#you get up in the middle of the night and see just a pair of glowing in the darkness

[tbaluver]

hiyaa! can i request scenarios with the lads boys where MC flashes them in the middle of an argument >< also love your writing so much!! it's actually giving me inspiration to go back to writing myself adjhsfhlds

Flashing Them During An Argument- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader tags: slightly suggestive, not so serious argument, silly a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ omg thank you so much you're so sweet my angel (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ and you def should whenever you can! i hope i get to read whatever you create or hear your ideas ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) also i swear someone req this too and i dont know if im imagining it or i just cant find it(╥﹏╥) anyways i hope this was alright and that you enjoy reading!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ ty to my beta reader MWAH @ilovemitsuya any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY

You two had been going back and forth for what felt like hours, trying to decide on what to eat for dinner. Every suggestion he gave was close enough to what you were craving but either it was too far or you just didn’t like the area it was in

The stores were closing soon and you both still couldn’t agree and the frustration was creeping in. Before he gives another suggestion and tries to persuade you, you cut him off by lifting up your shirt with nothing underneath. He didn’t even hesitate, his eyes immediately dropping and feasting on the soft mounds that sit oh so perfectly. He doesn’t even remember what restaurants he suggested, he just knew how enticing they looked.

“So..let’s go to my restaurant?”

“huh..?” He blinked a few times, his gaze still locked on the now covered skin but he can still catch a glimpse of your nipples peeking through your shirt. “oh yeah..sure..” He trails off, his mind completely consumed by how soft they looked.

“okay! let’s get- Xavier!” Before you could even get up, he gently pins you back down, his needy hands snaking up into your shirt.

Zayne:

It started when you gently told him he should get ready to go to bed, it was already getting late. You loved your boyfriend deeply and you admired his passion and dedication to his work but it was clear that he was pushing himself too hard again. He promised he’d finish this last report and he’ll join you later but that was exactly what he said after the last five reports.

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the deep bags beneath them. All the signs of his late night shifts, back to back operations, and countless hours of overtime in the past few days showed. His eyes fluttered shut just for a second, begging to stay closed, only for them to open again as he tried to push through.

You approached him again, urging him to go to bed. You told him he was being stubborn and how those reports could wait but of course, he countered back saying that you didn’t need to stay up and wait for him and that you should be getting some rest too.

The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes. But before he delivers another witty comeback, you lifted up your shirt, immediately silencing him. His eyes travel from your face down to your soft breast, losing his original train of thought and thought about how they sit so perfectly to him. They don’t linger for too long as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Zayne tries to regain his thoughts and you fail to notice the small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he shakes his head. “Just..” He sighs, “...Please, you don’t need to wait for me,” He said softly, standing up from his chair as he approached you. “I suppose I’m overdue for a long needed rest then right?” He whispers, his hands sneaking up inside your shirt.

Rafayel:

You were late, again. The mission took longer than expected and you already knew that Rafayel would be upset when you got home and sure enough, you were right. He didn’t bother to greet you the moment you stepped inside the house. His back was turned to you, ‘focused’ on his sketching. All the responses you got a dismissive “hmph” and a side pout that you’re clearly familiar with.

You gave him a moment to cool off as you slipped into something more comfortable, peeling off your hunter’s uniform before approaching him again. This time, you made an effort to apologize in front of him but he pretended you weren’t even there. “Huh..Do I have some bubbles in my ear? I swear I heard something..” He mumbles, pretending there was absolutely no one in front of him.

This escalates into you two having a back and forth, explaining how your phone died so you couldn’t text him and his responses were rather sarcastic, saying how fishes would’ve started walking on land before you’d ever show up on time. Both of you were exhausted, frustration bubbled inside of you as you paced around, groaning. In a last attempt to get his attention, you stepped back in front of him, lifting your shirt up without a word to flash your breasts in front of him.

His eyes widened, his breath hitching as his gaze slowly trails down. “You-” He shakes his head, fighting back his mind that’s screaming FLASH ME AGAIN. He’s trying to stay strong but unfortunately this sea god is not the strongest soldier when it comes to you. “Oh yeah? Well two can play that game cutie!” He huffs, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

Sylus:

He wouldn’t tell you a thing about his new mission and it was bothering you. How far was it going to be? Who was going to be involved? Nothing. He refused to budge, his lips sealed tighter than usual. Every time you asked, he deflected with vague answers. Every time you offered to help, he would tell you it's alright and that he has everything handled.

“It’s just a short trip.”

But you knew better that a short trip doesn’t involve secrecy. It was probably bigger than that. The tension between you was growing, both of you refusing to give in. But before he could even hint at how dangerous his short trip might be, you lift your shirt up, cutting him off mid sentence. It was a last and desperate attempt for sure to regain his attention, your boobs falling out and flashing Sylus in all it's glory.

His eyes widened for a moment, an amused smirk tugged at his lips as he watched you slowly lower it back down. “Oh? Is this your new counterattack?” He teases, inching closer to you. “I think one move isn’t going to easily take me down. What do you think?” His long fingers twirl the hem of your shirt teasingly. “Amuse me with more and I might just give in.”

Caleb:

clean up on aisle caleb’s pants!

You definitely caught him off-guard from the way his eyes shamelessly looked down immediately the moment you lifted up your shirt to reveal your exposed skin. The way you cut him off his sentence as he almost chokes on his own saliva.

“um..umm..” He stammered, attempting to look at you but his eyes betray him, flickering back down to your exposed skin. He fought the urge, his gaze shifting up and down but he was unable to tear his eyes away, his cock twitching in his pants. 

What was the argument even about? He doesn’t even remember what he said to you a few minutes ago and he doesn’t even remember what color your pants were. He didn’t even notice that you’d already lowered your hands, his gaze burning through the thin fabric as his mind lingered on the bare skin he’d seen. His thoughts of kneading your breasts were cut off when you called out to him.

“Can we do it Caleb?” His eyes snap back up to meet yours, the hypnotizing sight of your exposed skin covered and his mind slowly return back to reality.

“Of course, we can do it anytime pipsqueak,” He replies, a soft smile on his lips, completely unaware of what he'd agreed to. You could’ve signed him up for a cilantro eating contest and he’d win just for you. Whatever you want and say, he’ll do it for you.

[devilfic]

❝domesticated❞

plot: on valentine's day, bruce leaves you high and dry. you don't forgive easy. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: established relationship, a little suggestive, reader tortures bruce for superheroing on date night, minor violence (reader presses on his bruises but, of course, he's into it), yearning bruce, he wants that cookie so mf bad. words: 1.4k.

a/n: just like bruce I am also late for valentine's day :D dealing with major writer's block but I was reminded of the bed scene in challengers and couldn't shake it.

Bruce rarely allows himself to be like this. Even when he’s got a knife gut-deep, cornered on all sides, he never lets himself get this weak. This mindless. This depraved.

But here he is, and here you are—smiling tightly. It gnaws at his pride, begging him to be honest with himself as he collapses on the foot of the bed. The pain of landing on his bruises does nothing to sober him as he begins to crawl up to you. Your knees are pressed to your chest, but the closer he gets, the more they part, allowing him to drag his upper body up and into your lap where he rests. His face presses into your stomach. You can feel the low rumble in his chest. One of your hands sinks into his hair and he nuzzles a little closer to you, “Bad day?”

