was already gone.

xxx

That whole first week was painfully boring. No one bullied him, or pranked him, or picked a fight with him, of course. But no one really approached him, either. His brothers were more determined to make an effort. Boomer announced he was trying out for the soccer team because there was no rule saying a Super with extremely well documented ties to active criminals and the forces of Hell couldn’t kick a ball around a field. Butch had gotten himself invited to a midnight screening of Snakes on a Plane in some rich kid’s home movie theater, but only after that same kid had accidentally spilled milk on Butch and burst into tears in front of a cafeteria full of Juniors and Seniors. Brick declined the invitation Butch extended to him. He had that AP U.S. History exam to study for on Friday, anyway.

He shared all of his classes with Blossom. Even in the classes where her assigned seat was behind his and he couldn’t see her, he could feel her lobotomizing stare at the back of his head whenever she glanced up from her notebook. And while Mike’s notes were perfectly adequate and the friendly gesture counted for more than the content (a gesture Brick would not soon forget), there was a far more efficient way to accomplish his goal of murdering the class averages while also taking the edge off his loner doldrums.

“Can I borrow your class notes?”

Blossom rose from her seat and pulled her hair tie out to re-do her extremely long ponytail. She held the elastic between her teeth as she worked. Her teeth were very straight, he noticed. Some pretty nice girl-teeth, generally speaking.

“Which class?”

“All of them.”

He watched her wind the elastic around her hair with quick, adroit fingers. “That’s a lot of notes.”

“You’re the top of every class. No point in asking anyone else.”

She moved toward the hall. He followed her out. “Why would I help you?”

A legitimate question delivered without venom. Unlike her sister Buttercup, who’d “run into” Brick after school on Monday and told him to watch his back, Blossom didn’t have to do anything but maintain a general proximity to make her superiority complex known. Which was the kind of flex he could fuck with.

“Isn’t helping people sort of your mandate?”

They had arrived at her locker, which she opened with enough force to rattle the hinges. “I help the helpless. Are you helpless, Brick?”

Brick smiled at her baiting. Had she ever actually said his name at a normal volume before? It sounded good even in her baseline bitch timbre. “Critically helpless. I’m the new student who transferred in the middle of the semester, and you’re the only person who knows me.”

A couple other students clearly trying to get to the lockers Brick was blocking hovered just out of reach. They whispered to each other, but neither of them actually worked up the courage to ask Brick to move. He ignored them.

Blossom rummaged in her locker for the binder she would need for the next class. “Make friends.”

“Working on it.”

The locker door slammed and she faced him. There was something confrontational in the way she held herself before him that kicked him in the nuts back in time thirteen years to their more uncouth days when all he wanted to do was destroy her so he’d be the only one. Now they were older and wiser and he actually did need her notes to study, so destroying her was not high on his list of priorities.

“You want to be my friend.”

“We have so much in common.”

“So do lions and hyenas.”

“Both are apex predators, so.”

She took a step closer and peered up at him. Brick did not move, although he wondered what was so interesting about his face. She probably just thought he was hot. She was probably as bored as he was. She probably—

“You have lettuce in your teeth.”

Brick pulled back and covered his mouth on instinct. God fucking damnit.

Blossom was already walking away from him by the time he’d picked the food from his teeth. “I’ll expect my notes back in mint condition before first period tomorrow morning.”

Brick pressed a fist against the lockers and quietly fumed. “Dumbass…”

“Um, sorry, but do you mind…?”

The student who’d been waiting for her locker space to clear up had her palms up as if to assuage a feral stray. Brick pushed off the lockers, but his fist left a dent where he’d unleashed some of his impotent self-pity. He looked back at the girl, and she shook her head.

“It’s fine! It, uh, it happens sometimes.” She pointed a couple lockers down to Blossom’s, which was dinged up worse than the others.

Brick stared at Blossom’s locker, and then back at the girl. Her narrow, dark eyes were wide, but not out of fear. She was waiting for something, and like an idiot it took him a moment to catch up. “You’re trying to make me feel better about fucking up your locker.”

She laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s really fine! You just looked so miserable for a second there, and I just thought…”

Great, he was moping so hard he had an audience.

The five minute warning bell rang, and a flood of students rushed past them on their way to fourth period. Brick stepped aside so the girl could get to her locker.

“Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

The new guy, yeah. How quaint. Except, she was waiting for a response, which wasn’t the absolute worst thing that had happened to him all week.

“Brick,” he said. But of course, she already knew that, and she was just being nice.

“I’m Kim. Kim Chan.”

“Okay.” He didn’t have anything else to say to her, so he decided to get his shit and get to his next class.

“Welcome back to Townsville, Brick.”

Brick shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked off. It didn’t occur to him until later that Kim was the first and only person who had properly welcomed him back home.

[skzsauce01]

Ruin My Life

Synopsis: Six times you and Minho “ruin” each other’s lives, and the one time you almost actually did ruin his. 

Warning: none

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: fem!reader x Lee Minho; friends to lovers

one

Minho always looks like trouble, but he especially looks the part when he dresses as a greaser for Halloween. The entire hallway looks his way when he enters the building even though the low 7:30 AM sunlight blinds their eyes when he opens the door. He has a lollipop in his mouth in place of a cigarette, and when he gives a curt “Good morning” nod in your direction, the girl beside you pretends to swoon.

“Hello, Danny,” she mutters to herself, mimicking an Australian twang. She’s conveniently dressed like Sandy in a poodle skirt and cardigan. “I’d let you ruin my life.”

When you tell Minho about what you heard after school, he laughs so hard he almost falls off the wall he’s sitting on. “Seriously?”

You take a bag of pretzels from the shared pile of treats between you two and rip it open. “Yes! I can give you her name if you’re interested,” you say, half-hoping that he doesn’t actually want it. “What a weird thing to say though.”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out for a pretzel. “No thanks to the name. I think Chan’s supposed to be Danny, so I’m not her summer fling that don’t mean a thing.” He waits for you to drop three in his open palm and, with complete mockery, says, “But I’d let you ruin my life.”

You shoot him a disgusted look, and he laughs.

“Aren’t you glad I made you watch Grease?” you transition. “So who are you? A T-bird? Someone from The Outsiders? Just a generic greaser?”

“Generic greaser, I guess. What are you?”

You point at the pointy, black hat perched on your head and say in disbelief, “I’m a witch!”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and you know you have just walked into a trap. “No, I meant your Halloween costume.”

“Get bent, you jerk,” you roll your eyes.

However, the pretzel you throw at him doesn’t stop him from chortling at his own joke.

two

You agree to feed Minho’s three cats the following weekend while he and his family have a last-minute emergency out of town. You show up to his doorstep on a late Thursday afternoon to say your regards, but everyone in the Lee household is in pandemonium. You slink past his mother to Minho’s room where Soonie and Dori are lying on his bed. Minho himself is packing a duffel bag.

You knock on his already open door to alert him of your presence. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, looking up. “Sorry about this. I would have asked someone who lived closer, but my mom doesn’t trust anyone else with the house key.”

“It’s okay. I like playing with Dori.” You’re still standing at the threshold, feeling too shy to enter now that you’re both older, and you crane your neck to see farther inside. “Where’s Doongie?”

“Under the desk. You can come in.”

“Right.”

You settle into his desk chair and pick up Doongie to pet. There’s nothing else to do, and you scan his walls for something to look at. Your eyes land on his calendar where there are reminders for the biology exam next week and the dance competition at the end of the month. You want to ask if everything’s alright, but it feels insensitive to pry.

“My mom made you dinner,” he says. “To thank you. It’s on the dining table.”

You smile as you remember all the times you stayed over for dinner at Minho’s when you were younger. His mom made the best japchae. “Tell her thanks for me.”

“Will do.”

“Minho!” you hear his mom shout. “We’re leaving!”

Minho heaves his bag over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. “Thanks for doing this. My offer of letting you ruin my life still stands, by the way.”

You snort at the comment, which makes Doongie jump off your lap, which makes you and Minho burst into laughter. “Yeah, well, what are best friends for? I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah. Key’s on the coffee table, by the way. And you know where the cat food is right?”

“I got it. I’ll be the best cat sitter ever.” You stand up and give him a hug. “Everything’s going to be okay, Minho.”

He holds you a little longer, and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek. It’s surprisingly erratic, and yours begins to match in tempo.

“Thanks,” he repeats, finally pulling away.

You stand awkwardly at the foot of his bed and give him another smile as he starts to leave.

His foot has just stepped into the hallway when his mom yells again, “Lee Minho!”

“Coming!” he shouts back. He turns back to you, like he wants to say one more thing. “Don’t forget to eat or else she’ll think I didn’t tell you and get mad. And send me pictures of the cats!”

He disappears before you can even nod, and you hear the front door swing shut. You sit back down and idly spin in his chair, enjoying its cushiness. You’re not hungry yet, so you reach for Dori, who eagerly snuggles into your arms, and snap a picture to send to Minho.

Dori loves me more. Consider your life ruined.

three

The day before the biology exam you’re back at Minho’s house. Two open textbooks and an array of different colored pens decorate the dining table surface while two lazy cats lie on the floor beneath. You flip through your notes for the lesson from two days ago. In the meantime, Minho is frantically shuffling through your flashcards.

He abruptly groans after turning a card around and slumps back into his chair. “I’m so screwed. My test average is already bad, so this is just gonna make it worse. I barely remember what we covered today.”

Minho’s version of bad is everyone’s above average, but it’s unlike him to complain about his scores because he knows it. “Is everything alright?” you ask. “You don’t have to answer, but you seem off.”

“You remember that emergency last week?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you try to arrange your facial expression into something less obvious. “Yeah?”

“Well, it’s not about that.” He looks over to see you caught between relief and annoyance. He grins for a few seconds and then turns slightly more serious. “Dance team stuff. Someone got injured, so we have to fix the routine.”

You nod sagely. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, but my bio grade doesn’t have to.” With a newfound sense of energy, he straightens up and dives back into reading flashcards. “Thanks for letting me borrow your notes. I’d let you ruin my life.”

He says it with the same joking manner as last time, but you don’t answer in the same way. “I don’t think you need any help with that,” you say as you hold up his quiz from a few days ago. There’s a big, red 79% circled at the top and ugly slashes through the numbers of incorrectly answered questions.

He shrinks and makes a face at the low score. “In my defense, I was busy with dance, and it’s at least passing.”

“Well, your 90% test average is suffering.” You shut the textbooks and motion for him to put down the cards. “Tell me about lysosomes.”

“92, but alright. Lysosomes—”

When the tests are passed back another week later, you and Minho gather around your locker after school to compare scores.

He counts down, and you steadily lean in closer in anticipation. “Okay. 3… 2… 1!”

“95!” “95%!”

There’s a brief second where the two of you process each other’s grades before both of you burst into cheers about not only having matching scores but also good matching scores.

“Yogurt place or cafe?” you ask. It’s been a longstanding tradition between you and Minho to get celebratory desserts for receiving scores over 90. “I have a coupon for the new froyo place.”

Minho shakes his head dejectedly, and your heart sinks. You rarely have an excuse to hang out with him outside of school nowadays.

“I’ve got practice in” — he checks his phone — “in fifteen minutes. Raincheck or I’ll bring you coffee tomorrow morning?”

You brighten up at the prospect of Minho-delivered coffee. “Coffee. Definitely coffee.”

He nods and waves goodbye to you. “See you then.”

“Don’t be late tomorrow!”

four

Because you knew that you were getting coffee delivered to you, you didn’t have any before heading to school and are currently fighting the urge to fall asleep standing up. The bright sunlight that comes in whenever anyone walks into the building greatly helps.

“Morning,” Minho greets, a cardboard cup carrier in his hand.

You spot your drink and eagerly snatch out of its place. “I’d let you ruin my life,” you sigh, too happy to snap at Minho’s smirk at the use of the phrase. You notice the red and gold label wrapped around the cup. “You went to the expensive cafe too? Goodness, how much does this cost?”

“10,000 won.”

“There’s no way it was that expensive!” you argue.

“Delivery fee.” He sips on his own coffee while he waits for you to hand him his money.

You pull out your wallet and give him half of what he wants. “There’s no way it was more than 5,000.”

He smiles and pockets the money. “4,000 actually.” Before you can demand your change, he looks at an invisible watch around his wrist and says, “Can’t be late. See you.”

He takes off before you can protest, and you moodily drink your coffee instead. At least it’s good and full of caffeine.

Lia, the one who dressed as Sandy for Halloween and the person who just witnessed highway robbery, steps closer and asks, “Was that your boyfriend?”

At the word ‘boyfriend,’ you heat up. You snort and shake your head. “Boyfriends don’t overcharge their girlfriends for a drink. He’s my friend.”

“He seems sweet,” she says.

You’re about to correct her when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out and smile when you see the notification on your lockscreen.

Lee Minho paid you ₩1,000 - delivery fee has been revoked

“He’s sweet, I guess.”

Lee Minho requests ₩1,000 - jk

“Never mind.”

five

You can’t believe you let Minho talk you into attending one of his dance competitions. It’s not that you’re not supportive of him and his extracurriculars, but none of your friends are free this weekend, so you have to sit in the audience by yourself. You’re not exactly lonely, but you certainly feel out of place. It’s also not fun once you remember that you have a stack of homework waiting on your desk.

When they announce your school’s team to the stage, you join the applause and shout your friend’s name as loud as you can. Minho somehow manages to pick you out of the crowd and nods at you in acknowledgement. Even though you know he can’t clearly see it, you mouth, “Good luck,” to him.

When the spectacular performance is over, you clap and shout his name again. It’s the last performance, and you anxiously wait while the judges deliberate the winner. You text some votes of confidence to Minho in the meantime. Soon all the teams gather in the room. The feedback from the head judge’s microphone quickly silences the whispers.

They’re not third.

Or second.

Or first.

They’re fifth.

You look over at Minho, who is patting his team members on a job well done. He’s smiling goodnaturedly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You grab the bouquet of flowers you bought for him and head down to the ground floor like many others are doing.

Heart thumping, you tap him on the shoulder and hold the bouquet out to him. “Hey. Congrats on making top five,” you joke in an attempt to cheer him up.

“Thanks, I guess. It went better than we expected, but you know, first is ideal,” he shrugs. He points at the flowers in your hands, melancholy nearly gone. “Did you buy those from the supermarket?”

“Would it be better if I said I stole them from the neighbor’s garden?”

“Did you really?”

“No.”

“Lame.” He takes them anyway. “I didn’t think you would actually come.”

You again think back to the stack of homework you have and the amount of studying and procrastinating you had planned to do at home. “Me neither.”

“Thanks for coming though.” He pauses for a bit, and you already know what the next line he says will be. “I’d let you ruin my life.”

“You’re already ruining mine.”

Like you’re both in kindergarten again, he shoves you in retaliation — lightly though because he doesn’t actually want to hurt you — and knowing you can’t push him as easily, you stick your tongue at him. He is soon called away for a group photo, and he volunteers you to take it. You do so, and after, with the help of a team member, you and Minho get a picture together with the fifth place trophy. You both smile at the camera, but you’re gently elbowing each other in the ribs all the while.

A minute later, he shows you his phone screen, and you see his post of the recent picture.

being number five and ruining lives, reads the caption.

You like the post anyway and end up setting that photo as your lockscreen.

six

“I hate this,” Minho mumbles to you, his breath making clouds in the winter air. “Why do they do this to us?”

You walk alongside him, trudging at the same snail’s pace as he is. “I know,” you reply. “C’mon, let’s just get it over with so we can leave.”

You drag him by the arm to the front of the giant Christmas tree. He puts an arm around your shoulder and you an arm around his waist. The two of you plaster wide grins on each of your faces while your respective mothers snap photos of their children in matching outfits. The fathers have learned to disappear once they have arrived at the outdoor mall, and you wish you and Minho decided to slip away before the current situation.

“I hate this tradition,” you say through your teeth. You wince when someone’s flash goes off, the light blinding in the night.

“Me too. This vest looks so stupid.”

“The bow around my neck agrees.”