Your tone is just slightly mocking. Just enough to agitate him, but not enough for him to regain his sense. He grits his teeth and nods, and the action has his cheek rubbing against your warm skin.

When he props his chin up, you’re not looking at him but the book in your other hand. You’re close to the end judging by the last half-inch of paper steadied between your fingers. His deep sigh does nothing to stir your sympathy. “It was all gone.”

“Hm?”

“The panna cotta. You said you’d save me some.”

“Oh,” you say belatedly, clearly in the middle of a rousing scene, “sorry, must’ve ate it all.”

“All of it?”

“I invited my friends over after you left. Guess I just lost track of it.”

He knew that, and you probably knew that he knew that. No one came and went in the penthouse without him knowing. He’d gotten the notification that several of your close friends had arrived a quarter to nine, and had only left an hour ago. The timing was impeccable. Of course you knew him well, and of course you’d make sure it was just the two of you when he inevitably came back from patrol. It doesn’t make the craving he'd looked forward to satiating go away.

And he knows he has no right to be upset. He’d left the panna cotta (and you) behind for—he twists his arm a bit and it twinges with a sharp pain—for this.

You don’t even look his way when he lets out a pained gasp.

Bruce presses his cheek to your stomach again, and his fingers travel under your sweater to sap the warmth for his own when you abruptly pull your hand from his hair to shove his away. He freezes, only hearing your voice grumbling out a “’S cold.”

Fuck. “I’m sorry.” He forces his fingers into the duvet to warm them, but he isn’t confident you’ll let him try again even if they were warm enough. His head in your lap was all he could get, apparently. All he could get without an apology. A proper apology.

Of course, his pride resurfaces then. He wants to be stubborn about it. You knew the city was important to him, that it was a priority. He’d hero’d away from plenty of dates to save the city from collapse and you’d always understood. Why was now any different?

But deep down, past the thorny pride and hunger and longing, is the truth: a burning city and patrol as usual were two very different things. Especially on February 14th. He’d fucked up.

When his fingers are significantly warm enough, he places both hands on your thighs, pressing his thumbs into the meat of them and rubbing in circles. He turns his head just in time to catch your eyebrow twitch, but otherwise, you continue to ignore him. He presses his chin into your stomach and hums against you. “Did you have fun?”

He sees you swallow, then smile. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t want them to leave.”

Something indignant pulls at his insides at that. “You should have them over more often.”

“It’s hard.” The hand that had been in his hair, that had shoved him away, rises and he thinks you might touch him again, but it floats past him to flip to the next page in your book. “The timing and all. I never know when you’re gonna be here or not.” And finally, finally, you look at him. Oh, you’re really pissed.

“I can… I can try—“

“Can you?”

Your tone stings, piercing him right between the ribs. He wants to burrow into you and hide, but instead he catches the whine rising in the back of his throat and shifts against the sheets. You watch him resist a squirm, but he knows you can feel his grip on your thighs getting stronger. You go back to reading your book.

With his heart beating fast against the mattress, Bruce groans low in his throat and drops his lips to your inner thigh, placing hurried kisses against your skin. He hears you call his name but he doesn’t respond, except maybe to spread his kisses to your navel, traveling across to the other thigh. Eventually, he feels your hand in his hair again, but it’s yanking him away from your skin and he is determined not to let you. He grabs your wrist and kisses that instead, traveling up to your elbow as he begins to crawl over you. It takes your thumb pressing into the bruise on his shoulder to shock him out of his stupor. He breaks away with a hot whine that he wouldn’t dare let anyone else hear. On good days, even you wouldn’t hear him making sounds like this. Looking gutted like this. He is well and truly fucked.

You grip his face in two hands, holding him far enough away that he can’t swoop in for a kiss again. He lets you manhandle him, falling against you with all his weight. “Say it or I’m going to bed.” His ego makes another appearance underneath the yearning. You must see the internal conflict because your eyes narrow. “You’re unbelievable—“

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, a little muffled from the way you’re squishing his cheeks together, “I shouldn’t have left.”

You hold, perhaps waiting for an excuse to follow, and that sours him even more. Welllllllll and truly fucked. “Yeah? Why not?”

His nose scrunches. “…I promised I wouldn’t be back late.”

“And what time is it now?”

His eyes flicker over to the clock on your bedside, reading back 3:20 in analog. “Late.”

You shift to holding his face with one hand, pressing your nails into the skin of his cheeks. The other hand goes for one of his bruises again and he only has the heart to writhe a little bit before you’re pressing on it. “And was it worth it?”

Bruce shakes his face from your grip, dropping his mouth to your shoulder to kiss (and bite, especially when you don’t stop digging into his bruise). His head is foggy with guilt and regret and the milk and honey of your earlier bath. He’s not usually this crass, but he hisses out a “hell no” that gets his feelings across just fine.

“It won’t happen again, will it?” That gives him pause. You feel him still against you. Forcing him back to see his face, you notice he struggles to hold your gaze. He’s making an attempt, you can tell, to think about it. “Bruce.” He looks at you helplessly. “Am I asking for too much?”

You’d told him time and time again that if he wanted this to work, an hour was what you needed. One hour, however he could fit it in. Tonight, he’d promised you that, and couldn’t even follow through.

You’re not asking this because you’re worried. He can hear the quiet threat underneath, the meaning that lines his veins with ice: that, if it was too much, there was only one solution.

Once upon a time, the answer would’ve been simple. His pride knows that, knows that’s why it rallied and roared even as it now weakly gives into you, curling into your palm. Domesticated. You’ve done something irreversible to him.

He’s sure you can see the moment he concedes, laying down his weapons at your feet, because you finally let up on his shoulder. You’re the one who swoops in for a kiss this time, taking his tongue into your mouth just as he settles fully above you. He feels something shut off in his brain, something that would have been gnawing at him until it reached bone before. It’s quiet. Sometimes, he forgets the numbing pleasure that giving into you offers until it warms his skin again.

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 5 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 7k

A/N: Hello people!!! I present you the longest chapter up until now. I don't even know how it got to this word count but I had a lot of fun writing it anyway!! OH MY GOD THAT'S A LOT OF NOTES Y'ALL 😭😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! This fic is receiving so much love both here and on AO3. I'm getting emotional 🥹🥹 Anyways!! Enjoy <3

⤕  Chapters: check masterlist in bio!  ⤕ Also on AO3

Richter’s incessant talking was starting to piss Annette off.

She wasn’t going to tell him, obviously – not because she didn’t have the courage to do it. It was because she knew the reason for her annoyance wasn’t exactly Richter’s voice, nor the voices of the people around her.

It was the spirits’ voices.

They’d been… popping up incessantly ever since that moment at the clearing. Annette was used to seeing spirits to a certain degree; her connection to the other side was part of her powers, part of who she was, after all. She learned to not be afraid of them. She learned to accept her ancestors, to pay attention to their whispers and the messages they carried.

And yet… they’ve never been so restless like that.

Nor so noisy.

And certainly not so clear.

Back in Saint-Domingue, when Annette started to explore her powers, she’d often feel… presences. They caused goosebumps, whispered words in her mind. Sometimes, she’d have strange dreams that carried hidden meanings. When those occurrences became too frequent to be brushed off anymore, Annette opened up to Cécile. Her mentor then explained that it was not only normal, but a privilege; as her abilities blossomed, her ancestors would get closer to her – offering advice, warnings, and even reprimands when necessary.

With time, she started to see figures with the corner of her eyes. Silhouettes in the dark. They never scared her. She knew they were part of her family – just a glimpse of her large family tree, generations of spirits that went all the way to the other side of the ocean, staying beside her even after death… supporting her in her fight for freedom.

Well.

They were starting to scare her now.

Why did they look so angry? Why did they become so clear out of sudden? These weren’t just silhouettes anymore, she could see them as easily as Richter beside her. In fact, some looked so real that they could pass as any other living person; the only indicative that they didn’t belong to this world were the faint transparency of their bodies and the soft glow around them.

And worst of it all – she could not understand a word of what they were saying. Their whispers were unintelligible.

If these really were her ancestors trying to bring a message, why couldn’t they be clear about it?

...Were they even her ancestors? Were they even real? What if she got trapped in an enemy spell, causing her to see illusions?

Annette wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to they them to shut up and leave her alone. Hell – she was all worried about Ruby earlier that day, as the girl seemed so distressed to be in a crowded city, and yet Annette herself wasn’t feeling much better than her at all.

The sensory overload was so bad that she didn’t see a prominent rock on the pavement and tripped on it, almost falling face down in the middle of the street.

Richter caught her in time.

His hand was quick to take her arm in a gentle, yet firm grip. His blue eyes were even rounder than usual. “Oh! Are you okay?”

The action brought Annette back to reality – and also brought back that feeling she was trying hard to ignore.

The girl straightened her position, stepping away from him rapidly. It was stupid how she already felt her cheeks heat up with such a simple touch of his… but it was becoming a frequent occurrence ever since she accidentally held his hand at the clearing, creating a bit of an… awkward situation for them both.

One more embarrassing thing these spirits made her do.

“Yes, thank you,” she brushed it off the best she could before she continued to walk.

If Richter noticed her reaction, he didn’t let it show. The Belmont boy let a tired sight. “I didn’t expect Paris would be this big,” he muttered tiredly. “I thought when he got here, we were practically at our destination. But… we’ve been walking for hours already.”

Annette had to agree. They’d been walking all morning and this Louvre palace was yet to reveal itself. She even wondered if Alucard was sure of where they were going; after all, she was aware that other palaces existed in Paris. What if Louvre wasn’t the correct one?

“You’re not familiar with Paris? I thought you’d been here before,” she asked.

“I’ve only been here once, and I didn’t stay for long,” Richter explained. “I was just taking care of Maria, to be honest. Not exactly safe to let a teenage girl roam a big city alone, you know, and especially not when she’s reaching out for revolutionaries. Maria gets in trouble pretty easily.”

He let a light chuckle, yet his eyes were saddened at the mention of Maria – and it tightened Annette’s heart just a bit. She knew he was carrying a lot of baggage with him this entire mission. The fight with Maria, Tera’s “death”, how he felt he didn’t help her and had to flee… and now the fact that he handed their destination to that damn vampire. The worst part – Alucard got mad at him.

As if she was reading his mind, Richter lifted his eyes and looked at the white-haired vampire’s back, walking many steps ahead of them with Ruby by his side. To be fair, after that moment at the forest, Alucard wasn’t being mean or cold to Richter (well, not colder than he already was, at least). It was very clear in Annette’s eyes how his anger wore off as hours went by. But Annette also knew that this didn’t ease Richter’s regret.

Annette lowered her voice, hoping Alucard wouldn’t hear her.

“You know,” she started quietly. Her tone caught Richter’s attention. “I don’t think he was that angry at you. I think he was angrier at himself for letting Ruby get hurt.”

Richter blinked. He also thought she was reading his mind. He pressed his lips together, lowering his head again.

“And he decided to lash out on me.”

“Well… it’s not like you didn’t give him a reason to.”

Richter pouted. “Aw, come on. I thought you were trying to cheer me up.”

Annette couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry. But what I mean is… don’t dwell on it. Yes, what you did was silly, but to keep thinking about won’t help you.”

The Belmont boy went silent for a few moments. “Ruby told me the same thing.” He lifted his gaze, now looking at the young woman. “Hey, Annette… what do you think of her?”

Instinctively, she looked at Ruby’s back as well.

From the moment she laid eyes on Ruby, she felt immediate empathy. Her constant hesitant, frightened state… it was painfully familiar. Annette still remembered very well the weeks that followed her escape from the plantation. The nightmares, the shivers, the fear of going out, the paranoia. It took a lot for her to realize that she was safe, that no one would ever hurt her anymore. It took even longer for her to learn how to voice her opinions, to understand that she mattered to the people around her, and they mattered for her, too.

And that’s precisely what helped Annette overcome her struggles. She had something to fight for. A cause she would never give up on. Genuine friends around her. Warriors in arms, family in hearts.

She had Edouard.

The mere mention of his name in her mind was enough to make her want to cry again.

Edouard was who helped her during her darkest times. He was still the reason why she was fighting, why she crossed the ocean, why she would do anything in her power to defeat Sekhmet.

And that was precisely what made Ruby’s situation difficult. She… didn’t have a family – not one she remembered, at least. She didn’t have a past, something to hold onto. Someone that would give her motivation to keep fighting until the end of her forces, until the last drop of sweat. With such an amount of trauma (although Annette didn’t know exactly what she went through in Erzsebet’s hands, it certainly wasn’t easy), it is important to have a reason to stay alive.

Or someone.

Annette’s deceased mother was her primary reason. Then Edouard, Cécile, the Maroons… until she realized that by fighting for them, she was fighting for herself, too.

And… perhaps… perhaps she had a new reason to keep fighting now. A reason she met recently, but that made her feel things that she never felt before. A… sweet, funny, a little silly reason – but strong and determined nevertheless.

“I think she’s being honest,” Annette finally answered Richter’s question. “And… I don’t like to feel sorry for people, but I feel sorry for her. I hope she finds her reason soon.”

Richter frowned, clearly not understanding what she meant by “her reason”, but Annette didn’t feel like elaborating on that.

“The only thing I’m suspicious of is this… healing thing of hers,” Richter said in a quiet tone. “I don’t think anyone can acquire this in a good way.”

Annette had to agree with that. Alucard might be right in his words – maybe the Ruby from the past, the real Ruby, was not the innocent person she seemed to be…

A harsh whisper in her right ear made Annette gasp.

Oh no. Not again. They had stopped for some moments, but then started whispering again. That was more of a hiss, in fact – rushed, anxious, trying to catch her attention.

The spirits trembled. Annette noticed that the crowd around her – the crowd of real people – seemed to be walking in the same direction; they wore apprehensive, even angry expressions on their faces. They were almost as hectic as the spirits.

“Is Paris always like this? I can feel the tension,” Annette muttered more to herself than to Richter. She looked around; there were spirits behind them, to the sides, in front–

Wait, in front–

Her eyes passed rapidly by Alucard and Ruby. They had stopped walking for some reason, but that’s not what caught her attention.