It happens every year, but you and Minho never grow tired of complaining. Your mothers, best friends themselves, insist on documenting the friendship of their children, so you and Minho are subjected to ridiculous Christmas Eve photos in front of the same tree every year. For whatever reason, neither of you have ever rebelled and refused. Darn people-pleasing personalities.

When your parents are satisfied with the results, you and Minho rush to partially get rid of your outfits. Minho unbuttons his vest, cursing at his cold fingers, and you fumble with the knotted ribbon around your frilly shirt collar. Of course you decide to cut your nails the day before.

“Y/N?” someone says. “Is that you?”

You look up from your ribbon and see it's one of your classmates. “Oh, hey, Lia,” you greet. You point at her bags. “Last minute shopping?”

She sheepishly nods. “I like your dress, by the way.” You don’t miss the way her eyes flicker back and forth from you to Minho. “Do you guys know you’re matching?”

“It’s a stupid tradition,” Minho interjects. His vest is draped over one arm and the other is busy loosening his tie. He looks at the limp bow around your neck. “Do you need help?”

“Yes.”

Lia shoots you a knowing smile and starts turning away. “I gotta go, but it was nice seeing you guys. I’ll see you after break. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” you say back, more concerned with getting the cursed ribbon off than goodbyes. Minho echoes the sentiment.

You tilt your chin up and let Minho take a stab at the knot. Whenever his cold hands accidentally brush against your neck, you flinch and your pulse jumps. You hear him swearing under his breath over how tight the knot is, and you meekly apologize and feel yourself grow warm. Everyone’s staring at the spectacle, but you want the stupid thing so badly you don’t care.

“Why did tie it so tightly?” he mutters, finally managing to pull it apart. “I think my hands are cramping.”

“I’d let you ruin my life,” you mockingly say before dropping the act. “But thanks for real.”

“Only for you.” He smirks. “You have to get the dads though.”

You groan. He really does want to ruin your life. You and Minho’s dads are notoriously hard to convince to leave the mall once they’ve found a nice spot to eat and chat. “Anything else,” you plead.

He shakes his head. “No. I did it last year too.”

You take his hand and drag him with you, despite his protests. His fingers are still chilly, but his palms are surprisingly warm. He mutters about your own cold hands at the same time, but you’re too preoccupied with scanning the mall for your fathers to say something witty back. You accompanied him last year, and he would do the same to you this year.

As expected, Minho gives you dirty looks while you spend fifteen minutes begging and waiting for the dads to hurry up. You innocently smile back all the while.

seven

You spent a good portion of your winter break at Minho’s house, playing with his cats, eating his mom’s delicious japchae, and lamenting about school starting up again. School is in session now, and you wait for your first period teacher to open the door as you scroll through your phone outside in the hallway. Minho stops by to return the scarf you left at his house, and to your delight, there’s free coffee that comes with it. He puts the emphasis on ‘free.’

“I’d let you ruin my life,” you say, taking it from him. It’s from the expensive cafe again. “Wow, what’s the special occasion?”

“Just ‘cause,” he replies. “See you after school.”

“See you.”

What a weird way to begin the day. You wonder if Minho’s done anything to the drink; no way he would give you something for free. However, when you cautiously taste it, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. You swirl it to further check, but there’s still nothing.

Even though he said it was free, you still send him the money anyway.

A few minutes later, Lia shows up and says good morning. The two of you idly discuss winter break, and you both find out that neither of you did anything interesting.

“Are you going to go?” Lia asks. She points at the giant poster advertising winter formal tickets.

You shrug and sip on your Minho-delivered coffee. It still tastes normal, and you’re not sure what to make of it. “I don’t know. I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Aren’t you dating that guy I saw you matching outfits with at Christmas? I don’t know if I already told you, but those were cute outfits.”

“Nope. He’s still my friend.”

“Is that disappointment I hear?” she teases. At your stuttering attempts to retort, she laughs. “I’m kidding. But he is cute.”

“Do you still want him to ruin your life?”

“You heard that?” she groans. “Oh my goodness, that’s embarrassing.”

When you tell Minho what happened after school, he doesn’t laugh. It’s not particularly funny anyway, but he usually smiles a little. Today he’s stony. “So is that your answer?”

“My answer to what?” you bewilderedly ask. You think back to morning and even when you were last back at his house only to come up blank with what he can be referring to. “What did you ask?”

Realization hits him. “You didn’t read the coffee label, did you?”

The cup has long been tossed into the trash by now. “Was I supposed to be? What did you ask?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he quickly brushes off. He hops down off the wall. “I gotta go to practice.”

“Wait!” you call after him but he runs off.

A few minutes later, you find yourself digging through the trash can you threw your empty cup in earlier. Luckily, it’s mostly filled with paper cuttings and other coffee cups. However, the latex gloves you borrowed from your biology teacher don’t lessen your disgust, especially when leftover liquid drips out. Your teacher watches on in amusement as you scrutinize every one.

“This must be a very important piece of trash,” she remarks.

“It is. Oh! It’s this one!”

The label is stained with coffee, and you can just barely make out Minho’s handwriting in black ink. Why did he have to write it so small? No wonder why you didn’t notice it earlier. You hold up the cup higher to the light, and your eyes grow wide as you read the message.

want to ruin my life forever and be more than friends? will you go to winter formal with me?

You nearly drop it in your surprise. Oh goodness. You really, really messed up.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your ribcage, and every part of you is buzzing with adrenaline. Minho likes you in that special way, and you…

You…

You kind of feel the same?

Yes?

Wait, no?

No!

You definitely feel the same.

You hurriedly thank your teacher for her help and rush out of the classroom with Minho’s cup in your hand. You have to fix this now. You burst into the dance practice area, out of breath, and everyone looks at you in confusion.

“Yes! The answer is yes, Minho!” you shout and triumphantly hold out the cup.

The dance captain looks back and forth between your panting frame and Minho’s frozen figure. “Let’s take a five minute break?” he says, more of a suggestion than an order.

You walk over to Minho while everyone else disperses. He meets you halfway. His mouth is open, like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

You smile at him and thrust the cup into his hands. “Hi. The answer is yes to both questions.”

“But you said you told Lia we were just friends,” he breathlessly says, like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Well, we were just friends ten hours ago. I didn’t realize I wanted to be more than your best friend until I read your note.”

A hesitant smile creeps up onto his face. “I didn’t think you would actually take me up on my offer of ruining my life. I thought I screwed it all up by even asking.”

“No! I really like you,” you blurt out. “Like really, really. And I think I have for a long time now. It just… took awhile for me to find out.”

“I like you too, life ruiner.”

You try to playfully push him, but he wraps you in a hug before you can even touch him. You squirm in his grasp and giggle when he holds you even tighter.

“Life ruiner, life ruiner,” he chants in your ear. “And you’re all mine now.”

~ ad.gray

[donutloverxo]

No more waiting

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - Part two to Pink Lady.

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - Andy is determined to wait. But will he be able to?

Warnings - 18+ only smut (m/f), professor/student relationship, unprotected sex, dom Andy, many mentions of spanking but no actual spanking, sir kink.

Pairing - Andy Barber x reader

Word count - 3320

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You groaned as you tossed out yet another piece of clothing. Professor Barber had asked you to come to his house, so he could give you ‘private lessons’. Obviously, you had no interest in actually studying. Especially with a man who looks like Andy Barber. You intended on milking the time you did have with him by getting what you wanted.

You settled on a tight skirt that hadn’t fit you in years. It was sexy enough to be enticing but innocent enough that you could claim plausible deniability.

You are not trying to tease him. You would never! You’re just wearing a normal skirt and taking lessons like the diligent and sincere student that you are.

You whistled lowly, pulling over in front of his house, impressed by the sheer size of it. He was an actual adult with a big, sophisticated house in the suburbs. The most valuable thing you owned was a Louis Vuitton bag an ex gave you.

You couldn’t be intimidated. Not now, when you were in this deep. Checking your lipstick one last time you rang the bell, holding your books up and eagerly waiting.

After a minute he opened the door. Leaning over the frame and examining you.

You felt butterflies pool in your stomach at his casual loungewear. His sleeves rolled up, exposing his tones arms to you and those dark jeans hugging him so perfectly. You really couldn’t decide if you preferred this or those business suits.

“You’re late.” he scolded you as you rolled your eyes. Of course that’s the first thing he'd say to you. “What have I said about rolling your eyes at me?” he cocked his head to the side, as if daring you to provoke him.

You hummed in thought, “I don’t remember.... Oh yes!” you beamed as if you’d had an epiphany “to do it as often as I can!”

He stared you down for a moment before shaking his head as he chuckled. “Get in here. What am I going to do with you?”

You were about to be a smartass some more, cooking up a dirty response in your head, just to see how far you could push him but then he put his hand on your lower back. You felt shivers run up your spine, goose bumps all over your skin as you squirmed under his touch.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, shutting the door behind you.

You gulped as you nodded, “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? I’m just here to study.” You laughed to ease your own nerves.

“Go sit on the table,” he instructed.

You pulled out a chair, placing your books on the dining table. He sat in front of you, nursing a beer. “Let’s start. Where do you struggle the most?”

“Can I have one too?” You were about to take the bottle from him to take but he swatted your hands away.

“Absolutely not. You need a clear head to study. And we both know you can’t handle your alcohol.”

You scoffed incredulously, “I can so! And if I can’t have it then neither should you.” you puffed your cheeks before mumbling “beer tastes gross anyway.”

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” he groaned pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s not forget, I’m doing you a favor here.”

“I know, maybe I could thank you for it.” you licked your lips. Thinking of his heavy cock in your mouth, the biggest you’ve ever had, it was a challenge to deep throat him. You weren’t one to just give it away for free and not expect anything in return. But... anything for professor Barber.

“That’s cute,” he said condescendingly, giving you a fake wide smile. “Now start studying or I’ll have to spank you,” he warned.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you giggled shamelessly, not really understanding how that would be a punishment, but then opened your book when he gave you a stern look.

He got up and walked to the stove check on his sauce. He just needed to get away from you for a moment and take a breather.

He hasn’t thought this through.

His original plan was to tutor you and get your grades up. So that you could graduate and he could ask you out without endangering his job and reputation. He intended to keep his hands to himself till then. One slip up and you both would have to face grave consequences.

The blow job in his office - was a mistake. Although it was too good to be something he mourned or regretted. He should’ve said no but you knew just to push his buttons. Just like the ridiculous schoolgirl skirt you were wearing tonight. Or how your tight shirt and cleavage left nothing to his imagination.

Worse of all was that fucking red lip. He hated that you had tasted him and he couldn’t even kiss you. What he wouldn’t give for just a quick peck.

“Mr Barber,” he heard you call for him and groaned as his cock stirred at your chirpy tone. He loathed just how far gone he was for you. You, sitting up so sweetly with your breasts pushed up together, certainly don’t make it any easier.

“I’m all done. Can we get on to the fun part now? Pretty please?” you cooed batting your lashes at him.

“The fun part is studying - keep telling yourself that and you might actually like it.” he suggested and you rolled your eyes again. He had half a mind to bend you over the table, lift up your skirt and pull down your panties, even though he was pretty sure you weren’t wearing any, and teach you a lesson. “Careful. Or they’ll get stuck up there.” He tapped your forehead with his finger.

“I meant the actual fun part.” Boldly, you reached over and palmed his crotch through his jeans. Not really surprised to find him aroused.

“Stop,” he gritted as he grabbed at your wrist with a bruising grip. “I told you, we’re not doing that. Not till you graduate or I’ll lose my job.”

“What about what we did in your office?” you pouted.

“That was a mistake. You left me no choice.”

You frowned, “Right. I overpowered you because you’re so weak and helpless.”

“Enough. Now study and then we can have dinner.”

“And then we have dessert?” You wiggled your brows suggestively.

“No. Then you drive back to your dorm.” he ignored your pitiful puppy eyes and sat across you, working on his cases. Maybe that would inspire you to actually get some studying done.

“Do you not like law?” he asked after over an hour.

You hummed as you heard him. Too engrossed in studying, you didn’t even register his words. You didn’t remember the last time you had concentrated so well. “Meh. It’s alright I guess. I wouldn’t wanna go to law school though.”

“Then what do you want to do?” he dropped his pen leaning back on the chair, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I don’t know. I guess what you do sounds nice,” you mumbled making notes with your glitter pens.

“Being a DA?”

“Yeah. It just sounds so hard though. Like going to law school and then being an intern for years and then working for like eighty hours a week...”

“Anything worth having is always hard to achieve.” he stated. Aware of how the same applies to his situation. He wants, no needs you, but if he wants to do this the right way - he has to wait.

“I guess you’re right.” you agreed.

After going over your notes and quizzing you, he was satisfied with your progress. He set the table for dinner.

“Good job,” he smiled, feeling his heart swell with pride. “See, you put your mind to something and you can absolutely achieve it.”

You squinted your eyes, “No spanking then?”

He chuckled “Nope. Not for now. I’m your tutor, that’s all.” he said more so to himself, to remember, to have some self control, it will pay off.

“Oh my gosh!” you moaned as the creamy tangy sauce burst your taste buds “I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t ramen.”

He shook his head “You need to eat better to study better.”

“But I don’t know how to cook!” you whined.

“Then I guess I’ll have you teach you that too.”

He helped you pack your things up, moving as slow as a sloth. Not wanting you to leave just yet. He couldn’t have enough of you. Maybe he’d ask you to stay in the guestroom. He had a perfectly good excuse, it was late. But he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to keep his hands off of you.

“Goodbye then. I’m going to quiz you tomorrow. Don’t forget.” he said walking you to his door. He turned to see you blinking up at him.

He never thought he’d be so smitten with someone so different than him. All his life he dated women his age or older. They suited his old soul much better, none of his relationships really went anywhere, maybe he was too cautious to actually let someone in. To open up enough, to reveal his true self to anyone.

But you were unlike anyone he had ever met, it was as if you were exotic. So bright - almost blinding. So young and sweet. You made him feel things he never thought he could. You could be the proverbial ying to his yang.

“Yeah yeah, I remember,” you waved him off. Still salty that you didn’t get to do any of the naughty stuff you had planned. “Is there something on my face?” You touched your cheek when you caught him staring at you. Letting out a shaky breath and cowering under his predatory gaze.

“I’ll try harder next time!” you panicked, assuming you did a bad job at studying. You tried your best. What else were you supposed to do? The idea of a spanking sounded more scary than sexy to you now.

“Fuck it,” he gritted as he crashed his lips over yours, grabbing your waist and your hip to still you. He invaded your mouth with his tongue, taking his time to explore all your nooks. Sucking your bottom lip between his lips before releasing it with a smack he pulled away. Both of you heaving and trying to catch your breath.

You threw your arms around his neck, pressing hot and quick kisses “I thought we were going to wait,” you said against his lips.

“I can’t. I thought I could. I’m only a man, you know?” he sighed as he pulled you in, exploring your body with his hands “What do you want to do?” As impatient as he was, he would never force himself on you or do anything without your permission.

“I just... I - ” Your cheeks instantly heat up as you stutter. As naughty as your filthy mind was, it had to choose this moment to betray you. “You know, you know! Oh my god,” you smacked your forehead “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes,” he breathed, leaning down to suck your earlobe “say it.” He peppered butterfly kisses on your jaw and down your neck. Sucking thoroughly on a spot that made you moan.

“Fine!” you huffed. Feeling his fingers ghost over your inner thighs. “Professor – sir, will you please fuck me. As in put your man missile in my special princess place.” you said in a mock seductive tone.

“Don’t sass me.” he groaned, pushing his erection into you, he put his hands on your shoulders to turn you around, lightly smacking your butt he urged you to go upstairs. “Come on, hurry up. We don’t have all night.” You did have all night but his patience, as it often did with you, was running thin.

You made yourself comfortable on his bed, working on his belt and unzipping his pants. “I’ve never been this addicted to a cock before, professor,” you husked pulling him out of his underwear and licking a firm stripe up his slit, his hand holding onto your head. “I hope you know you’re special.” you beamed at him through hooded eyes. Wrapping your lips around his weeping tip, about to swallow him whole but he pushes your head away.