She… she saw a strange glow in Ruby.

It didn’t surround her body like it did with the spirits. It was a… point. Faint, eerie; the tiny point glowed on the left side of her back, almost transparent… like the flame of a candle.

It glowed in the same place as her heart.

Annette tightened her eyes. What was that? Did anyone put a spell on her? Was an enemy nearby? No one else had a glow like that – no one alive, at least. She was about to reach for Ruby’s arm, scared for her safety–

But then, the sound of drums echoed through the streets.

The spirits vanished – just as the strange flame in Ruby’s heart.

Annette blinked repeatedly. Did she… see things?

Alucard looked behind his back to the two of them, now that they had reached their position.

“Something’s about to happen,” he said eerily.

The crowd kept walking. Now, Annette could see that there was a great square ahead of them. It couldn’t be a good thing; she felt a strange sensation in her gut, an apprehension that she could not understand.

She wanted to ask if Ruby was alright – if she felt anything – but decided that was not the time. The group followed the rest of the crowd.

That left a question mark in the back of Annette’s mind. What was that thing she saw in Ruby’s heart?

But then, the King of France was executed, Annette saw the three headed spirit that almost made her have a heart attack – and nothing else mattered after that.

You felt sorry for him.

Of course – you heard the conversation between Richter, Annette and Alucard. They understood the situation much better than you and even had divergent opinions. He wasn’t a particularly bad King, Richter said, while Annette stated that no one can reign innocently. On your understandings, both of them were right to some degree.

And yet, when “Louis The Last” stepped on the platform and knelt in front of the guillotine, you didn’t see the King. You saw a frightened man in the face of death.

Watching normal humans die wasn’t easy; you never got used to it. It was always horrible whenever you’d see one of Erzsebet’s preys let their dying breath, their last gag. It was almost as if you could see their lives slipping away, their bodies becoming empty. And yet, when you realized that they’d finally stopped moving, you felt… relief for them. Because at least, they weren’t in pain anymore. Whenever you saw a human victim be dragged into the hall, you’d silently hope for a quick death upon them. Things didn’t always go that way. You hated when they didn’t.

The square was uncomfortably crowded, but Alucard was right – you were getting used to it, although you were still hoping to leave that place as soon as possible. Angry whispers, shouts, loud discussions... they were energetic.

The conversation of a particular couple close to you caught your attention.

“I don’t think I can look at it,” the woman said with a visible scowl of disgust. The man, still facing the platform, made her hide her face on the curve of his neck.

“It’s okay, darling. You don’t have to.”

You frowned.

She was wrong. He was wrong.

You shouldn’t look away when a man is about to die. It’s dishonorable.

You watched in solemn silence when the sharp blade of the guillotine went down on the man’s neck, beheading him. Blood splashed on the platform. The head rolled one, two, three, four times. A perpetually horrified expression. The crowd cheered in satisfied anger. They felt avenged.

Only then did you close your eyes for a moment. A quick death is a luxury not many have, you thought.

“Annette? Are you alright?”

You opened your eyes and turned around to see Richter calling the girl in yellow. Annette had her back facing you, yet you could see her heavy breathing, which immediately sparked some worry. Was she feeling unwell?

“...Yes,” Annette’s voice almost disappeared within the crowd’s roar. She sounded hesitant and scared. It was the first time she looked even remotely scared.

Alucard was quietly watching her, too, from over his shoulder. Then, he sent you a meaningful glance, pointing with his head a way out of the crowd. He didn’t wait for any of you to follow him.

“Let’s go,” you said, calling Richter and Annette’s attention. She looked more than happy to leave the place, while Richter kept sending her worried glances.

There was no time to ask if she was okay or not. The crowd seemed to be getting even more heated. They shouted, raised their fists in the air, clapped their hands – and it only got worse when one of the guards took the deceased King’s head and put it on a spike, lifting it up for the audience. The crowd started to push each other to try to get a closer look.

That was when the confusion started.

You saw people falling. Children crying. Guards shouting, trying to get control of the situation with no avail. You were pushed, almost smashed in the middle of hundreds of bodies, to a point were your feet were merely following the flow of the crowd, having no control of where you were going.

“There are ladies here, you savage animals!” One woman groaned.

“Stop pushing!” Someone else said.

“Rot in hell, Louis!”

“I want to see the head!”

“Ouch- my foot!”

“Vive la Révolution!”

You desperately tried to make your way out – and there was no way out without pushing people, which only made the situation worse. You looked around, trying to see Richter or Annette; the Belmont boy was quite tall, so it was easy to spot him many rows of people away from you, also being smashed. He sent you a worried gaze and tried to yell something, but you couldn’t hear anything over the incessant shouting. You tried to approach him, but that was like trying to swim against the flow of a river.

Richter tried to shout something again. He managed to lift his hand and point at something to your right side. You supposed he was trying to show you a way out of the crowd.

You turned your head in that direction in time to see Alucard approaching with a deeply annoyed frown.

He caught you by the arm and pressed your body on his, keeping a firm arm around you while the other quite unceremoniously pushed people out of the way. He didn’t let himself be carried by the flow, keeping a solid and consistent pace. Alucard was like a rock in the middle of these people, literally. No one could push him even if they tried (and they tried). He didn’t lose balance.

He was visibly pissed.

And even so, the thing your brain most noticed was that he… had a good smell.

It wasn’t exactly your fault; Alucard was pressing you against his chest after all. And… you tried to remember that method – if you could call it that – that Alucard himself taught you a few hours ago. When your mind was distressed, about to spiral, too overwhelmed… focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to try and muffle everything else.

So you focused on his smell.

It was… sweet. Like spices. It even reminded you a bit of cocoa. And refreshing, maybe a bit citric, like orange.

It… reminded you a bit of the natural smell a baby has after taking a bath.

Vampires have a very specific smell you learned to hate over time. It’s nauseously sweet, like burnt sugar. Add this to unnecessary puffs of perfume – Erzsebet loved floral fragrances – and their absolutely horrible breath that no amount of chewing peppermint could mask.

You shouldn’t be surprised that even though Alucard was half-vampire, he was still starkly different than all the others you’d met, even in the tiniest details. But it surprised you anyway.

Finally, he managed to push his way out of the crowd into a nearby, emptier street, releasing his grip around you. You stepped aside, cleaning the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand.

“That was… intense,” you managed to speak breathlessly, looking back at the still growing mess. “Thank you.”

Alucard sighed heavily. “We should’ve left sooner,” he muttered dryly, more to himself than to you. “I should’ve figured a commotion like this would happen.” He looked at the crowd for a few more moments before his eyes fell on your figure, the frown on his forehead untying. “How are you feeling?”

You widened your eyes slightly. Sure, he was just being thoughtful, but you figured he was asking that after your… history of panics involving crowds (or even smaller things).

“Oh! I’m totally fine. Thank you,” you tried to sound cheerful. Alucard nodded.

It seemed that all you could tell him was thank you over and over again – and it was starting to annoy you. Not only because a tiny (maybe not so tiny) part of you wanted to have more meaningful conversations with him like the one earlier that day, but because you didn’t want to worry anyone anymore. You wanted to be more useful to the group. But how could you be useful if the group consisted of excellent fighters, experts in magic, and you were just an “ordinary” human? Your healing was only useful to yourself, not to them.