“Right back at ya, honey. Now,” he laid down on his back beside you as you stared at him, so adorably confused, “come sit on my face.”

“What?!” you unintentionally screamed -in delightful horror. It had always been a fantasy of yours, so downright dirty, and you have a chance to do it with your dream man? You would be a fool to turn him down, but you were anxious, that beard between your thighs would be a bit too much for you to handle.

He didn’t give you any time to think about it, grabbing your hips and swiftly placing you on top of his head, “Oh!” you yelped at the coarse feel of his whiskers against your pussy. You held onto his short silky locks for support as he worked on steadying you “That’s - ” you were cut off when he wrapped his mouth around your clit, sucking it harshly.

“You’re already so wet,” The vibrations from his words sent a jolt up your spine “And you’re not wearing any panties,” he tutted before diving back in, determined to not stop until you’re seeing stars.

“Are you really surprised - holy shit,” you gasped as you felt his tongue prodding at your entrance before slipping in. It was so strange and new, the velvety warm feel of it was almost too good. “Oh, I’m gonna come.” you whimpered.

“No,” he pulled away “you don’t come without permission. Is that understood?”

You frantically nod your head, under any other circumstances you would’ve argued, who the hell does he think he is to deny or control your orgasms? But you were putty in his hands and desperate to have that sweet release. “Please, sir, can I come?”

“May I come.” He corrected you “You need to learn some manners.”.

And you had to supress the urge to call him names, “May I come, sir? Please.” you said breathlessly as he lapped you up.

“Yes, you may.”

You sobbed, his fingers digging into your ass and his tongue working magic on you was too good all at once. A string of curses and loud moans left your mouth, your climax hitting you in waves of pleasure, you held onto the headboard as your legs turned into jello.

“That was amazing,” you panted, mewling as he nipped at your sensitive flesh.

You got off of him, kneeling beside him as he got up, his beard drenched in your juices which he rubbed off with the back of his hand. Placing a sloppy kiss on your lips, to make you taste your own arousal, he pushed you down on his mattress and worked on ridding you of your clothes.

You pulled the helm of his shirt up “Off!” you whined. He was too far gone to chastise you so he took off his clothes, throwing them away before he got a good look at you.

He groaned at your naked form. He had thought of you while pleasuring himself more than once. He wouldn’t even be bothered to be ashamed of it. He thought of your lips and small hands wrapped around his girth, how tight and hot your cunt would feel, but most of all how beautiful you’d look when you were completely bare.

He painted a pretty picture in his head, but really, he never could do you any justice. His imagination could never be that strong.

“Is something wrong?” you bashfully averted your eyes from him.

“No. You’re just so... perfect.” he couldn’t come up with a better word.

You scoffed, “You’re just saying that. There are a million things I’d change about myself. I’m not the one who’s perfect!” you frowned. Tempted to touch his defined abs. His broad shoulders and bulky form looked ridiculously big between your legs.

“I don’t have time to argue,” He absolutely would not have you or anyone else, putting you down. Bur right now, his cock was aching to be buried in your heat. If he waited any longer he was afraid he’d burst. He lined his cock up to your entrance, watching intently as he slowly pushed in “but we will have a discussion about that, later.” he groaned as he bottomed out.

“What?” You had no idea what he was even going on about. His cock was stretching you out “It’s too big,” you cried. You felt as if you were being split in half.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can handle it. I’ll be gentle.” He was aware that he was much bigger than average. So he stayed inside you for a few moments, letting you get accustomed to his length. He slipped a hand between your joined bodies, spreading your lips open with his fingers.

“Don’t - don’t do that.” Him looking at your pussy like that, when you were so vulnerable before him made you flustered.

“Look,” he told you and you only shook your head. He sternly said your name and ordered you to look again.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, gulping as you sneaked a peek, whimpering at the sight of his girth buried inside you.

“You have such a pretty pussy you know that?” He gushed before making a ‘tch' sound and stilling your hips, stopping your pathetic attempts at wiggling them. “Wait a minute, will you?” he wasn’t done admiring you and savoring you.

“Please,” you begged as tears fell down your cheeks.

He grumbled something under his breath before pulling out of you, his tip still buried in your heat, he pushed back in forcefully.

You threw your head back, clutching your pillow tightly as his hips rutted into you. His pelvis rubbing your swollen clit every time he bottomed out.

“Can I - can I come?” you remembered to ask him even though you were too delirious to even comprehend what you we’re sayings. Everything around you slipped into an abyss. His groans echoing in the room, his bruising grip on your hip, and his cock driving into you again and again, touching all your sweet spots.

You weren’t sure you could stop yourself even if he said no. But you knew he’d never be that mean. You vaguely heard him say ‘yes' before you let go. Clenching around his length as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming anymore.

His hips stuttered, pulling his length out of you, he stroked himself above you. Your fucked out state only fuelling his aggressive jerks as spurts of his seed landed on your stomach and your titts.

He held onto your knee, swirling his cum that painted your skin so beautiful with his fingers, “Looks pretty on you,” He smeared some on your nipple before pulling it between his fingers.

“Ouch,” you grimaced as he released it. “Too sensitive right now.” you closed your eyes, already feeling drowsy.

He hummed “I’ll let you sleep for a few hours.” He used his discarded shirt to clean his cum off of you before throwing it away and pulling you in his arms. He nuzzled his nose in your hair, feeling satiated with your soft warm body against him.

“You have god tier stamina, man.” You murmured “Andy, you couldn’t even last a day. What happened to being patient? What will people say?” you giggled, burying your head in his chest.

“That’s Professor Barber to you.” he smiled, kissing your temple. Even tired, you were still a spitfire. He’d deal with all that the next day. “It was worth it.”

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Enough - George Weasley

Title: Enough Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader Summary: Losing the girl of his dreams was never in George’s plan, and watching her marry someone else certainly wasn’t either. He can only hope that it’s not too late to make things right. Warning: mentions of vomiting, alcohol abuse and comments that can be references to child abuse, but nothing is specifically mentioned.  A/N: I combined two different requests for this one because they were pretty similar! So this is for the anons who wanted George crashing the wedding off the woman he loves! Feedback is always welcome!! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​ @thefifthweasley 

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

“There’s my girl,” George greets happily as Y/N skips towards him out of the Arithmancy classroom. He’s still slightly out of breath from running there from Herbology, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist and lifting her up slightly.

“George!” Y/N giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck when he finally puts her back on the ground. “You can’t have missed me that much,” she teases, before pulling him down into a brief kiss. “You could have just waited for me in Transfiguration.”

George kisses Y/N again briefly before he grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers. They head towards McGonagall’s classroom slowly as the hall starts to fill with students heading towards the last lesson of the day. “I could have waited for you. But I wanted to walk you to class. I’m a gentleman after all, Y/N.”

“Mhm, sure you are,” Y/N teases, a pink flush on her cheeks.

George truly is her prince charming come to life. Despite the fact that they’ve been together for over three years, George is still finding ways to surprise Y/N and make her feel special. Every evening before a big test there’s a red rose and a bar of her favorite chocolate on her pillow, whenever she gets ready to leave school for a holiday break one of George’s jumpers ends up folded neatly in her trunk and most days George runs across the castle to make sure he can walk Y/N to class, even if it makes him late for his own.

“You break my heart, Y/N,” he jokes, using his grip on her hand to twirl her in a circle. He watches as a smile spreads across her cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest.

From the moment he first talked to Y/N his heart has beat for her and only her. George often feels like he gets lost in a sea of Weasleys, like he’s the one everyone glazes over. To George it seems like all of his siblings stand out in some way, Bill is the oldest, Charlie has his cool job with the dragons, Percy is the smart one, Fred is the loud charming one, Ron is the goofball who’s friends with Harry Potter and of course Ginny is the strong willed younger sister, while he’s just kind of there. He’s always felt like an extension of Fred, he’s George of Fred and George. And he loves being half of the dynamic duo that they are, he loves causing mischief and chaos with his brother. But sometimes he wants to be just George.

Y/N was the first person to just see him. He remembers the day it happened like it was yesterday. It was dinner time, and most of the people at the Gryffindor table were watching Fred recount their great escape from Filch after they charmed his broom to fly away every time he tried to grab it. Everyone seemed to be entranced by him, except for Y/N. She was sitting on George’s other side, completely oblivious to Fred’s antics. She had nudged him and asked what he thought of the transfiguration quiz they’d had the day before. Despite the fact that they were in the same year, George had never spoken to Y/N. She was pretty quiet and kept to herself, far away from the chaos George and Fred created.

But that night she had sought George out, and it made butterflies erupt in his stomach. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but he enjoyed it all the same. They had sat there and talked about which transfiguration spells they found most useful until dinner was over, and they had to head back to the common room. From then on just the sight of Y/N increased George’s heart rate and made butterflies appear in his stomach. Every time he felt himself getting lost in Fred’s shadow Y/N was there, usually with some kind of thought provoking question that would distract him.

When he finally got the courage to ask her on a date they had sat in the Three Broomsticks for hours, sharing shy glances and talking about anything that came to mind. George had asked Y/N how she knew transfiguration was his favorite class, and she revealed that she often watched him in the common room, and it was the only book he ever seemed to open. George had kissed her right there in the middle of the pub, his heart feeling like it was about to pound out of his chest. Y/N had seen him. Just him. And it made George feel like the most special person in the world. From that day on George didn’t care that most people only saw him as that Weasley boy. Or that he was only known to the masses as George of Fred and George. Because Y/N saw him as just George, and that was enough for him.

They reach the Transfiguration classroom then, and George pulls Y/N in for another brief kiss. “You’re my everything,” he breathes, holding her face in his hands.

“Everything okay, George?” Y/N asks, turning her head to press a kiss to his palm. While it’s normal for George to be affectionate, he usually saves such sentiments for when they’re alone and away from prying ears. Mostly Fred’s ears, but it’s unlike him to say something so meaningful while there’s students swirling around them.

Before George has a chance to answer McGonagall is sticking her head out of the classroom door and ushering them inside so class can begin.

-

“Next week? What do you mean we’re leaving next week?” George asks Fred incredulously.

Fred shushes George and looks to make sure no one heard before leaning in closer to his brother. “Yes, next week. I’m tired of dealing with mega bitch Umbridge and everything else is ready to go. The sooner we get into the space in Diagon Alley the sooner we can open up business and start taking over the world.”

George sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I thought we would have more time. Leave closer to the end of the school year.”

“You’re not chickening out on me, are you, Georgie?” Fred jokes. When George doesn’t say anything Fred’s face drops. “Are you?” he asks again, his tone more serious.

“I wouldn’t say chickening out,” George mumbles.  

Fred slams his fist down on the table, causing George to jump. “We’ve talked about this, George. We’ve dreamed about this, for years. I can’t do it without you, you know that. How can you just abandon me?”

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen,” George responds with an eyeroll. “I’m all in, of course I am.” He bites his lip. “It’s Y/N that I’m worried about.”

“You’re such a fucking sap George, honestly,” Fred teases, ruffling George’s hair. “So, you’re dipping out of school a few months early? What’s the big deal? She’ll graduate, you guys will get married and make a fuck ton of ginger babies. You think she’s going to stop loving you because you don’t finish school or something?”

The thought of his future with Y/N spikes George’s heart rate, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “I don’t know. Something like that. What if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her anymore? Or she forgets about me or something?”

“Now you’re being an idiot. Y/N is crazy in love with you, George. Like you’re the center of her universe sort of love. Mum and Dad kind of love.” Fred watches George for a moment, frowning when his brother refuses to meet his gaze. “Invite her to come with us if you’re so torn up about it, Georgie,” he suggests softly.

“What?” George asks, unable to believe what he’s hearing. Fred usually loves to tease George about how Y/N has him wrapped around her finger, and usually his remarks are accompanied by him pretending to crack a whip. George knows that it’s his way of showing his approval of their relationship, so it doesn’t bother him too much. But it doesn’t make it any less weird to hear Fred be so blatantly supportive of George and Y/N.

“Invite her along. Having an extra set of hands while we start everything up wouldn’t hurt, and Y/N is the perfect candidate. She’s way smarter than the two of us combined and she’s the perfect balance to all of our chaos. She’ll keep us grounded.” Fred rolls his eyes when George still doesn’t seem satisfied. “Okay, spill it. You clearly have been worrying about this for a while. What’s going on in that big ‘ol head of yours?”

George leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His and Fred’s grand exit from school and how Y/N fits in to all of it has been weighing on his mind for weeks. The thought of bringing Y/N along crossed his mind ages ago, and as much as he wishes it was a viable option it’s not. For one, Y/N has always dreamed of being an Arithmancer. Arithmancy fascinates her to no end, and George has spent endless hours admiring her as she pours over different books, always making sure to listen to everything she tells him. He doesn’t want to take that away from her. She’ll need her NEWTS in order to work in the field, and if she comes to work at the joke shop now she’ll never be able to.

But mostly, he’s completely and utterly terrified of the joke shop failing. He and Fred have found success with their products within Hogwarts walls, but taking them out to the world at large is a huge risk. They’ve put every ounce of energy and what little money they have into it, and if it fails they’ll have nothing to fall back on. And George can’t subject Y/N to that. She deserves to have the world handed to her on a platter and even though George’s love for her reaches the end of the universe, that’s not enough to give her the life she deserves. They’ve talked about what they hope their future holds, and George wants to give Y/N everything her heart desires. But he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to do that, and his worst nightmare is letting her down.

“There’s a lot going on,” he admits honestly, choosing to ignore Fred’s tease. “I think I know what I have to do about Y/N and I’ve just been trying to deny it. But it’s the only option.”

“What’s that, George?” Fred asks, but he fears he might already know the answer.

George looks at Fred, a sullen look on his face. “I have to break up with her.”

-

“Tell me what’s wrong, Georgie. Please,” Y/N asks quietly, looking up at George.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and they’re laying together on George’s bed. It’s a Hogsmeade day, so they’re completely alone, just enjoying being together. George is laying on his back with Y/N cuddled on top of him, one of his hands is under her shirt, pressed against the small of her back while the other is holding one of her hands in his. He and Fred are leaving Monday afternoon, and George is trying to enjoy his last fleeting moments with Y/N.

“It’s nothing, baby. Just thinking about stuff,” he responds, his eyes refusing to leave the ceiling and meet hers.

Y/N presses a kiss to George’s bare chest before nuzzling the soft skin. “Thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other?” Ever since the day George walked with her to Transfiguration Y/N has been able to tell that something is off with him. Usually she can read him like an open book, and the fact that she can’t tell what’s going on in his head scares her.

George digs his fingers into the skin of Y/N’s back. He can feel her heartbeat against his chest, and he’s sure she can hear how loudly his heart is pounding in his. “Baby,” George coos, finally looking down at her. “Look at me, please.” When Y/N finally looks up at him George can see tears pooling in her eyes and it breaks his heart. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in this world. You know that, right?”

“George,” Y/N breathes, squeezing his hand tightly. Normally George confessing his love for Y/N makes her feel dizzy, and makes her heart beat out of her chest. But this feels different to her. Like it’s the last time he’s ever going to say those things to her. “Don’t do this, George. Please.”

George swallow thickly. “I can’t be with you anymore, Y/N. I’m not. I’m not good enough for you. I don’t deserve you and I never have. You deserve the universe and try as I might I’m not the person who can give that to you. I’ve been telling myself I am, but I’m just not, Y/N.”

Tears stream down both of their faces and when Y/N surges forward to kiss George she can feel his tears mixing with hers on her cheeks. She kisses him hard, desperately trying to get him to return it. “Georgie please. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything before.”

“I know you do,” George says sadly. “But I don’t deserve your love. I’m sorry, Y/N. But it’s over between us.” George watches as Y/N scrambles out of his bed before turning on his side so he doesn’t have to see the woman he loves walk out of his life for good. The sound of the door slamming shut behind Y/N punches a crater in George’s chest, and he finally lets himself sob into his pillow.

-

“Turn that frown upside down,” Y/N’s mother tuts as she enters Y/N’s bedroom. “Today is supposed to be a day to celebrate. You should be happy.”

Y/N is sitting in front of the vanity in her bedroom, and she locks eyes with her mother in the mirror. Today is her graduation party, a day Y/N had been looking forward to since her parents started planning it at the beginning of the school year. But then George Weasley shattered her heart to pieces two months ago and she’s failed to find the joy in anything since. Y/N is surprised that she even managed to make it through the rest of the school year. The last thing she wants to do is pretend to be hopeful about her future in front of a room full of people when the future she’s spent the last 3 years dreaming about no longer has any possibility of becoming a reality.

“I don’t want to be happy,” Y/N responds lamely. “And I don’t want to pretend to be happy either.”

Y/N’s mother’s expression turns cold. “Your father and I have put up with your dramatics long enough, Y/N and we will not tolerate you embarrassing us today. So get yourself together, get dressed and put a damn smile on your face. This party is happening whether you want it or not.”

“Ugh!” Y/N huffs once her mother is gone, knocking her brush off of her vanity. Of course, today isn’t about her. It’s about her parents showing her off to all of their pureblood friends. Not only had George been the love of Y/N’s life, but he’d been her salvation, her savior from the horrid life her parents had been grooming her for. Y/N’s parents had raised her traditionally, and from a young age it was clear to her that she was going to marry a pureblood boy whether she loved him or not. And even though the Weasley family doesn’t prescribe to many of the pureblood traditions Y/N’s family does, their blood is as pure as can be and her parents reluctantly approved of their relationship.

Y/N and George had talked about what their future would look like, and they both easily came to the conclusion that it would include getting as far away from Y/N’s family as possible. Y/N sparred George from the more intimate details of her childhood but told him enough to make it clear she didn’t want anything to do with her parents once she was an adult. They decided on a large house on a hill in the country, near where George grew up. So their kids could run around barefoot and free, causing all the chaos they want. As graduation had neared, Y/N figured along with it would come a ring on her finger. George had promised to whisk her away from her family as soon as he could, he promised that he would be her new family and it was all they would need. But George had also promised to love Y/N forever. And now all she has left of him are his broken promises to match her broken heart.

Of course, Y/N’s parents had been thrilled when she returned home from Hogwarts with the news that she and George had broken up. All they’ve ever wanted was for Y/N to marry a pureblood boy that would take care of her and give them perfect pureblood grandchildren to spoil. Y/N is their only child, and therefore the only hope of their family legacy continuing on. They had been okay with Y/N marrying George not because they wanted her to be happy, but because they thought giving her what she wanted would give them the opportunity to instill their values in her children, so their traditions could carry on. But now that Y/N and George are no longer together, her possible mates are endless, and they’ve spent much of the past week discussing which son of their friends is best suited to marry her.

Not wanting to face her mother’s wrath, Y/N complies with her wishes. She fixes her hair just right, and puts on enough makeup to accentuate her features, before she changes out of her pajamas and into the expensive silk ballgown her mother had custom made. Y/N is sure it costs more than what most wizards make in a month, and the feeling of the smooth fabric against her skin makes Y/N want to throw up.

“There’s my princess,” Y/N’s father greets as she comes down the stairs.

Every click of her heels against the marble floor makes her stomach lurch, and Y/N can see her hand shake as she reaches out to take the arm her father has offered her. Guests have started to arrive, so she plasters her best fake smile onto her face. “Hi Daddy,” she greets, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Y/N lets her father guide her around the room, shaking the hand of every person they meet and pretending to be interested in what they have to say to her. Y/N is great at pretending, she’s spent her whole life watching her parents pretend to love each other. They had been paired together in an arranged marriage and while they love to put on a show as the perfect couple for their friends, Y/N knows that they sleep in separate bedrooms and her father has had a string of mistress’ her whole life. Everything they do is for the sake of appearances. They don’t care about genuine happiness or pure love, as long as they give off the illusion that they hold those things. George had made Y/N feel both of those things, and now she’s not sure if she’ll ever get to experience them again.

After taking Y/N around the room to greet everyone, her father gets distracted in a conversation with Lucius Malfoy and Y/N takes the opportunity to get away. Her mother has strategically placed a few of their house elves near the staircase so Y/N can’t sneak back up to her room. Instead she finds an empty table as far away from everyone as possible and sulks over to it, sinking down in one of the chairs.

“Why the long face?” a familiar voice asks as they approach Y/N.

Y/N looks up, mustering up the best fake smile she can. “Oh, Adrian! How nice to see you!”

Adrian rolls his eyes as he takes a seat next to Y/N. “You don’t have to pull that crap with me. You know that, Y/N.”

Y/N sighs in relief, and lets her sullen expression take over again. Adrian grew up in the estate next door to Y/N, so Y/N spent a lot of time with him growing up. She spent time with the children of her parent’s other friends as well, but Adrian is the only one she truly considered a friend. He found many of the things his parents taught him utterly ridiculous as well, and it allowed them to grow closer. Their friendship had ultimately faded when they arrived at Hogwarts and Adrian was sorted into Slytherin and Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor, but Y/N still considers him a friend.

“Thanks. I think if I have to pretend to smile one more time my face will actually freeze that way,” she jokes.

“Yeah, I heard about that. About George. I’m sorry.” Adrian reaches out to give Y/N a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure the whole fucking world has heard about it at this point. You should have seen how happy my parents were when they found out. Pretty sure it was the only time either of them has felt genuine joy.”

“Yeah, I heard your dad talking about it with mine the night after we got back from school,” Adrian says. “I see he went out and bought you that diamond bracelet,” he comments, gesturing towards the piece of jewelry on her wrist.

Y/N snorts in laughter. “Graduation present my fucking ass. Only my parents would give me a present to celebrate my heart getting stomped on. Fucking pricks.”

Adrian reaches out and puts his hand on top of Y/N’s, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “I really am sorry, you know. I could tell how much you loved him.”

“He was my everything,” Y/N admits sadly. As weird as it sounds, it feels good to be talking about this with Adrian. Her parents clearly think one week is a sufficient amount of time to get over a three-year long relationship and she’s been dying to talk about her feelings with someone. “We had plans, you know? Turns out he had plans of his own.”

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes has been the front-page story of the Daily Prophet since it’s opening last month. The store has been breaking records left and right and people can’t seem to get enough of it. The store was packed with people when Y/N went to Diagon Alley with her mother for a dress fitting earlier in the week and the sight of the store alone made her want to cry.

“You didn’t know? About the store?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I knew he and Fred wanted to start one. He had talked about it loads, it always made him so excited. I just didn’t know how close they were to making it a reality. Though I suppose that was on purpose, since he dumped me right before opening. I guess the future we talked about starting wasn’t good enough for him.”

“He’s a dick, Y/N. You’re amazing. He should have been on his knees praising you everywhere you went. Any guy would be tripping over themselves to give you anything and everything you could ever want,” Adrian comforts, squeezing her hand again.

Y/N smiles her first genuine smile in months, completely unaware that her mother is watching her intensely, a plan forming in her head.

-

Y/N wakes up the next morning to a soft knock at her door. She lets out a yawn and stretches before muttering a soft ‘come in.’ She figures it’s one of the house elves, so when Y/N’s mother enters her room with her father trailing behind her stomach lurches and she sits up. “What’s going on? Did Nan die?”

“Oh of course not, it’s nothing like that Y/N,” her mother assures with a laugh, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“We just have something to talk to you about,” her father says from his spot in the doorway.

Y/N sighs a breath of relief. Ever since her grandfather passed away Y/N’s Nan has become much more vocal about her distaste for some pureblood traditions and she’s the only family member Y/N can even remotely tolerate. “Thank God. What do we need to talk about then?”

“Your father and I have been talking a lot since your graduation about the next steps in your life,” her mother starts. “Marriage, children, things like that.”

“And we know that you thought that Weasley boy was going to marry you but it’s time to be realistic about things,” her father says firmly.

Y/N rolls her eyes to keep from crying. “Do we really need to talk about this right now? I just woke up.”

“Yes, we do. Because I saw the way you were talking with Adrian Pucey yesterday, and told your father all about it so he could have a conversation with his father.”

Y/N’s stomach drops, and her chest starts to tighten. “No. No you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.” The tears she’d tried to avoid a moment ago start to form in her eyes.

“I did,” her father confirms. “He agrees that you and Adrian would be a perfect match. Adrian already has a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry making good money, and his father has agreed to pay for your estate if your mother and I pay for the wedding.”

“No,” Y/N cries softly, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Adrian isn’t a bad person, but Y/N always hoped she’d marry for love, not for connections.

“Oh quit the dramatics, Y/N. Adrian comes from a good family, you should be happy,” Y/N’s mother squeezes her leg a little too tightly to be comforting as she stands up. “Now get out of bed and get yourself ready. Adrian will be by with his family this afternoon to formally propose so that the announcement can be printed in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.”

Once her parents have disappeared Y/N collapses back into bed and sobs.

-

“Will you at least act like you’ve touched a woman before, Adrian!” Adrian’s mother scolds from somewhere behind the camera.

Adrian sighs and gives Y/N an apologetic look before placing his hand on the small of her back. They’ve been trying to get the perfect photo to include with their engagement announcement for the past 20 minutes, and Y/N feels like a doll being played with. Her and Adrian are standing facing each other, and per her mother’s demands Y/N has her left hand on his bicep to show off the fat diamond sitting on her finger while her right hand rests on Adrian’s shoulder. One of Adrian’s hands is cupping her cheek, while the other rests on the small of her back. At least now it does, Adrian has spent the last five photos with it just hovering over her body.

“Okay, now look at each other like you’re in love,” Y/N’s mother demands. Y/N looks into Adrian’s eyes and plasters her best fake smile onto her face and she can hear her mother make a satisfied noise. “Now as the picture is taken Adrian I want you to lean in and kiss Y/N’s forehead.”

Adrian opens his mouth to protest, but Y/N gives him a look. “Just do it,” she murmurs between gritted teeth as she continues to smile. “I just wanna get this shit over with.”

When the photographer tells them to move they do, and the flash of the camera nearly blinds Y/N as Adrian kisses her on the forehead to complete the photo. Thankfully the photo seems to satisfy both their mothers, and Adrian and Y/N can finally break apart as they head into the other room with the photographer to write the announcement.

“I’m really sorry about all of this,” Adrian apologizes.

Y/N collapses onto the couch with a sigh. “It’s not your fault our parents are the way they are.”

“I know,” Adrian responds, sitting down next to her. “But you’re very obviously still in love with George. This can’t be easy.”

“It really fucking sucks,” Y/N admits with a sad laugh. “I always thought we’d skip all of this bullshit stuff and just get married in his parent’s backyard or something. I don’t care about all of this traditional crap. I mean who even reads those stupid engagement announcements? Why do people care who’s getting married?”

Adrian laughs. “I’m sure no one we know does. It’s just for them to show off to all of their friends. Your mum can show the picture off and brag about how big that stupid diamond is, and my dad can show it off and brag about how hot of a wife he found me.”

“Ew,” Y/N grimaces, a shiver running down her spine. “I really hope no one we know sees it. Not because you’re a bad person or anything, but just because of how embarrassing that photo is gonna be.” In reality, Y/N hopes that no one in George’s family ever sees that picture.

-

“Nice of you to finally join the living,” Fred comments as he watches George shuffle out of his bedroom. It’s Saturday, so the shop opens a bit later than usual and George has decided to take full advantage and sleep in. Fred puts the Daily Prophet down and pours his brother a cup of coffee as George sits across from him.

“Very funny,” he groans, grabbing the cup and taking a large gulp.

George should feel like he’s on top of the world. Their shop is a huge success, he and Fred are living on their own and they’re finally making some real money. But in reality he feels like shit. He hasn’t felt the same since he broke up with Y/N. His chest feels empty and hollow without her in his life, and he spends all day at the store pretending to be his usual jovial self only to lock himself in his room with a bottle of firewhiskey every night. He knows drinking is not the way to solve his problems, but the firewhiskey burns his throat as it goes down, and it’s the only time of day where he truly feels alive.

“You reek, George. How much did you drink last night?” Fred asks, his voice full of concern. Over the past two months Fred has watched George slowly become a shell of the person he once was. He fakes it quite well for everyone else, but Fred can see through all the bullshit. He feels absolutely helpless as he watches George destroy himself, and Fred’s starting to get desperate.

George shrugs, taking another sip. “I don’t know. Half a bottle, maybe more. Who cares?”

“I do,” Fred insists. “You can’t keep living like this George. I’m worried about you.” Fred pauses. “I know you still care about Y/N-“

“Don’t,“ George says harshly, cutting Fred off. “Don’t talk about her, don’t even say her name. She’s all I can fucking think about and it hurts too much to hear you say it.”

“Okay,” Fred says softly, picking the paper back up. He starts to flick through the pages mindlessly, just trying to seem occupied to give George some space. Fred wants to help him, but he also doesn’t want to push him deeper into his depression. He’s just turned the page to the engagement announcements when George clears his throat.

“You get to the engagement announcements yet?” George asks. When Fred looks up at him confused George rolls his eyes. “Lee and I have a bet going, to see how long it takes for someone from our class to show up in them. You know how those traditionalists are, they pair their kids off before the ink on their diplomas starts to dry.”

Fred laughs, and let’s his eyes scan the page for a moment. He’s about to hand the paper to George when his eye catches a rather large photo. He gasps and immediately crushes the paper up. “Nope. No one from our class yet.”

“You’re full of shit,” George chides, narrowing his eyes. “Come on, give it here. If there’s an announcement in there I win 10 galleons.”

Fred holds the paper just out of George’s reach. “I told you there’s nothing in there. No Galleons for you. Now drink your coffee and get ready so we can head down into the shop.”

George gets up as if he’s going to head towards the bathroom, but he ends up charging at Fred and grabbing the paper from him. “I don’t know what your problem is, did Lee promise you part of his winnings or something?” George opens the paper, letting his eyes scan the announcements. He’s not really paying attention to the photos, just trying to find a name that sounds familiar. “Ha! There it is! Adrian Pucey, who would have thought.” But as George continues to read the announcement bile comes up his throat and he throws the paper down so he can run to the bathroom and heave into the toilet.

-

Y/N strolls through Diagon Alley slowly, basking in the freedom. Ever since the engagement announcement appeared in the Daily Prophet her house has become wedding central. Gifts and cards from distant family members and acquaintances arrive in droves every day, and Y/N’s mother is driving her crazy with the plans. Every day from the moment she wakes up until the moment she goes to bed is filled with wedding decisions that she truly doesn’t give a shit about. She doesn’t care about the seating chart or the color scheme. The only thing she cares about is that she’s not marrying George Weasley, and no matter how many plans they make that fact will never change.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Y/N apologizes. She’d been so lost in thought she ran right into someone. She looks up at the man she bumped into and her heart stops beating when she looks into a pair of familiar brown eyes and spots a shock of fiery red hair. But a moment later she realizes it’s not who she thinks it is. “Oh. Fred.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Fred sneers, suddenly filling with rage. He knows what happened between Y/N and George is not her fault, but his resentment towards her has started to grow since the engagement announcement. George has stopped leaving his room at all, and the sound of his drunken sobs keep Fred up at night. It kills Fred to see his brother hurting, and he can’t help but blame Y/N for all of it.

“You saw it then?” Y/N asks, hanging her head in shame.

“Even if I didn’t that god-awful gaudy diamond on your hand is a dead giveaway.” Fred clears his throat. “George did too.”

Y/N’s head snaps up and she can feel tears forming in her eyes. “No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to see that. Is he okay? How’s he doing?” Y/N watches as Fred’s jaw clenches. “Please, Fred. I need to know.”

“Why do you care?” he practically shouts. “So you can go and laugh about it with Adrian? I can’t believe you, Y/N. George gave you his all. You were his entire world. You were apart what? Two months? And now you’re about to get married to some other fuck head. Why? Because he has money? Because his family has a better status?”