Alucard looked back at the crowd and raised his arm. Following his gaze, you saw Richter and Annette pop out of the mass of people, similarly breathless as you. This at least brought you some comfort. Alucard was the only one to show no sign of tiredness.

The Belmont boy rested his hands over his knees, breathing heavily, when they reached your position. “...I hope that was the only beheading scheduled for today,” he joked tiredly.

Annette didn’t chuckle this time. Worry still clouded her eyes. “Are we close now, Alucard?”

The man nodded. “Only a few blocks away from here. Let’s go.”

He kept marching ahead, not giving any of you a chance to recover.

The Louvre was scarily big.

Bigger than the chateau, bigger than Erzsebet’s palace, bigger than… well, any building you’d ever seen.

The gigantic front garden of the palace was eerily empty, with only a few people walking here and there; most of the population was concentrated on the central square to watch the execution of the King, which would grant you some advantage (and tranquility) to look for Sekhmet’s mummy. You approached the palace a little after the midday sun, its light reflecting on the decorative pools of the garden, the wind softly swaying the trees.

“The monarchies of Europe will be horrified. Already, some of them are waging war on France. They’ll be joined by the rest. The Vampire Messiah plans to lead them, commander and chief of the counterrevolution,” Alucard explained while you walked.

Oh. And just like that, everything made sense. Erzsebet’s reason to be on France, their talks about “crushing a revolution”… Indeed, if she succeeded, she’d be considered the Queen she always aimed to be. One that could unite an entire continent regardless of public opinion, as she sided with the oligarchies which possessed the most power. Vampire oligarchies.

“And just this street rabble to resist her,” Richter said somberly. “Who won’t stand a chance, will they?”

“No.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You didn’t have enough information to understand if the current kings and queens were bad to their people. Judging by the execution witnessed earlier and the reaction it caused… you could assume they weren’t doing a great job. To have a sadistic vampire sitting on a throne, ruling over millions of innocent lives… it would be even worse. Erszebet saw humans as less than insects, barely livestock, and her court thought the same. Soon, she’d be ruling over an empire of corpses.

You looked over your shoulder to Richter and Annette, who had suddenly stopped walking and were a few steps away. They were being too quiet for you to hear them. Richter still looked worried, while Annette seemed distressed.

You looked ahead again. “There’s something wrong with Annette,” you said quietly. Alucard hummed.

“I noticed.” He also kept the quiet tone. “However, we can’t help her if she doesn’t say what’s the problem.”

Alucard was already preventing you from getting stressed. You nodded. “...I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Finally, you reached the doors of the palace. Two guards protected the entrance. After a quick chat, they let you in. Apparently, the palace was public domain now, so it didn’t take a lot of convincing.

Opposing to its empty exterior, the large halls of the Louvre were filled with people – men and women, working on organization and cleaning. All of them wore some sort of hat in the colors of the French flag; members of the Revolution.

“A single family lived here?” you muttered to yourself, letting your gaze wander through the place. The high vaulted ceilings, the tall windows, red columns, golden arabesques, the glass skylights; it was bathed in natural lighting. Not to mention the many pieces of art – statues, paintings, some of the frames towering three times bigger than a person; the intricate carpets, the chandeliers… with each corner you turned (the palace seemed to be an endless labyrinth) you grew more and more speechless.

“No, the royal family lived somewhere else. It was still their property, though,” Richter explained. “And to think the people were dying of hunger and plague while the royal family had all this,” he said bitterly. “It really makes you agree with the revolutionaries.”

You had to admit that it was hard to focus on the task at hand being surrounded by so much art. Erzsebet’s palace was beautiful, of course, but devoid of any personality. It was… beauty for the sake of beauty, mostly. But at the Louvre, you saw sculptures and paintings that looked genuinely ancient; hundreds of years of history, the works of multiple hands, stories being told. It definitely should not be at the hands of a few people only.

A certain half opened door caught your eye. There seemed to be a big statue there that glowed faintly under the sunlight. You narrowed your eyes, trying to see better…

“Oh! Leonardo!”

Alucard’s voice completely caught your attention.

You snapped your head at him. The nonchalance in his expression was completely gone, being replaced by… longing?

He turned to you three with a bit of excitement he hadn’t shown up until that moment. “It’s a painting by Leonardo da Vinci, of a woman he actually couldn’t abide. Or so he told me,” he explained, pointing with his head towards a particular frame. A woman of straight brown hair and dark clothing posed in the painting with a vague expression, her arms crossed over her lap. Alucard closed his eyes for a moment, chuckling, and opened a tender smile. Then, he side eyed you as if telling a secret: “I never really thought it was one of his best.”

Then, he kept on walking as if nothing happened.

...You were pretty sure that you, Richter and Annette were all blushing at that moment.

Alucard never sounded so excited before. Never so lighthearted. And he looked… cute? Adorable, in fact. It made him look very young.

...You’d like to know this side of him a little bit better.

“Is there any order to this? Or do you just… put things anywhere?” Alucard asked one of the men in uniform.

��We’re looking for Ancient Egyptian,” Richter added.

The man pointed ahead. “Go straight, then turn to your left at the end of the corridor. First door.”

You followed his directions after Richter muttered a thank you. Alucard picked up his pace and all of you followed. Now that you had some guidance, it seemed that apprehension weighed over the atmosphere. The room mentioned by the man was empty – if you could call that a room, that is, as it was bigger than some houses. A gallery, in fact.

Wooden crates of different sizes were scattered here and there. Some sculptures were protected by boxes made of glass. Sunlight embraced the entire room through the tall windows. At the far end of the gallery, there were four columns that seemed to imitate palm trees; they had colorful paintings and ancient writings around them.

A shiver ran down your spine. A memory from not long ago – or was it long ago? – was brought forward in your mind. An obelisk with writings similar to those in the columns… the same art styles, the same periods. It would be brought whenever Erzsebet summoned an eclipse… or when Erzsebet summoned Sekhmet. The vampire’s very appearance would change, taking an animalistic look similar to a lioness. Whenever Erzsebet did that, you’d be genuinely frightened, even more than usual. That wasn’t simply the strength of a vampire anymore. It was much more ancient, much stronger, a much denser type of magic… the type that shouldn’t be messed with thoughtlessly, the type that demanded respect upon its use. Erzsebet had no respect for it. Maybe that’s why it was always so horrendous to witness.

“Hm… so we’re looking for a corpse…” Richter muttered, looking around.

“It’s here. I’m sure of it,” Alucard said as he inspected one of the wooden crates.

You thought of searching for it too, but you didn’t want to touch anything. You couldn’t tell exactly why. Was it because of your bad memories associated with anything Egyptian? Or was it something else?

“Show me.”

The three of you turned to Annette at the same time.

“What?” Richter asked.

The girl had an apprehensive expression as she stared at… nothing in particular. She visibly hesitated before speaking.

“There are spirits here. Many spirits,” she confessed quietly. You widened your eyes. Richter instinctively looked around. “They’ve been following us. Following me.” She inhaled, as if building up courage. “Show me.”

You looked around as well and saw, well… nothing. But Annette was following something with her gaze with much attention. Richter approached her.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I don’t know what they want,” for the first time, Annette showed a glimpse of her real distress over the situation. That’s what had been bothering her since the execution… she was sweating. “Or if they’re real.”

“Do they speak to you?” Alucard asked in a serious tone.

“Yes, but I… can’t understand what they’re whispering,” she narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes they seem angry. There are spirits here now who just seem lost.” She looked at Richter. Annette seemed even more fragile than when you talked to her at the forest, which took you by surprise. “...Or is it me that’s lost?”

Richter pressed his lips together, not taking his eyes off her for a second. He rested a reassuring hand on her back, not saying a word – and it seemed enough to calm her down, even if just a bit.

It even felt that you were interrupting something for a second. And yet, you couldn’t look away. They… seemed to share something very intimate. Very beautiful.

Your chest tightened.

“What’s happening with them now?” Alucard asked quietly, looking around. “Could they be trying to tell you something?”

Annette looked ahead and went silent for some seconds. Then, she pointed in the direction she was looking.

“There.”

The group approached a particular wooden crate sitting at the very end of the gallery, near the columns. Alucard knelt down in front of it and lifted its lid.

And there it was.

A mummy, with its arms crossed over their chest, completely bandaged in red linen, laying over a bed of straw. It had the silhouette of a woman.

“It stinks,” Richter complained, pinching his nose.

Annette narrowed her eyes. “It’s her. It’s Sekhmet,” she confirmed with certainty.

Alucard got up again. All of you watched the mummy for some seconds; it seemed you shared the weight of responsibility that thing represented.

“So, what do we do now?” Richter spoke up first, scratching the back of his head. “I could burn it, or we could just… hack it to pieces and scatter it to the winds.”

“What you do now is give her to me.”

In that moment – time was frozen.

Air left your lungs. Your eyes widened. Every nerve tensed up. Violent goosebumps roamed your entire body.

You turned around. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to face the owner of that voice. You wanted to believe it was just your mind playing tricks, that there was nothing actually happening. Because there was no way it was her.

Drolta is dead, Alucard said. He confirmed it. He said he was sure.

But you turned around anyway – and what you saw made your heart drop.

That thing couldn’t be Drolta. There was no way. It had a female body, its leathery skin a mix of black and greyish pink. Instead of feet, it had hooves that made it tower over any human. Its wings were leathery as well, similar to a bat’s; its claws seemed to be made of iron, just like the tip of its long tail. Twisted horns sat at the top of its head.

The thing focused its eyes on you and opened a cruel smile.

No.

No no no no no no no.

That thing couldn’t be Drolta. No, there was no way. But you stared back at her, you scanned her facial features, and these were the same eyes. Most of her original form was gone – it had little resemblance to the attractive woman she once was – but the eyes. The cruelty in those eyes. They remained the same.

It was Drolta.

“Yes, Alucard. You killed me,” she said in the same sultry voice you were so disgustingly used to. “And you stole something very precious from me, too.” Her gaze locked on you again. Her smirk turned to an evil grin. “You little runaway rat… it’s time to return home.”

She was twirling something around her pointer finger. The thing she twirled… it gleamed under the sunlight.

You gasped.

It was the ruby necklace.

You had time to see her extend her great wings, ready to launch. A part of your brain registered that she was accompanied by three other winged creatures, but they seemed blurred. All you could do was stare at her. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do anything.

She attacked.

Alucard jumped at the same time, his body enveloped by the familiar red glow. They clashed mid-air.

And then, Richter’s back blocked your vision.

“Stay behind me!” He yelled, snapping his whip in the air, as the three other creatures launched together.

Annette threw one of her newly created blades in the air as if it was a boomerang to no avail, as it didn’t hit any of the creatures. One of them – it was red, its head was what looked like the skull of a wolf – spat a ball of pure fire in your direction. Seeing there would be no time to grab you, Richter pushed you out of the way roughly, sending you a few meters back; your back hit the wall, causing air to leave your lungs.

The Belmont boy knelt down; his palm touched the ground in your direction. With a grunt of effort, he lifted his hand – and at the same pace, a wall of ice rose around you, enclosing you like an igloo.

The outside noises were muffled for some seconds.

You stayed there, sitting on the floor, unable to move; your entire body trembled, and it had nothing to do with the ice around you. Sweat dripped down your temples. Your breath came difficult, it seemed that the air was burning your throat and your lungs; your vision was blurred.

Drolta is alive Drolta is alive Drolta is alive was all that your mind repeated, yelled at you; Drolta is alive and she came after me, Drolta is worse than she was before, Drolta is going to kill Richter and Annette and Alucard–

Richter and Annette and Alucard–

They were all fighting.

Richter snapped his whip around violently, embedding it in blue flames. When one of his attacks hit, the creature – a black one, with a more humanoid figure – screamed in pain; he jumped, twirled in the air, protected his arm with a layer of ice when one of its attacks was about to hit. He tumbled back to avoid being hit by another gush of fire by the skull-headed night creature.

Annette fought a three-headed beast similar to a dragon; she controlled many pieces of iron around the gallery, aiming them at it. Some hits were successful. She jumped from crate to crate, avoiding the bites as all the three heads tried to catch her in different directions at the same moment.

And Alucard kept Drolta completely focused on him, maintaining the fight in the air, near the ceiling. It seemed that the sword barely made any damage against her leathery skin, and yet he kept attacking and tanking her attacks. You watched with horror as her hair (well, what was supposed to be hair; that thing wasn’t hair anymore) extended themselves like snakes, pursuing him around the gallery, causing great destruction were it hit.

The three of them were fighting. And you understood with great remorse that their objective was to keep the creatures so occupied that they wouldn’t be able to reach you or the mummy.

You were not only completely useless – you were getting in the way.

They couldn’t fight freely with you around.

You gulped, trying to stop panting, but you couldn’t. No no no, not this now. You don’t have time for this. You don’t have time! Why was your body playing tricks on you again? Why couldn’t it function when you needed the most? You needed to get out of there. Fuck, you needed to do something, anything! And still — your body wouldn’t obey.

Focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to try and muffle everything else.

Alucard’s method.

A single thing.

You looked around the small area inside the “igloo”.

Spotted a nail – probably used to lock the lid of the crates.

A simple thing.

With all your might, you forced your shaking arm to move; forced it to stretch, to reach for the nail, to hold it tightly.

Focus on a single thing, a simple thing.

With a grunt of effort, you pierced your own palm with the nail. The sharp pain awakened you from your numb state.

Right on time.

The black creature found an opening in Richter’s incessant attacks and launched itself towards you. The igloo melted. You rolled away from it and got up in a jump.

Annette immediately glued to your side. She was panting, holding blades in both hands; Richter threw a gush of blue flames, trying to keep the beasts away. You couldn’t see Alucard or Drolta behind the wall of fire. However, it wasn’t enough; the three night creatures were about to surround you. You’d have no escape.

Annette seemed to be reading your mind.