Y/N wipes away some of the tears that have started to fall down her cheeks. “Fuck you, Fred. I don’t care about any of that, you know that. And do I need to remind you that George is the one who broke up with me? I trusted him with my heart, and he crushed it. All I ever wanted was George, all I still want is George.”

Fred takes a deep breath, needing to calm himself down. “Then why the hell are you marrying Adrian? George is beside himself. He doesn’t even come out of his room anymore.”

“You think I have a choice?” Y/N asks, her voice cracking under the weight of the emotions she’s feeling. “I’m not marrying Adrian because I love him, I’m marrying Adrian because my parents arranged it to be that way. My parents are vile, Fred. They don’t see me as their daughter, I’m a pawn for them to play with. It’s either submit or be punished and I’m not going to stand here and let you make me feel even worse than I already do.”

Fred grabs Y/N’s wrist as she turns to walk away, and he pulls her into a tight hug. “Y/N, I had no idea. George said your parents were traditionalists, but he never mentioned anything like that.”

“Because I never told him,” Y/N admits as she pulls away from Fred. She wipes away a few of the lingering tears as she looks up at him. “George is too innocent, too pure to know about the shit they put me through growing up. George is the only person who ever truly made me feel loved and without him I feel like I’m in a horrible nightmare that I can never wake up from.”

“You can’t marry Adrian, Y/N. You and George, you guys are soulmates,” Fred says quietly. “You have to be together.”

Y/N scoffs. “Tell your brother that, he’s the one who dumped me out of nowhere. Clearly he doesn’t feel the same away about me as I do him.”

“You can’t seriously believe that, Y/N. George is going crazy without you. He barely eats, he barely sleeps.” Fred swallows thickly. “He’s been drinking. A lot. Way more than anyone should. It’s scary. Every time I try and talk to him he shuts me out. He’s lost without you.”

The ache Y/N has felt in her chest since the day George ended things intensifies with Fred’s every word. It kills her to know that George is hurting just as much as she is. “I still love him, Fred. With every fiber of my being. But I don’t know if that’s enough anymore. Everything’s gotten so complicated.”

“Just promise me one thing. Promise me that you won’t walk down that aisle and marry Adrian until you talk to George.” Y/N opens her mouth to say something, but Fred puts his hand up to stop her. “I’ll take care of George. I’ll Stupefy him and drag him to you if I have to. Just promise me you won’t marry him until you see George.”

“I promise, Fred. The wedding is next week on Friday. I’ll wait for George until the moment I have to walk down the aisle. But if he doesn’t make it.” Y/N shakes her head. “It’ll be too late.”

-

When Fred gets back to their flat after his conversation with Y/N he’s filled with determination. George is the person he cares most about in the world and he’ll be damned if he lets him ruin is life. He goes straight to George’s bedroom door, using his wand to unlock it. He throws it open, flipping on the light switch.

“What do you want you fucking prick?” George groans, rolling over in his bed.

Fred carefully moves around the firewhiskey bottles strewn about on the floor and heads over to the window. He throws the curtains open, letting the sunlight shine on George for the first time in weeks. “Get your ass out of bed. You’re done wallowing in self-pity.”

“Fuck you,” George grumbles, opening his eyes to glare at Fred. “What’s the point in doing anything anymore? I ruined my chance with the only girl I’ve ever wanted. She’s supposed to marry me, Fred. Not that fucking moron Adrian. He doesn’t love her like I do, and he never will. But she doesn’t deserve me. Not anymore anyway.”

Fred sighs and sits down on the edge of George’s bed. “You’re right, he doesn’t love her like you do. And she doesn’t love him either.”

“Nice try, Fred. But I’m not getting out of this bed no matter how many lies you tell me,” George sighs, before turning over in bed.

“Her parents are making her marry Adrian, George,” Fred says firmly.

George turns back to face Fred and sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m sorry what did you say?”

“I ran into Y/N, when I was down in Diagon Alley. I really let her have it, Georgie. I told her off for getting with Adrian so soon after you ended it with her, and she just broke down crying.” Fred reaches out and puts a comforting hand on George’s knee. “She’s in love with you, George. Not him. Her parents arranged their marriage, she doesn’t have a choice.”

George puts his head in his hands, letting Fred’s words sink in. Of course, it all makes sense to him now. Y/N had once briefly mentioned that her parents never loved each other, George had brushed it off at the time, but it’s all becoming clear. Arranged marriages between pureblood families is pretty commonplace, and he feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, Freddie,” George groans, looking up at his brother. “I never should have even dumped her in the first place. What the fuck was I thinking? I was scared of disappointing her when in reality I was being a big fat idiot.”

“Big fat idiot is right,” Fred teases, trying to get George to smile. “But the important part is that it’s not too late. I made her promise not to marry him until she talks to you again.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” George asks, finally cracking a smile. “So what’s the plan then?”

Fred grins at George, his eyes alight with mischief. “We’ve got a wedding to crash.”

-

Y/N fidgets as she stands in the middle of her room, unable to keep herself from glancing at the clock. She’s standing there in her wedding dress, thirty minutes away from walking down the aisle and she’s yet to see George or hear from Fred. The possibility that George doesn’t want to see her ever again makes her want to throw up, but she has to hold out hope that he’s going to show up. She knows now more than ever that George is the person she’s supposed to end up with, and she prays that Fred made him realize that too.

“There’s my girl.”

At the sound of George’s voice Y/N turns around a smile spreading on her face. “George,” she greets. In the blink of an eye George is across the room and wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling Y/N into his chest. Y/N wraps her arms around George’s neck and presses their lips together in a desperate kiss.

“I love you,” George murmurs as they pull apart. “I have always loved you Y/N. Breaking up with you was the worst decision I made in my entire life.”

Y/N can feel the tears falling down her face, and she presses their foreheads together. “Why did you do it, George? You mean everything to me. I would walk to the ends of the earth to be with you. You have to know that.”

“I do baby, I do,” George whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I was scared of letting you down. You are a Goddess, Y/N. You deserve to have the world handed to you on a silver platter and I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to give that to you. You deserve the future we dreamed of having, and it killed me to think you’d never get that with me.”

“I don’t care about having any of that. All I care about is having you,” Y/N admits, kissing George briefly. “You made me feel safe, and happy and loved, and that’s all I need, George.”

George kisses Y/N again, needing to feel her lips on his. “I know that now. And I really hope it’s not too late to give that all to you, Y/N. You are the only person who has ever made me feel special, the only person who’s ever bothered to look at me. And if you let me I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you feel special too.”

“I love you, George. It’s always been you. It will always be you.” Y/N breathes in deeply as George kisses her again, finally feeling like she’s home.

“I love you so much and as much as I would love to stand here and kiss you forever we gotta go. Fred should be almost done setting things up by now. Get changed and grab some stuff, okay?”

Y/N nods and gets undressed, throwing on whatever clothes her hands reach first. She throws a few of her favorite things into her school trunk, which is still packed with her things from the end of the school year. “Good riddance,” Y/N mumbles as she yanks off her engagement ring and throws it onto her dresser.

“Ready to go?” George asks, grabbing Y/N’s trunk.

Just as her hand closes around her wand explosions start to go off and people downstairs start screaming. “What the hell is that?” she asks, hooking an arm around George’s.

George grins down at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “A new line of whizbangs we’re testing out. A little goodbye present for your parents and Adrian.”

-

“Well would you look at that,” George chuckles as he reads the paper.

Y/N presses a kiss to the side of his head as she sets his coffee down on the table, letting George pull her into his lap. “What’s that, love?”

George puts the paper down so he can rest one of his hands on Y/N’s ever-growing baby bump and the other can cup her cheek and pull their lips together. No matter how many years they’ve been together, kissing Y/N makes him just as giddy as the first time. “Adrian’s getting married.”

Y/N laughs and rests her hand on top of the one George has on her belly, intertwining their fingers. “Think we’ll get invited?”

“Considering the way we ruined his first wedding? Not a chance in hell.” George teases with a smile, pulling Y/N in for another kiss.

They might not have as much money as Adrian, or a big rolling estate to show off. But Y/N and George have each other and their growing family – and that’s enough for them.

[yuta-nakamots]

santa tell me - l.yy

Pairing - Yangyang x Reader

Genre - Fluff, Angst

Warnings - None

Summary - Growing up, your wishes to Santa were always things like a doll set, a pretty outfit, or a Nintendo gaming system. You didn’t know if he would answer to a wish that was not tangible, like wishing for a person, but it didn’t hurt to try.

Word Count - 4.2k

Taglist - @danishmiilk @dearyongs​

A/N - bolded phrases are song lyrics taken from the songs listed in the prompts. special appearance by @orange-nimon-cross​. 

Written for the Walking In A Winter Wonderland Collab hosted by @suh-insane​ and @neocitybynight​. 

Prompts:

“Come and kiss me baby, we don’t need no mistletoe” - Ariana Grande (Wit it This Christmas)

“Santa tell me if you’re really there. Don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year.” - Ariana Grande (Santa Tell Me)

When you had first started off in university, one of your biggest worries was not being able to make new friends and fit in with them. Granted, you chose to stay home and go to one of your local schools meaning that some of your high school friends would still be with you but you also wanted to meet new people so you’re not stuck with the same idiots for the rest of your life.

Such idiots being Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno who had stuck with you all through high school. Both of them had told you that they too would be staying at home and would be going to school with you, which you were secretly extremely thankful for, though you knew they too were probably itching to make new friends.

Luckily, you three were all majoring in the STEM field so many of your classes coincided with each other. You stuck with Jaemin as biology majors on the pre-med track while Jeno majored in engineering. Somehow, Jeno, one of the most quiet and intimidating people at first glance, had managed to connect with the other freshmen, introducing you to Yangyang and Renjun, both of whom he met in his calculus class.

Yangyang was majoring in bioengineering, a quite daunting major to say the least, while Renjun was going into computer science. Much to your surprise, Yangyang was actually local. It's just that he had gone to one of your rival high schools which was why you hadn’t yet met him unlike Renjun who actually flew in from a different city.

Like this, your little friend group was complete for your first year of college. With all of you being in the STEM fields, group study sessions were a must, especially for Renjun who felt the need to be over prepared for every quiz or exam though he claimed that the rest of you were just ‘underprepared’.

“So who can tell me what the values of N(0) and N(9) are?” Renjun asked, standing in front of the whiteboard in the study room you all booked to prepare for your calculus exam the next day.

Everyone was silent as they analyzed the problem. “Oh, N(0) is 41 and N(9) is 325, right?” Yangyang answered.

“Correct, they’re simply the values given to us in the problem,” Renjun explained as he wrote the numbers on the board, “and so from here, what do we do if we want to find the unknown relative growth rate?”

“Is that the equation with all the letters and stuff?” Jaemin chimed in. “You know, the one with all the P and the t and the-”

“The exponential growth equation.” Jeno interrupted, playfully rolling his eyes at Jaemin who proceeded to throw his eraser at the former.

“Hey, we’re here to study, not for us to babysit you two,” Renjun scolded, “anyway, which values will we be plugging in?”

“9 for the t, 325 for the P(9), and 41 for P(0),” you stated, pretty much unphased by the antics of your friends, “then you divide the 325 by 41 and multiply both sides by the natural log to get rid of the e.”

“Very good-”

“Wait slow down-”

“I don’t get it-”

Renjun, Jeno, and Jaemin all spoke at the same time, shooting each other looks as they fought to decide who should speak though Yangyang beat them all to it. “We’re trying to find the growth rate which is why we divide the final value by the starting value, it’s like finding the rate of change, you know?”

“God, at least I know three of us won’t fail the test,” Renjun muttered.

“Hey,” Jeno complained, “I understand it, I just need more time to write it all down, don’t be so mean.”

“Yeah okay, whatever, let’s just finish up this problem already because I’m hungry and I swear, if we don’t end before the cafeteria closes-”

“Multiply both sides by 1 over 9 to isolate the k constant and from there plug it into a calculator and solve to get the unknown relative growth rate,” you commented, your own stomach growling the tiniest bit at the mention of food.

“Oh my baby is so smart! I’m so proud of you,” Jaemin exclaimed as he reached over to try to squish your cheeks though you were quickly pulled out of his reach as someone moved your chair, “hey! Don’t take my baby away from me.”

“She’s not a baby, she’s already 18,” Yangyang reasoned.

A loud sigh came from the front of the room, effectively interrupting all conversation. “Jaemin, can you at least try to put in some effort?” Renjun whined.

“I did! Look, the k constant is equal to 0.23003 and I have everything written down here,” Jaemin defended, sliding his paper closer to Renjun who was struggling to see it from a distance.

Renjun made a noise of both content and confusion, “then why did you say that you didn’t get it?”

Jaemin shook his head, “oh no no no, I didn’t say that I didn’t get it, I was going to say that I don’t get how our y/n is so smart already. She’s going to be such a good doctor!”

“That’s your goal bro, not her’s.” Yangyang interjected.

There was a loud sound of a book shutting and everyone looked over at Jeno who was packing up his stuff. “What?” He questioned, when he noticed everyone's eyes on him. “Aren’t we going to get dinner?”

The rest of you started following suit after doing one last check that everyone was good on all of the material for the test tomorrow. “What score do you think you’ll get on the exam?” Yangyang asked as the group of you headed over to the cafeteria.

You let out a hum as you thought to yourself. “Maybe like an 85 or something around there.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure you’ll hit at least a 90, or even a 90 exactly,” he responded with a cheeky giggle.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Because I’m the 10 that you need.”

Sure enough, you scored 90 points on the exam, prompting Yangyang to excitedly treat you for lunch that following weekend. One small date became two and eventually three which was when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

When you told the rest of the guys that the two of you were together, Jaemin let out a whoop before turning to the others, “you both owe me twenty.”

You raised an eyebrow at them, asking for an explanation. “We made a bet on when Yangyang would finally get the guts to ask you out. Turns out it was a lot faster than we thought,” Renjun explained dryly as he opened his wallet to hand Jaemin the bill.

The rest of your first year in college went by in the blink of an eye jumping from spending Christmas with Yangyang, Jeno, and Jaemin, to submitting your registrations for the next school year, then to finals to wrap up the term.

If there was one thing about freshman year that you’d keep dear to your heart, it would be the little Christmas party the four of you had at Jeno’s house. You had each brought a gift as each other’s Secret Santa, yours was a cute pair of pink socks with strawberries on them for Jaemin who you knew hated strawberries though he’d wear them anyways because they’re from you.

Supporting your predictions, Jaemin changed his socks right then and there with a smile on his face because “they’re so cute, just like my baby” causing your boyfriend, who was in fact your Secret Santa, to jokingly make a gagging sound at Jaemin’s affection towards you.

The gift Yangyang gave you was a thin bracelet with a single little sheep charm dangling off of it. “In Korean, yang means sheep so I thought it would be cute to give you something that could be a reminder of me when I’m not with you.” Now it was Jaemin and Jeno’s turns to make the sounds of disgust as you kissed Yangyang’s cheek to thank him.

So I think you should give your love to me. Baby, let me know

Sophomore year was when things started to change starting with Yangyang leaving to continue his studies in China where he was accepted into one of his dream universities. He had told you about his plans beforehand and you celebrated every milestone with him like when he first submitted his application, when he got his acceptance letter, and then a scholarship. Here you were finally, sending your boyfriend off at the airport before the beginning of fall semester.

“I love you so much, stay safe and don’t get sick,” you told him as you held him in a tight hug, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.

Yangyang laughed as he felt you trying to nuzzle into his chest. “I’ll be back sooner than you know it. Just four months and I’ll be back for the holidays.”

Even as your tears began to fall, you still smiled, not wanting his last moments with you to be sad ones. “Promise?”

“I promise.” He locked pinkies with you, sealing the deal.

It was difficult to be in a long distance relationship, especially when it seems like the time zones are working against you. When you’re awake and going about your day, Yangyang is winding down and finishing up his work, about the head to sleep. There was never a good time for you to call each other, especially as the semester progressed and your workloads only increased.

“I really miss you, you know. I miss getting to hold you in my arms and mess up your hair only to have you hit me all the time.” You paused the voice recording he had sent you a few days ago, wanting so badly for time to go by faster and for Yangyang to return home sooner.