She let go of the blades for a second. She gesticulated with her hands as if grabbing something in the air; the wall beside you cracked. Annette “pulled” the air and let a scream of effort. Obeying her command, the wall teared apart, creating a hole towards the corridor – big enough for someone to pass through.

“Run, Ruby! Run!” Annette yelled.

And you obeyed.

You jumped through the hole and sprinted down the corridor, the pain in your palm completely forgotten. The ground was shaking, chandeliers tinkling, dust fell over your head. The sounds of the fight were slowly replaced by screams of fear and many steps. Of course, the palace was packed with workers. Some of them were running towards the Egyptian gallery, being attracted by the loud noises, but stopped running when they saw you.

“Get out of here! Your weapons won’t work!” You shouted without slowing your pace, gesticulating vehemently. “Get out, all of you! Right now!”

Luckily, you didn’t need to repeat yourself; the people in the hall started to run towards the exit.

You turned the corner, desperately trying to find an escape plan. You thought of running outside into the sunlight, but these things weren’t vampires; the sun wouldn’t protect you. You could try to mix with the crowd of people running out of the palace, but it would definitely put them all in danger. You could hide – but was there any safe place? These night creatures weren’t the same as the weak vampires you’ve encountered on your way to Paris. They were actually dangerous, even to your powerful allies.

Your thoughts were cut off when you heard a shrilling growl out there.

A gasp escaped past your lips. It was the three-headed beast – it was flying out there, soaring near the windows… scoping the area after you.

You entered the first room you saw.

You banged the double doors of the gallery. It was much smaller than the Egyptian one, yet the windows were equally large. You rushed to untie the heavy curtains and cover them, immersing the room in darkness; only a peek of light was visible through one of the windows. Shit shit shit shit you needed to barricade the door. You pushed a heavy crate with your back, positioning it against the door, yet you knew it wasn’t nearly enough; you needed to put something between the handles to truly lock it.

It was too dark now. You searched through the wooden boxes with shaking fingers, trying to find any artifact that could do the job; a steel bar, a vase thin enough, anything. The floor was still shaking incessantly. Please, let them be safe, you prayed silently to whoever was hearing; please, let them be safe.

You knelt in front of the final crate and lifted its lid. There were a couple of artifacts there, all so rusty and old that you could barely recognize what they were. A sword, a helmet, what looked like the remains of a broken shield, and… oh! A spear!

Or at least, it resembled a spear. It was completely covered in rust; thin, shorter than an actual spear, and it didn’t have a blade on the tip, but some sort of… rusty circle. Again, it was too dark to understand what that thing was, but it would do the job.

And yet – you hesitated to hold it.

Your fingers hovered over the object with hesitancy.

Suddenly… you weren’t hearing the outside noises anymore. They were distant. All you heard was your thundering heartbeat, your panting.

Your hand tingled. It had nothing to do with the injury you inflicted in yourself. The “spear” seemed to radiate some sort of warmth; you could feel it even some centimeters away. It made your stomach drop in a funny way. It wasn’t the fear or the adrenaline; it felt different.

Finally, you gulped and grabbed the object.

It was, indeed, hot. But that’s not what made your eyes widen.

As soon as you held it, the “spear” started to glow. No, it started to shine.

You watched as the rust around the object dissipated like dust. It shone so brightly that you had to close your eyes; it was so hot that you felt that your palm was about to burn. But then, after a few seconds, it stopped.

You opened your eyes again gasped.

You weren’t holding a rusty “spear” anymore. That wasn’t a spear; it was a scepter.

You got up from the ground slowly. The scepter was almost as tall as you were, made of solid gold. At its tip, the rusty “circle” was gone, being replaced by a small “plate” with twelve curvy “spikes” circling it in regular intervals; an unmistakable representation of the sun. Tiny inscriptions were engraved across its entirety. You brought it closer to your eyes, trying to understand what they meant since it was still dark inside the room – and when you recognized them, you almost dropped the object on the floor.

The writings were on the same strange language from the moon book Erzsebet made you read. You recognized the characters.

What the hell was that?!

The sound of an explosion so loud out there that made the floor shake yanked you out of your own head.

Fuck. I still need to lock the door, you remembered, rushing towards it with the scepter in hand. You were still shaking, clumsily trying to barricade the hangs with the long object–

A window crashed.

You screamed in horror. Glass flew everywhere, part of the wall was destroyed, the curtain was ripped off. You turned around to see the three-headed beast enter the gallery, groaning and hissing, as Annette gripped one of its necks for dear life.

She finally released the night creature before one of the heads could chop her, landing on her feet and putting herself between you and the thing. She was visibly tired, yet her eyes were ferocious. You noticed that the creature had lost its middle head, probably the reason for it to be so aggressive.

Annette growled. She controlled iron objects around her, launching them all at the creature; it flapped its wings violently to avoid being hit, destroying crates and artifacts around it. The creature ran towards Annette. She pushed you out of the way.

“Ruby, you need to–“ she jumped, avoiding a hit. “You need–“ she managed to cut the thing’s leg, skipping out of danger’s line before it could strike. “You need to go!”

There was no way to run through the broken window – to reach it, you’d have to come across the night creature. The doors were the only escape – and they were fucking barricaded by the crate you put there previously. You groaned, putting all of your strength into pushing it away, the scepter completely forgotten on the floor. You needed to run, you needed to run, you needed to–

Your eyes were glued in Annette.

Like what happened at the forest, it seemed that the world was moving in slow motion again.

You saw as Annette twirled mid-air above the beast; with one hand, she controlled one of her blades to pierce the creature’s left skull, but it was unsuccessful; the thing caught the blade with its teeth. Her landing trajectory was at the right side of the same head. She already held another blade firmly with both hands.

Annette landed graciously. With a groan of effort, she sliced its left head, beheading it.

But the right head was still there. The right head already had its jaws open wide. Annette was stuck between the remaining head and the neck of the one she had just beheaded. There was no escape route. She would not have time to react.

You saw all that unfold in front of your eyes and got to the obvious conclusion: Annette was going to die.

So you moved.

You sprinted from the place you were on the floor. You didn’t wait until the world would start moving fast again. You didn’t wait for Annette to realize what you were about to do.

You put yourself between her and the monster.

Its jaws tightened around the entire right side of your body – and when the world started moving at its normal speed again, all that existed was pain.

[slut4thebroken]

Obsessed

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader

Summary | Bucky has a crush on his teammate.

Warnings | Smut, non con, voyeurism, no sex, masturbation, misogyny, stalking, public masturbation kinda, come marking, invasion of privacy, creepy!bucky, dark fantasies.

Words | 1.2 k

Notes | This is lowkey a prequel to another fic that I have in the drafts but shh…

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 24: stalking + voyeurism

Ever since joining the Avengers, Bucky’s been completely obsessed with you. It wasn’t so bad before he was an official member and he would only really see you on missions. But once he moved into the compound… the intensity of his obsession skyrocketed. Every little thing you did constantly made him hard, from your smile to the way you’d close your eyes and moan after taking a bite of a particularly delicious meal. 

Sometimes he’d use his enhanced hearing and listen to you working out from the room next to the gym, fucking his fist while imagining you were panting because he was pounding your fucked out hole instead. Or when you’d be sparring with Natasha and get hit just a little too hard, he’d memorize the sound of your little whimpers and groans of pain. 