You sent him a voice recording back. “I passed that test I was talking about last week! I didn’t really do too well but it’s okay because apparently Jeno and Jaemin didn’t do all that great either. I miss having you here to help me study and tell me that I’m doing well. How did your ochem lab go? I’m sure you aced it.”

Sending each other voice recordings was the next best thing after calling because you could still hear each other’s voice while also still doing it at a time that was comfortable for you. It was like texting but with your voice instead of typing out words. Though sometimes it left you anxious because it wasn’t like a call where the other person is responding in real time. Yangyang would often leave you on read and would take a few days to respond so you inadvertently began doing the same thing.

It wasn’t until one weekend when both of you had free time that Yangyang finally snapped during a call. “It’s like you don’t want me anymore.”

“What? No, what do you mean?” You questioned.

“You don’t respond all the time and it’s like I’m not a top priority anymore,” he rambled.

“To be fair,” you began, “you don’t respond to me all the time either-”

“Yeah because I’m busy.” Yangyang interrupted.

You let out a sigh. “I’m busy too. We’re both college students majoring in some of the hardest fields, we know how hard we have to work for our education.”

“I know but like, you can still text me back. You don’t have to send voice recordings so often if you’re really that busy-”

“No, don’t make it sound like I’m exaggerating how busy I am. You are a top priority, but you’re not my number one and that should be common sense.” You tell him, feeling your own temper starting to go.

You could practically see Yangyang rolling his eyes at you. “I’m not trying to downplay your work at all. I’m just saying that it’s not that hard to put effort into our relationship.”

“Then how about you give me something to go off of first instead of making me change for you. You barely respond to me either so I can say just the same thing for you,” you argued.

“Look, I think we need some time away from each other to clear our heads and figure this out when we aren’t being weighed down by all our other problems,” he reasoned.

You let out a laugh. “You say that as if we haven’t already been separated from each other for two months already but okay.”

“Goodnight, y/n.” You heard the line go dead. He didn’t even end with an ‘I love you’ or anything like that though you chose not to think too hard about it because he was probably just as tense as you.

When Yangyang came home in December it felt like everything was right once again. He got to be reunited with the original group along with meeting the two newest additions, Haechan and Shotaro who were both business majors and were roped in by Jeno who had a shared class with both of them.  

Yangyang had gotten you a second charm, the number 10 to go on the bracelet he had bought you the year before which you still wore almost constantly. “Ten because I’m the ten you need, remember?” You nodded as you smiled up at him, glad to finally have him back in your arms.

He had to go back to school sooner than the rest of you so your time with him was short-lived and things went back to the way they used to be, except even more distant this time around. Normally Yangyang would be sure to call you back if he ever missed a call from you, but he didn’t. He’d go days without responding to you, opening your messages but never sending anything back.

But it’s hard to tell if this is just a fling or if it’s true love that he thinks of

That semester, the two of you decided to break things off after yet another fight in hopes to preserve the friendship that you had before things got any worse. It was like a breath of fresh air for a moment, getting to finally focus your energy on your work and not worry about having to respond to messages from a boyfriend who didn’t really seem like one. Only when you slowed down did things really start to hit you.

When Yangyang came back during summer, your group was torn on how to handle the situation, wanting to hang out with both of you but not wanting to make things uncomfortable knowing how rocky things were between the two of you. You ended up pulling yourself back and encouraging them to go out with Yangyang since they could see you during the school year whereas he was in a different country and it only seemed fair.

That was really the last you saw or heard of him as you chose to bury yourself in work for the next year, not wanting to let yourself fall behind in school because of your emotions. It was, by far, one of your most productive years. Not only did you take some of your grad school tests and applied for many scholarships, you also earned yourself a spot on the Dean’s list and took part in a notable marine biology study done on the effects of pollution on the local animals.

Between balancing all of your current works and goals along with things to prepare you for your potential future careers, the mere existence of Liu Yangyang slipped your mind for just that short time. It was only a year later, during the summer before your senior year, did you hear from Jaemin that Yangyang was planning to come back.

“Yeah he was asking Jeno what we’re planning on doing for housing next year and if he could join us.” Jaemin informed you as the two of you were running an experiment and working on tracking the carbon output of the little plants in front of you.

“So what did you say to him?” You asked as you placed the oxygen gauge inside the chamber of the first plant.

Jaemin paused to see if the gauge was sending data to the computer. “I told him that the six of us were looking into getting one of the campus apartments in the fall so we might not be able to accommodate him.”

“Wait, six? Aren’t there five of us?” You started listing the names of your friends in your head.

“Haechan is going off-campus and Jeno’s girlfriend is joining us,” Jaemin corrects, “so next semester it’s us, Jeno and Yunha, Renjun, and Shotaro. Six. We probably won’t have space for him unless someone backs out.” You stared at the rising and falling of the line on the computer graph, not really sure if you were happy or sad at this. “Would you have liked it if he were to join us?” He questioned after seeing your silence.

“I don’t know, it’s not that I’m ‘uncomfortable’ around him…” your voice trailed off as the computer finished collecting data and indicated for you to reset and move on to the next plant, “it’s just that we didn’t really have a clean end to our relationship, if you know what I mean.”

Jaemin nodded in understanding as you moved the gauge to the second plant. “Would you like to get back together with him if given the opportunity?”

“Well, yeah but not if we’re both as busy as we are right now.” You explained, looking over at the screen to see if the oxygen was tracking.

“Try inserting it a little further,” Jaemin instructed when you both saw that the line was running a bit low, “but anyway, you guys are both going into the medical field, there’s no escaping being busy.”

“Yeah that’s exactly wh-”

“No, listen. What I’m saying is that you don’t have to both see each other all the time. Think about it. There’s tons of people out there who don’t even understand their partner’s job but they still make it work-” He rambled

“And who’s to say you can group me in with a majority?” You interject.

Jaemin looks away from the screen to roll his eyes at you. “That’s not the point. I’m just saying that maybe you should think about giving him another chance whether he lives with us or not.”

“I mean, I’ll think about it. That doesn’t mean I will.” You decide, wanting to get back to the experiment.

Santa tell me if you’re really there. Don’t make me fall in love again if he won’t be here next year

Truthfully, you hadn’t really gotten over Yangyang, you had merely forgotten about him for a while with all the stuff you were doing, which was what you had planned to do. A part of you wanted to see if things could still work out again but the other part of you didn’t want to put yourself in that same situation again, especially now that both you and him would probably be even more busy than before.

You didn’t know if he’d be coming back for good or if he’d be leaving again to go somewhere else and you didn’t want to take the chance of falling for him only to lose him shortly after. Thankfully the other guys didn’t ask too much about it seeing as how the housing situation was already settled.

It was just your luck and misfortune that you went in to work on a research assignment on the day you did. As you walked down the hallways of the lab building, you heard that one familiar voice ringing throughout the halls from an open door. You paused in your tracks, diverting from your course through the building to see if your suspicions were true as you peeked into one of the labs.

As you looked in, you saw his back towards you while he talked animatedly with one of your colleagues about how different it was to go to a university in China. You quickly ducked away when your colleague waved in your direction, not wanting to be seen by Yangyang.

“Who was that?” He asked, his voice getting fainter as you sped away from the room. You heard your name mentioned followed by an “oh” but that was about it as you got into the elevator to head to the archives.

And I’m trying to play it cool but it’s hard to focus when I see him walking around the room

Senior year progressed just like any other year, though you were glad that you got to live with your closest friends and at least see them for meals when you were all too busy to actually hang out. If anything, it was just the slightest bit more calm since there was no longer stress about passing general classes now that you were in more specialized biology courses that were actually enjoyable.

The annual Christmas party came up much faster than you expected but now that the six of you shared an apartment, it was only that much more convenient and because it would be your last year all together, Jaemin insisted that it be an actual get-together for your friends.

He invited Haechan and some of the guys he was now living with, though they were all older too. Renjun brought over some of the other computer science grad students that he had gotten close to recently, similar to Jeno in the engineering field.

As more people showed up and you worked on keeping all of your guests entertained, you hadn’t managed to keep track of everyone who set foot into the door, trusting Renjun to not let anyone in who had no business with you guys. It wasn’t until dinner started that you saw a face you hadn’t seen in a while.

“Hey,” Yangyang began as he almost ran into you exiting the kitchen with a plate full of food in his hands.

“Hey,” you said back, startled and unsure of how to actually react.

After you had gotten your food and returned to the living room, you say that he had taken up a seat next to Jeno and Jaemin as some Christmas movie started playing and you opted to sit on the sofa next to Jeno’s girlfriend Yunha, who gladly scooted over to make room for you. “Who’s that?” She asked, nodding over to where her boyfriend was.

“That’s, uh, Yangyang. He was one of our close friends during our freshmen year but he left to study at a school in China,” you inform her, glad that she accepted the simple explanation.

You successfully avoided him for almost the rest of the night, not because you didn’t like him but because you were scared of talking to him after so long. It was nearing the end of the night when Renjun had yelled for everyone to “sit your asses down in a circle” with the present they brought for the white elephant game gift exchange game.

The apartment was filled with laughter and cheers as the game progressed and people opened the gifts they chose, finding things outrageous as a whisk or backscratcher or even a bag of clothespins. The best one was the gift Jeno, a cat lover opened, pulling out a box of dog treats.

“Aw, our big samoyed!” Jaemin cooed. “Do some tricks for us!” Jeno shot him a glare before allowing the game to continue on.

The gift you decided on keeping was a small red envelope sealed with a shiny golden sticker. When you opened it, you pulled out a postcard from Shanghai and you felt a wave of emotion hit you. You held it up to show the people around you what it was before quickly slipping it back into the envelope and placing it on the ground beneath your crossed legs.

Once everyone had opened their gifts and a few people were starting to leave, you decided to get a head start on cleaning up in the kitchen as your roommates bid everyone farewell and wished them a safe drive home.

“I think it’s kind of funny how you got my gift,” a voice said from behind as you transferred the leftover dumplings from the plate they were on into a tupperware container.

You shrugged your shoulders. “The minimum price requirement was $5 and I’m sure you couldn’t have spent more than $2 on that.”

“The envelope and the sticker made up for the other $3,” he stated, his playful attitude ever so present, “so how have you been lately?”

“Pretty good, I guess. Got accepted into grad school, finishing up my remaining courses, just normal college stuff, how about you?” You finally make eye contact with him as you have to nudge him out of the way for you to open the refrigerator. He looks nearly exactly the same as when he first left but somehow more handsome and less boyish.

“Oh, I’ve been doing just about the same I could say. I decided to stay home for this school year, though I suppose you already knew that seeing as how you were spying on me at the beginning of the semester.” He shot you a wink as you returned back to the counter to start working on another dish.

You let out a gasp, “I was not spying on you.”

“Then why did you just peek into the lab and leave before I got to see you?” He inquired.

“Because I had other things to do,” you respond quickly.

“Well what if I told you that I actually wanted to see you and was disappointed that you ran away?” He took a step closer to you.

You secured the lid on a container of fried rice. “Then I guess you’re not the only one.”

“Hm, so you really did miss me then,” Yangyang chuckles.

“Will the two of you stop talking and just kiss already?” Jaemin shouts from the hallway.

Yangyang lets out a laugh. “You heard the guy. Come here.”

You gave in to your heart as you closed the refrigerator again, turning to face him and taking only two steps until you were in his arms once again as his lips met yours.

Come and kiss me baby, we don’t need no mistletoe

[someobscurereference]

For one: whenever the concept of the Nohrians meeting the young trio comes up, my first thoughts are 1) Inigo being cripplingly shy and terrified of Xander 2) Severa being Extremely Unreasonable and Aggressive especially toward Camilla and 3) Owain gravitating toward Elise because she's reminiscent of his mother, because he's a mama's boy who probably lost his mom very recently and that's pretty fucked up!!

That being said, I'm screaming at the idea of Owain gravitating toward Elise because mother, Xander because cool sword, and Camilla because cool armor, and Not Trusting Leo because he's a Dark Mage and Dark Mage Means Plegia Means Grima Means Evil (almost always) and Leo being so upset about it. It turns the tables entirely, where Odin was originally the one who thought both Leo and Niles were so cool and they thought he was a weirdo idiot until he proved himself, now he thinks they're creepy and Evil and have to work for his trust. And I will always love the Nohrians realizing the trio were Fucked Up Kids and the idea of them watching the three of them take down a faceless with Brutal efficiency because of how much more dangerous Risen were...I'm so into this. AND!! The trio fucking hating each other!! They're so used to them being Best Friends and Inseparable and understanding each other on a whole different wavelength. And now? Sev and Inigo aren't very kind toward Owain's dramatics, Sev and Owain are Bothered by Inigo's flirtations, and Severa is just so harsh with both of them (and most people). Of all the people they could be stuck with, they would Not choose each other. I'm rambling but I'm so into it I'm so so into it. One of the previous asks you linked spoke a lot about Inigo, but if you could talk a bit more about Severa and Owain? Especially if their adult selves were involved with their lieges and partner retainers and how different the dynamic is now and the way they each react when realizing the trio went through something so clearly screwed up and beyond even what they've seen

(prev ask) Ayyy, glad you got a kick out of all of that, lol. And yes!! Leo Trio origins reversed!! With Niles and Leo being the ones who have to prove themselves to Owain instead of the other way around. And the Trio not getting along!! They're 100% there to save each other when they think they're in mortal danger, but as soon as they realize they're not in Plegia? Don't touch me, don't breath on me, don't look in my direction, any of you. Owain & Inigo can't be alone in a room together or else they'll scuffle, Severa stomps away whenever Inigo tries to compliment her, nobody wants to talk to Owain, etc.

Also sure! I spoke a lot about Inigo in that last ask because I wanted to be clear about what I meant with the shyness thing, but for Severa & Owain...

I don't know if they would have been in romance with their lieges before this! I obviously ship the royals & their retainers, but I don't ever see the appeal of that dynamic in deaging fics? I get the idea of like "oh, this is a new side of my partner I've never seen before," but the deaging part is such a huge part of the plot that I don't really see the benefit to that dynamic in these types of fics.

But just in general! The friendship/platonic shift!

I mentioned before about Camilla trying to dote on little Severa but struggling because Severa rejects her So Hard, lol. In general she'd want to dote on Severa because of her personality and how Severa is a tiny version of her beloved retainer, but the more it becomes clear that Severa has issues (especially re: family, which is a major reason Camilla feels the need to dote on Corrin), the more she wants to spend time with her and make some happy memories with her. Which makes Severa's rejection of this attention even stronger bc who the hell are you to presume you know her? And also you're not her big sister/mom/whoever.

Eventually, I almost feel like Camilla would?? I don't want to say "give up," but eventually you're going to get more flies with honey than vinegar. By which I mean the less Camilla tries to push the relationship, the more open Severa might be to spending time with her. But I'm not sure Camilla would get to this point within the timeframe of the Trio being deaged! I think this would take many days or perhaps even weeks to figure out. If the Trio return to normal before this, I think Camilla might feel different (Hard to say how... maybe guilty??) about the way her Selena dotes on her and wants her attention all the time vs little Severa rejecting her. But!! If the Trio stay deaged for a while and Camilla learns to stop pushing the relationship, Severa may slowly grow to approach Camilla on her own and may then be open to being doted upon once they understand each other more (bc she canonically wants all the foods and fun stuff Camilla is offering; she just wants it from someone she trusts. And primarily from her parents ((see: awakening supports w/ parents)), but they're not here).

tl;dr Camilla would have to go against her doting instincts if she wanted Severa to get comfortable with her. Otherwise Severa would avoid her/take advantage of the things Camilla is offering while not wanting to be near her very much.

Re: Beruka!

Unlike Camilla, who has a lot of sad and sympathetic feelings for Severa, Beruka really leaves feelings out of it. Which is probably to her benefit in this scenario, as she's approaching Severa's trauma's from a logical (perhaps even detachedly relatable) standpoint rather than sympathetic. She's more direct than Camilla, so Severa might be a little more comfortable with her, just because she knows what to expect.

Severa, for her part, may even seek Beruka out once she knows they're partners because (1) she wants to know what sort of person her future partner is and (2) she wants to prove that she's the better retainer than Beruka. Which of course she can't do because (a) Beruka would never compare them like that, nor Camilla and (b) Severa is younger, more hotheaded, and less skilled than her older self, so anything she tries to prove now, she'll probably fail at and will blame on her older self having more experience. This competetive spirit may start as an inferiority complex thing, but with Beruka never really fanning the flames, Severa may eventually calm down about it and just feel more driven to get better on her own/respect Beruka as her partner (sort of like her Cynthia Supports in Awakening, though a little different).

Leo & Owain, I already talked about. Owain will immediately take note of the fact that Leo & Niles are his future lord & partner, which he is very curious about, but once Xander, Camilla, & the other very cool people with melee weapons come into the picture, he's very drawn to them, which makes Leo jealous, lol. Leo dedicates himself to "solving" the deaging issue, using this as an excuse so he doesn't have to spend time around Owain and get compared to his "cooler" siblings. HOWEVER, joke's on him bc the fact he's avoiding Owain means Owain doesn't get the chance to quiz him even more and tell him about how cool Brynhilder is. When this finally happens, Leo feels incredibly foolish for trying to show off for Owain & avoid him in turns. Owain, meanwhile, may or may not have ever picked upon on the fact Leo was feeling weird about him at all (although he will admit he felt nervous around Leo at first bc Pelgian Mage Memories and had to take time to get over that).

Niles is a little hard to consider because I actually think?? He'd be good with young/immature folk when he's genuinely trying to be? (See: Niles's interactions with Elise & Nina). However, he can also be quite cruel to people who don't really deserve it (See: Mozu C & B supports) despite having a motto of only insulting "people who deserve it," (Peri Support). So!! I think Niles's interactions with Owain ultimately come down to how well he respects Odin/how good their relationship was. If they were besties when Odin gets deaged, then I don't think Niles will purposely try to make Owain feel bad, though a lot of what he says with metaphors & double meanings will probably go over Owain's head anyway. I also don't know if he'd purposely go digging for information or not?? Depending on how much he feels asking would be a betrayal to Odin's trust vs his own curiosity and all the hints Owain doesn't realize not to drop?? I think Owain would really determine what Niles does or doesn't learn about him. They have the potential to have a really good talk where Owain talks about his parents' deaths and the struggles he & the kids are going through and Niels talking about his own life on the streets. (BTW, despite Owain literally going through a war & both parent death, I think he might think Niles has the worse situation bc he's never known parental love at all, which baffles Niles).

Similar to Leo, I think Owain would be really cautious around Niles at first, both because he's an intimidating sort and because he takes cues from how everyone acts around Niles too. But!! Also just like Leo, if his future self trusted them, obviously that means something, right? So he'd approach Niles a bit more after a few days of settling in.

Niles & Owain's interactions are really hard to imagine because they depend on so many factors that I haven't decided upon! But hopefully the other ones make sense, lol

Thanks for asking!

[lucywritesreid]

Our own little island

Thank you for all the feedback from my last fic :3 I really don’t have any explanation for this other than....yeah...Spencer during lockdown haha.

Summary: Spencer and Y/N Have been living in their own private bubble during lockdown. YN has discovered a game and initially Spencer shows no interest...

There wasn’t much to say about the last few months other than they had been… weird. Weird on a global scale. You almost couldn’t believe how quickly everything went from normal to complete lockdown and watching the news every night had set you into complete panic mode. Both you and your highly germ-phobic boyfriend were more than happy to comply with the necessary restrictions. Spencer’s rational and calm mindset kept you both prepared and he did everything possible to reduce your anxiety. You would be forever grateful to have him by your side at such a horrible time.

For you the hardest adjustment was not seeing your work friends every day. It was odd to not spend every waking moment surrounded by all the people you loved the most. You didn’t realise just how much you would miss them despite seeing them all the time anyway. Friday night became the highlight. Your team, set up by Garcia, started a weekly quiz whereby everyone joined a Zoom call and one member was chosen to deliver a set of questions. Granted, it took Rossi a few failed attempts to be both seen and heard on camera, but you had all got it working in the end. Garcia’s quiz was based on cute, fluffy cartoon characters, Rossi delivered a mastermind style quiz all about the ratpack, Hotch surprised everyone with an in depth quiz about the employees of the FBI (where you realised he knew way more about personal lives of his colleagues) and you did pop culture through the ages. You had warned Spencer that ‘the history of the atom’ wasn’t in keeping with the Friday night spirit, and despite being met by many groans, he ended up presenting a fun and engaging quiz where losers had to take a shot for every question wrong. No surprise that he was the only one still standing by the end.

 The truth was that despite all the chaos and uncertainty, you realised that you were lucky to have so much time spent with the man you loved. Sure, you worked together, but that was as professional as you both could manage. Stolen kisses at the back of the jet and shoulder squeezes were as close as you could get whilst working. But at home, you both had free reign of each other. You were both night owls, sleeping through most of the sunshine. You spent your evenings playing chess, re-watching old horror movies and having a lot of sex. You were sure that you were keeping your local Thai restaurant in business, living mainly off that and tubs of ice cream. It was almost therapeutic spending your time lounging around in your comfortable clothes. Hours would pass while you both sat reading in silence (you, a few chapters, Spencer, a novel or three…), his arm slowly brushing the inside of your leg as you read. On the more anxious nights, Spencer would do absolutely anything to calm you down, making sure you were okay. He’d perform Shakespeare, teach you how to cheat cards, read to you in different languages and even let you braid the ends of his hair.

 You were very sure you were going to marry Spencer Reid.

 There was one of your hobbies that he didn’t quite understand. In the first few weeks at home, you had invested in a Nintendo Switch, mainly from the push of Garcia but you had been eyeing it up since it first came out. You spent many nights on animal crossing visiting Garcia and her magic candy land island. It was one way to experience the outside world without actually being there. There was something wholly therapeutic about going fishing, planting flowers and giving gifts to your wonderful animal villagers.

 Spencer, of course, didn’t really understand the appeal. Despite having the most wonderful brain you’d ever met, he seemed to have a block when it came to technology. He never discouraged you playing, but always looked over your shoulder with a furrowed brow whenever he saw you.

 “See that, y/n, there’s no way all those fossils would be in such close proximity to one another in such a small area.” He commented on more than one occasion. “What use is archaeology when they are just there on the ground for you to see?”

 “Spence, it’s a fictional world, I really don’t think they took into account geographical locations of fossils…” you couldn’t help but laugh whenever you spoke about it.

 “Don’t even get me started on the physical anatomy of these animals! How disproportioned they are from the real thing! And the colours, y/n! Have you ever met a purple tiger before?”

 You knew that he meant no harm from his remarks and was probably getting enjoyment out of it. So you’d shrug, offer him a turn and wait for some comment about how he was going to read an FBI report from 1987 again, and open your switch back up once he was distracted.

 One night, you had stayed up late to make wishes on your island. You really needed the star fragments to craft your new DIY recipes and had spent hours posed in position, ready to make a wish. You hadn’t realised that you were falling asleep and your switch was falling out of your hand, until…

 “YES! YES! Take that you stupid arachnid!” you heard a shout.

 Waking up and looking to your left, you blinked in amazement to see Spencer sat with your switch gripped between his fingers.

 “Spence? What are you doing? Are you okay?!” Many sleepless nights and bad dreams had left you very susceptible to fear when you heard shouting.

 He looked over to you and his cheeks flushed. “Oh, y/n, honey I didn’t mean to wake you I’m sorry! It’s just you fell asleep with your game in your hand, I went to turn it off and ended up talking about the stars with this wonderful little owl… She just tells you all these facts. And they are accurate, too! I even wished upon a star.”

 “That’s Celeste.” You commented, and yawned. “Spence, what time is it?”

 He squinted at the screen before replying, “4am.”

 You laughed. “And how long have you been playing animal crossing?”

 His focus went back to the screen but he carried on talking to you. “Oh, a few hours now! I’ve just caught a tarantula, the stupid son of a bitch bit me before! Did you know they could bite you in the game? I was just running around trying to get my bearings and it ran up behind me and bit me. But I showed it who’s boss. And hey! It turns out I was wrong about the fossils, in a sense..”

 You raised one eyebrow, “Dr Reid, wrong?”

 “Well, not wrong exactly. It’s still highly unlikely that they would be so close together, so close to houses, and be found in just one dig. But I took one to the museum after I dug it up and was really surprised. I hadn’t realised how accurate the information provided was about these fossils! And the details in the display, too! You’ve got yourself rather an impressive collection, y/n.”

“Mhmm.” Tiredness was setting in but listening to Spencer talk about your game was more than entertaining. You sat up slowly, leaned across and rested your head on his shoulder. “What else have you been up to?”

 “Well I recalculated the position of some of your flowers to maximise chances of getting hybrids. I know purple is your favourite colour so I looked into the best way to get purple flowers!” Spencer was speaking in that quick, animated tone that told you he was really into something. “I even researched the quickest and most beneficial ways of befriending your villagers to maximise the gifts that they give you. I spent a lot of time talking to the Raymond character.”

 “Raymond reminds me of you, y’know. Dapper, sophisticated, looks great in glasses…” you replied, nudging his shoulder with your forehead. “How did you find out all of this?”

 “Well, I read the whole Nookipedia website and that gave me a pretty good idea.” He turned to you and grinned. Of course, the genius had become the master of your favourite game in a matter of hours. “You can test me on any of the villagers’ names and personality types.”

 You looked down and saw piles of notepaper, all scribbled on, splayed out across the bed. You picked one up entitled ‘terraforming.’ Instead of trying to decipher Spencer’s handwriting, you decided to ask him about it. “Spence… what’s all this paper? What are these drawings?” You tilted your head and the paper simultaneously to try and get a better understanding of his scribbles.

 “Oh! I’ve been looking into reshaping your island. I came up with a few designs I thought you might like. My personal favourite is the honeybee, cos I know they are your favourite, so I calculated how we can use the terraforming tool to turn your island into a bee. Garcia would be so jealous and…” he trailed off.

 “What’s the matter?”

 He looked back at you with big puppy dog eyes. He chewed on his bottom lip a little before he spoke. “I’ve gone too far, haven’t I? This was your game, your private space, I never meant to take over. You really have done a great job…”

 All you could do was laugh. You leaned over and planted a reassuring kiss on his cheek. “Honestly? I’m really happy that you’re into this now. It means I can talk to you about it. Just you wait until you see Garcia’s island!”

“Really, you’re not mad at me?”

“It would be impossible to be mad at you, Spence. Maybe we’ll set up your own character now.”

And with that, you kissed him again, nuzzling into the comfort of his arm. “Show me what else you’ve been doing…”

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #529

Top Ten Channel 4 Programmes

I’ve said this many times, but because I often like to tie these lists to things that are happening in the real world, or at least specific dates, it sometimes means that I shunt things around, or have a good idea but it has to get pushed back a bit to make room. So it was a couple of weeks ago, when The Powers That Be decided that for entirely partisan reasons, Channel 4 would be privatised. Like many others, I don’t think this is a good idea; Channel 4 has been home to some remarkable telly for the last thirty-odd years, and the way its funded and the way it develops programmes is not only special and unique, but it’s also specifically designed to foster and promote home-grown content (from the private sector, no less!). Quite simply, I can’t think of an economic or creative reason to privatise Channel 4, unless you stood to gain personally from its sale, or if you felt its exemplary news coverage would become more cowed and fearful under a corporate hand.

Hmmm.

Anyway, all this news has kind of blown over for a bit, as we focus once again on horrors abroad and righteous fury here at home. But it stuck with me, because I wanted to do something to celebrate, to praise Channel 4. For most of my life – certainly the bits where I think of me as me, which is to say from about the age of ten onwards – Channel 4 has been my favourite channel. It showed edgier stuff, funnier stuff; great home-grown comedies and quiz shows, awesome imported stuff. There was a while there where 6pm on a weeknight was almost guaranteed to give you some good stuff, and the whole “comedy from 9pm” thing on a Friday night was a reason to stay in when I was still too young to go out. They showed great films (hell, they made great films), they had interesting and provocative dramas, and – this is genuinely important – sometimes they were a bit rude.

More than just the quality of their programming, though, they shaped me, helped me foster my own identity. I very quickly gravitated towards Channel 4 and BBC2 as I entered my teens, finding interest and solace in the quirkier and edgier stuff they offered, away from the mainstream. Below you’ll find ten series that I adored, and that were hugely influential, and I’ll try to explain why; but beyond that, Channel 4 was a window to a wider world. I graduated from Roald Dahl to stuff like Michael Crichton and Stephen King almost overnight, I started reading Empire magazine, and I’d watch weird films on Channel 4, strange documentaries, programmes fronted by Jonathan Ross, who’d interview scabrous comedians I’d never heard of. It’s all wrapped up, for me, with discovering Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith, with hearing Jarvis Cocker and Nick Cave for the first time. Channel 4 was the gateway drug to adolescence, and I don’t know what that would be for kids nowadays. TikTok, presumably.

So here we go. Ten programmes from a fantastic channel. Oh, and by the way, they’ve got so much good stuff to choose from, that I’ve specifically isolated home-grown hits. Stuff commissioned (as far as I understand it) by Channel 4 themselves. Perhaps later I’ll do one about acquisitions and foreign imports, because the importance of watching US comedies on a Friday night can not be overstated. But that’s why Friends isn’t on the list.

Spaced (1999-2001): I came to this a little late, after it had wrapped up, but it immediately became an all-timer. Not just the way it nailed both late-nineties life (all videogames and X-Files posters), not just its depiction of early adulthood, and not just its hilarious scripts, full of clever wordplay, pop culture references, and great gags. It was the style of it all. There was ambition here exploding every which way, with young creatives who wanted to seize it all. it was unlike anything I’d seen on British TV, and in a way it still is; it’s sort of unsurprising that so many of its architects have gone on to be legitimate Hollywood talents, although it’ll always be weird for me to see Tim From Spaced stood next to Tom Cruise.

Vic Reeves Big Night Out (1990-91): “What’s at the end of the stick, Vic?!” Talk about stuff you’ve never seen before, this was a revelation. The most surreal, hilarious, and just plain daft comedy show imaginable; strange games, odd masks, glorious Teesside accents. I was immediately hooked on this weirdo done up like a fifties lounge singer and his strange compatriots, and I followed Vic and Bob avidly from that moment on. they might have refined the act in The Smell of… but its glorious, ramshackle origins were something to behold.

Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace (2004): another one I didn’t see till later (quite a bit later, as it was introduced to me when I was at CITV) but blimey, what a good ‘un. Like Spaced, it’s astounding how well it was put together, the pitch-perfect spoof of cheesy eighties TV, of horror movies, of pulp horror; but also just the comedy, the silliness, the gags. In a way it was straighter than Spaced but also more arch, more surreal; moments like the bicycle chase are seared in my brain, lines like “I know writers who use subtext, and they’re all cowards” still generate a giggle. And what a cast!

Father Ted (1995-98): not a revolutionary new format like Spaced or Darkplace, but as a traditional old-school sitcom, Father Ted was nigh-on perfect. Four perfectly cast leads, and – in Ted and Dougal – one of the great self-important buffoon/absolute colossal idiot double-acts of all time. With an Irish background, and having spent a lot of time over there, the various gags about parochialism, Irish culture, and Catholicism really hit home. Above all, though, it’s funny; it’s a bit surreal, it’s got a slightly nasty streak, but basically it’s hilarious. And for that I do have to give credit to Graham Linehan; his script, with Arthur Matthews, is genius, and makes his subsequent descent into batshit bigotry all the more upsetting.

Brass Eye (1997-2001): I’ve always loved fake news; or, rather, programmes that purported to be real. Here we have it done expertly, in a way I’d never seen before. The cod-seriousness, the sensational headlines, the stories that were only just too silly… but mostly it was the pranks and the stunts, the roping in of hapless celebrities, the “made up drug” of it all. It was genius, true, and it was done so damn well; but as a teenager, I adored it because I got the joke. I understood what it was doing and why, and that made me feel smart at an age when you like to feel you’ve gotten there under your own steam.

Whose Line is it Anyway? (1988-99): nothing fancy here, just comedy. Out-and-out, laugh-out-loud comedy. Four comedians given a premise, and away they go, improvising outrageous and hilarious flights of fancy. I loved this so much; I immediately became a huge fan of the likes of Mike McShane, Josie Lawrence, and Tony Slattery. More than that, I wanted to be on the show. It’s probably too much to say watching it gave me the acting bug, but the thought of improvising like that, of being that spontaneously funny, stuck with me. They could really bring this one back. I wish they would.

Black Books (2000-04): another delightfully surreal, skewed view of reality, and another one that’s a joy to revisit as we see the burgeoning careers of film and TV superstars. Dylan Moran’s Bernard Black is a wonderfully wicked creation, a mix of apathy, misanthropy, and wine. The supporting cast of Tamsin Grieg and Bill Bailey offer suitably different shades of sunshine and shadow, and the whole thing just falls together wonderfully. It’s bloody funny is what I mean.

The Big Breakfast (1992-2002): yeah, it’s not all sitcoms round ‘ere. I wondered which I liked best: the breakfast show or the evening show? This or TFI Friday? In the end I plumped for this, a revolution in TV formatting, a handheld whirligig of a wakeup call. Very bright, very loud, very fast, this was the perfect antidote to the smartly-dressed-people-sitting-down format that dominated breakfast telly (and still does, really); a kind of half-grown-up version of Live and Kicking, and much closer in tone to radio breakfast shows. And it had Zig and Zag, for god’s sake. What more do you want in a morning?

Eurotrash (1993-2004): ahem. Yeah, it was a bundle of smut, but it was done so entertainingly: German nudists given thick, matter-of-fact Brummie accents; stories about poop and saunas and folklore, or all three at once; Antoine de Caunes and Jean-Paul Gaultier (Gaultier for goodness’ sake!) trading camp bon-mots. It was so good-natured in its celebration of weirdness and muckiness, an eye-opener in more ways than one. It’s a friendly, warm embrace of a show, deliriously camp and resoundingly sex-positive, but also charming and quaint.

The Last Resort with Jonathan Ross (1987-88): if I’m honest, the show I most associate with pre-mainstream Wossy is Mondo Rosso, the fabulous BBC2 late-night series that dug into the weird filmland esoterica that he so adores. But it was here, in Ross’ debut, that I first appreciated (at far too young an age! I watched this when it first went out!) his humour, smarts, and cheek. Honestly, thirty years ago, he really was something new, a British spin on an American-style late-night host. He interviewed interesting people, told great jokes, and really was a modernised and youth-centric old-school presenter; Wogan for the Young Ones generation. I followed his early Channel 4 career before he jumped ship for the Beeb, eventually becoming Mr. Light Entertainment. I still prefer him when he veers into the tall grass to talk about something odd and random that he really loves, rather than when he’s interviewing Adele or whatever.

There you go, Channel 4. You may notice the focus on comedy and light entertainment here; I think that’s because the dramas, whilst I enjoyed them, came and went for me, even the really, really good ones; whereas the comedy just got sort of wedged in my brain, often watched over and over. So sorry about that, especially when you think about the great Russel T. Davies dramas. But anyway: Channel 4 is just great as it is, so let’s not cock it up.

[satyr-syd]

Seconds after Sero stepped into the blazing heat of the summer sun, sweat already pooling at the base of his spine under his thin tank-top, it began to snow.

Chilly pin-pricks dotted the back of his back. A gust of wind manifested out of nowhere and whipped against his tragically exposed sides. He held out his hand and watched as tiny white specks melted on his sweaty palm. Sero looked up, but the sun still beat down, unhindered by a single wisp of cloud. Goosebumps pimpled down his arms.

Well this sucks.  

He was supposed to meet Todoroki in the quad five minutes ago for their daily study session (Sero had many charming qualities, and being fashionably late was one of them). Ever since their dorm’s AC had been tragically annihilated in an acid-related incident that Sero had absolutely no part in whatsoever, the quad was the best place to study. Outside, there was at least the suggestion of a breeze.

Okay, so it was a bit more than a suggestion now. More like a firm instruction, edging on harsh demand.

Sero rubbed his arms together, elbows tight against his poor exposed sides. Man oh man was he not a fan of winter. Winter meant trying to find the one jacket in the entire mall that suited his specific physique and hoping they still stocked it in his size. Where did the snow even come from? Why did it have to be now of all times? If he tried to make himself a jacket out of his tape would it actually work this time?

While Sero stood there freezing his ass off like an idiot instead of like, going back inside, a white-and-red head made its way through the quad to him.

read on ao3

fic art by @kim-namzoom!!!

“Hanta,” Todoroki greeted. His hair, grown lovingly past his shoulders in the spirit of spite (“My father despises it,” Todoroki had announced proudly after returning from winter break their second year), laid over his shoulder in a loose braid. Sero wondered who’d braided it for him. It looked nice.

By then, an icy sheen coated the ground and the wind blew loud enough to howl in his ear, and the nails on Sero’s fingers began to purple. “Dude, is this you?” Sero asked.

Todoroki shook his head. He stood close, nearly shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t know how to make snow.”

“Huh,” Sero said. “You should learn how. Then we could have snow cones like every day.”

Todoroki held out his hand - the right one - next to Sero’s.Whereas the snowflakes melted into watery mush in Sero’s palm after a few moments, they held their shape in Todoroki’s, forming a lacy layer of crystals over his slender fingers.

“Do you like snowcones?” Torodoki asked.

Sero shrugged. “Dunno, never had one.”

“Neither have I.”

Present Mic’s voice burst through the loudspeakers. “THERE HAS BEEN A QUIRK MISHAP! SORRY FOR THE UNFORESEEN WEATHER, KIDDOS! PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY BACK TO YOUR ROOMS WHILE WE FIGURE OUT WHAT’S HAPPENING.”

The few students still standing outside slowly filed indoors.

“Maybe one of the first years?” Sero asked.

“Probably,” Todoroki said. He held up his hand. “They’re the ones most lacking in control...and yet, overflowing with arrogance.”

“Wow, sounds like someone I knew in first year.”

Todoroki nodded sagely. “Bakugou was certainly a handful.”

“I know you know who I was talking about,” Sero said, poking his shoulder.

Todoroki smirked. It was just the slight quirk of his lips, barely visible unless you knew to look for it. Sero knew to look. He’s seen that smile a lot, these days. Which was great, because Todoroki had a wonderful smile, but also not great, because whenever he made Todoroki smile, his heart doki-doki ’d so hard that he was positive Todoroki could hear it.

See, asking Todoroki to tutor him had been a highly calculated move that had not one, but two purposes: first, Sero was, is, and (if we’re being honest) probably always will be a terrible student and if there was any chance of him getting decent grades his last year of high school, he needed a tutor. He could have asked the other top-scoring students, but Momo and Kendo were too busy (he wasn’t the only idiot scrambling for a passing grade), Bakugou was too explodey, Iida was too boring, and Midoriya was too muttery. Todoroki was none of those things and also the hottest of the bunch, which lead to purpose number two: as his tutor, he and Todoroki could spend more time alone together. Why? Because six months had passed since Sero admitted to himself that he was no better than every other girl in school and was totally crushing on the Icy-hot hero Shouto and now he’s tired of pining like some basic bitch.

“Let’s study in my room,” Todoroki said.

Sero had been to Torodoki’s room like, a ton of times, but his heart still skipped a beat every time Todoroki invited him. “Lead the way, sensei,” he said.

“I’m not your sensei.”

“Your teaching prowess says otherwise, sensei.”

“Call me sensei one more time and I’ll have Bakugou quiz you on polar coordinates.”

“Now that’s just cruel,” Sero said. He spun in front of Todoroki. “But I don’t think you have the heart to follow through on that - ” Sero tapped his nose to the beat of his killing blow “ -  sen-sei.”

Todoroki stared at him for a moment, pouting, cheeks pink from the cold. Then he pulled out his phone and began texting Bakugou.

“Noooooo shit I’m sorry I’ll stop! It was just a joke!”

This is it,  Sero told himself.  Snow storm wailing outside, holed up in Todoroki’s room, just the two of us - this is my moment.

Todoroki’s room hadn’t changed much since their first year. Decorative pot of bamboo in the corner (fake), tall, dark wooden drawers, a low desk free of clutter, tatami flooring, somehow. That ugly checkered mat by his desk. But where there once was one chair, now there were two. A pair of crocs (never worn) sat in front of his dresser. And on the dresser, crowding the decorative orb, half a dozen framed pictures: Todoroki, Midoriya, and Bakugou at the end of their internship with Endeavor; their class picture from last year; Natsuo and Fuyumi showering Todoroki in hugs; a selfie Sero took of him and Todoroki on their first day of their summer internship with Edgeshot.

There was also a behemoth purple beanbag sitting by the shoji screen. It looked wildly out of place with the rest of his traditional set-up. Sero dragged it over to Todoroki’s desk and flopped down into it.

Over the next twenty minutes, they reviewed that day’s lessons (apparently it’s like, good practice to review what you’ve learned that same day, which was annoying, but Sero’s grades had been going up, so whatever). Todoroki explained over and over until Sero actually understood how to convert Cartesian coordinates to polar coordinates. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to explain so many times if Sero had listened carefully, but, well, it was hard with Todoroki talking to him in the soothing, patient tone he took on when he was teaching. He just looked so cute with his brow furrowed, thinking up a new way to explain a concept that would penetrate Sero’s thick skull. Sero liked to think he had built up a tolerance to buff, attractive men over his nearly-three years at U.A., but he was still weak to Todoroki’s hands, to the way his tight t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders.

The fact that he was cold as shit wasn't helping him focus either. Faint shadows of falling snow danced along the translucent paper walls of the shoji screen, taunting him.

But hey, at least he vaguely understood the polar coordinate system.

“You know, you’re pretty good at this,” Sero said after he finally solved a difficult math problem all on his own. “I bet the others would die to get their hands on your notes.”

“Guess they’ll die, then.”

Sero snickered. “That’s rough, dude.”

Todoroki shrugged. “I’m not going to put effort into something I don’t like to do when I know they won’t appreciate it.”

Sero freezes. “Wait - you don’t like tutoring?”

“Well - ”

“Oh shit, am I making you do something you hate? Bro, why didn’t you tell me, I wouldn’t have - ”

“It’s different when it’s you,” Todoroki said sharply.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell when Todoroki was joking, or if he was actually serious. The look in those blue-brown eyes, though, showed his resolve loud and clear.

Todoroki immediately averted his eyes. “I like helping you,” he muttered, “so it’s fine.”

“Oh.”

Not for the first time, Sero wondered: why him? Todoroki had many other friends ...maybe friends that were smarter than he was and didn’t need tutoring, granted, but other friends he could be hanging out with. What’s the appeal? Was it his wonderfully terrible sense of humor? Was it the muscles he totally wasn't showing off? Was it because they shared the same taste in manga (oh yeah - he should ask Todoroki if he finished with week’s Shonen Champion)? Was it because he, unlike at least half of their year, was capable of talking at a normal volume? Over his time at U.A., Sero had gained more confidence in himself than he ever thought he would, but when it came to Todoroki, he still felt...small. Unsure if the light that shone from a great hero like Todoroki drowned out his own little spark.

Usually things between them were pretty chill, but after that comment, a weird kind of tension settled over the room. Not bad, just quiet, like when there's a sleeping cat on your laps and you're afraid any movement will wake it.

Pretty soon, though, Sero began to shiver. He couldn’t help it - there was a winter storm outside, apparently, and he was in a tank top and jorts, and seriously, did  no one  turn the heat on? Did no one turn the heat on  and  the AC miraculously began working again?

Todoroki was staring at him, too. God, he must have thought Sero was some kind of pansy, getting cold so easily, unable to regulate his own temperature like  some  people (though he guessed in that case, most people would be pansies to Todoroki).

13) Convert 2x−5x   3   =1+xy into polar coordinates.

Sero tapped his pen against his paper. Todoroki’s gaze followed the movement, then returned to his face. Sero could practically feel his impatience.

Sero put his pen down and stretched his arms over his head. Todoroki looked away.  Got’em.  

“You know...” Sero said. Todoroki glanced back at him. “...staring at me isn’t going to help me solve this stupid question any faster.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Todoroki said, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Sero grinned. Anyone who knew him well can tell you that the Cool and Cold hero Shouto was just as petty as any mortal. Probably pettier, in fact. “You totally were.”

Todoroki frowned. “You were shivering.”

“Yeah, wonder why.”

Todoroki’s gaze shifted over to him. He looked Sero up and down. Sero tried and failed not to shiver. Todoroki’s clenched jaw softed and his eyes smiled and he stared - this time, he  was definitely staring - Sero felt his face heating up (well, that’s one way to get warm).

Wordlessly, Todoroki got up and sat down next to him on the beanbag. Sero fell against him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, the tips of Todoroki’s braid tickling his shoulder.

Sero froze up (pun intended). His heart pounded in his ears. But he knew what Todoroki was doing, so he didn’t feel guilty as he curled into his side, basking in the warmth like a cat in a strip of sunlight. And the warmth from Todoroki’s left side began to melt him down.  

He pressed his cheek against Todoroki’s shoulder and said, “I thought you didn’t like people using you as a space heater.”

“Most people.”

Sero smirked. “So you’re saying I’m special?”

Todoroki looked at him and smiled. “Didn’t I say that earlier?”

Ohhhh man oh fuck. How could he just say that, looking at him like that, like he was more than just the plainest guy in class, like he really was special? Sero was known for keeping his cool, for being the chillest dude in the group, but with someone as special as Todoroki looking at him like  he’s  special…fuck.

“I mean, well, like that was just about tutoring and not, you know - ”  nearly sitting in my fucking lap,   “  - sharing personal space.”

“You looked cold,” Todoroki said. He could feel Todoroki’s breath on his cheek. “I didn’t want you to be distracted.”

“I’m a lot more distracted now.”

A part of him cringed as the words left his mouth. Oh god, why did I say that, was that even sexy?  But another part of him pushed that part down and shushed it. This is the opening we’ve been waiting for, it said. Even if Todoroki turned him down, at least he could graduate without any regrets. Maybe he could even tell his grandkids that he once received a  personal  rejection from the great hero Shouto.

“Oh.” Todoroki said, shoulder tensing where Sero leaned against him. Sero braced himself mentally, the same way he did before he launched himself off a building, preparing for the inevitable gut-plunge as he swooped toward the ground. “...me too.”

And there’s the thrill of the upward swing.

Sero was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have shot his shot if he’d thought he had no chance. Still, hearing Todoroki say he feels it too took him by surprise in the best way possible. Like tasting the sweet tang of umiboshi in the center of a plain-looking onigiri. Like acing a test you thought you failed. Like snow in June.

The air between them was electric but still. Did that count as admitting their feelings? What should he say now? Where were they supposed to go from here? All Sero wanted to do his grab Todoroki’s hand and hold his stupid pretty face in his hands and kiss him silly, but they should probably like, talk about things -

“Hanta.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Oh thank fuck - yes please.”

And then he was kissing Todoroki Shouto, son of number one hero Endeavor, one of the Big Three most promising students at the most prestigious hero school in the country. His lips were soft but clumsy, shy but adamant as he pressed against him. Sero cupped his face and felt the slight inhale of Shouto’s gasp. Despite being pinned down by the weight of Shouto’s chest on his and trapped between the strong forearms framing his face, the light that perpetually emanated from the great hero Shouto wasn’t overwhelming. Sero was warmed by his light instead of cowed by it. In that moment, Shouto’s light drew out the best in him - and his little spark ignited.  

Yet, that question that always nagged him surfaced again: Why me?      

As Shouto’s kisses began to trail down his neck, Sero figured he could ask why later - when Shouto wasn’t busy showing him it’s you, it’s you.      

Even with the frozen tundra battering just outside, Sero was burning up again.