If he was feeling extra ballsy, he’d stand in the dark hallway and watch you. Honestly the fact that you preferred working out in the middle of the night was a blessing. He’d hide in the shadows and watch the way your tits moved in your sports bra. Or the way your tiny little shorts would be constantly riding up your ass. 

He’d hold out as long as he could before reaching a hand in his pants and fisting his cock. The light glimmer of sweat on your skin, the way your cheeks flushed a pretty red, the way your lips parted as you breathed heavily… All of it made him ache for you even more— for your much smaller body to be pinned beneath his huge frame as he pounded into you and made you whimper and moan for him. 

He finished in his pants with a low groan and hid away in his room since your room was barely ten feet from his. Once he heard your door shut, he waited impatiently for the bathroom door to close and the shower to start. After he heard you step in the shower, he slipped into your room. 

Your work out clothes were tossed on top of the rest of the clothes in the hamper. He walked over and picked up your underwear— of course you’d wear a thong, he thought with a smirk. Shoving the item in his pants, he cleaned up his seed as much as he could before tossing the garment back in the pile. 

Walking over to the dresser, he listened carefully, confirming you were still in the shower, then opened the top drawer. A lot of sports bras and cotton panties, but digging a little deeper, he found the lace. Mostly red and black, some light pink and white. God- what he wouldn’t do to see you in this… He closed it and walked over to your bed, finding your pajamas and underwear laid out. He hit the fucking jackpot tonight. 

Picking them up, he freed his cock from his pants and rubbed your panties against the tip. He made sure to rub the inside against it, smearing a subtle amount of precum. The thought of his dick and precum indirectly touching your cunt made him consider using the panties to jerk off… but that would be way too obvious when he eventually came on them. 

He reluctantly put them back how he found them and moved to your nightstand drawer, finding not one… but two vibrators. Just sitting there. You didn’t even try to hide them. He slowly stroked his cock, not wanting to get carried away and lose track of time. Your phone screen lighting up tore his attention away from the toys in the drawer. He didn’t even notice it at first, but this was fucking perfect. 

Ever since he accidentally came across some open tabs on your phone, he’s been dying to find out more. He opened it, already knowing the password, and scrolled through the tabs before clicking on one. 

His hard length slid through my slick folds, making me clench around nothing and whine. He chuckled, but lined himself up with my entrance regardless. Finally, he pushed inside my aching hole, both of us letting out low moans. 

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky mumbled, going to a new tab. 

I squirmed, still half asleep, at the fire growing in my belly. Warm and wet suddenly engulfed my clit, making me cry out. I’ve never had a dream this realistic before. A low groan against my heat made my eyes flutter open. The sight of a mop of brown hair between my legs made me jerk away, but he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to his mouth. 

He stared at the screen with wide eyes and moved to another tab, still pumping his cock slowly. 

“N-no. Please stop.” I sobbed, trying to push his hips away. Cold metal met my neck and I choked on a gasp. 

“You’re gonna take my fucking cock. Or I can kill you and then fuck you. Your choice.” He hissed, dragging the knife across my neck, almost as if to show me how he’d kill me. When I didn’t respond, he forced his cock inside, making me let out a hoarse scream. He wasted no time with his frantic thrusts in my pussy, both of us listening to the way my arousal created a squelching sound each time he moved. 

“Listen to how wet your pathetic little cunt is for your rapist.” He grabbed my hair so tight that my eyes watered and pushed my head down to watch. “Look at how you’re drenching my cock.” He growled, brutally pounding my already sore hole. 

The sound of the shower curtain sliding open snapped him out of his trance. He locked your phone and placed it back down then swiftly exited the room. He didn’t even bother tucking his cock back in his pants. The second his door was closed, he leaned against it and quickly fisted his throbbing length. 

He thought about threatening you like that— The way your sweet little pussy would drool at his words. He’d tease you about how he can smell you already. You’d whine and squirm and flush in embarrassment, and that would only drive him to do it more. 

He’d cut all your clothes off but remain fully clothed himself. He’d make fun of how fast your heart was beating and how sweet your cunt smells. He’d jerk off right in front of your face before covering it in his seed and forcing you to keep it there. 

He wanted to pull you into his room next time before you could make it to the gym, yank your slutty little shorts and panties down, and jerk off until he came in them, then make you work out with a mess between your legs. He wanted to spar with you and not hold back at all— punching and kicking you, making you whimper and groan in pain. Knowing your ego though, you wouldn’t stop. He wanted to make you bruise— make you bleed… Permanently mark your pretty skin with his name. 

He shuddered as he came, his seed coating his hand and the floor while he imagined you were kneeling in front of him with your mouth open, eager to swallow it down. 

The more he tried to resist these fantasies, the harder it became. It didn’t help that you clearly were craving it too— what with all of the porn you read, you were obviously desperate for a good dicking. 

He thought about maybe asking you first… but if you really wanted consent, you wouldn’t read such filthy stories about being forcefully taken. 

Who was he to deny you what you needed? 

[shaunamilfman]

turning into something you are not

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!reader Summary: You end up on house arrest after Shauna spits in your soup, no thanks to stupid Mari. It's not like you want Shauna Shipman, of all people, to be on your ass. So you come up with the well-thought-out idea of visiting her hut in the middle of the night to apologize. No ulterior motives at all. Smut ensues. note: minors dni. spitting involved.

You eye Shauna anxiously as she walks toward you with the rest of the losers from today's game, something settling heavily in your chest as you realize she's coming straight toward where you're sitting. You curse your luck: of course you would end up getting Shipman to serve your food personally. A part of you wonders if Shauna has done it on purpose, but you decide that it's probably more humiliating for her than it is terrifying for you. 

Just about anything has been setting her off lately, and the throbbing pain from the bite on your hand reminds you succinctly of that. You remember from school just how nasty human bites could be–just how much bacteria is in the human mouth. It would serve you right to die from an infection garnered from Shauna Shipman's mouth after surviving nearly a year in this hellhole. 

Your heartbeat starts to settle as Shauna stops beside you, a broody look on her face that doesn't look any different from normal. That is until she holds the bowl out, making sure you can see her as she spits into your food. You almost gasp, just barely able to keep the reaction from becoming audible.

“Go ahead,” Shauna adds, a dangerous look that almost makes you want to push just to see what she would do. “Just give me a reason.”

You look down at the bowl she sits in front of you in surprise, not expecting her to do something so public. With the way Mari sits forward in her seat, you can already tell that she’s taken notice. Which, arguably, was the worst possible thing that could have happened to you today. You grab the bowl, fully intending on just eating it spit and all, but Mari isn’t going to let that happen.

“What the fuck? Shauna just spit in her food,” Mari points out loudly, drawing the attention of all the other girls. 

God, she was such a shit stirrer. 

Your eyes widen, and you rapidly shake your head at Mari. Almost pleadingly. It doesn't seem to matter if she even notices your protests. Shauna certainly doesn't. Mari keeps grouping you in with her lately. Just because you weren't on Shauna's side doesn't mean you were on Mari's. For fuck’s sake, she was going to get your ass kicked. 

“Jesus Christ. Shauna, did you spit in her food?” Nat asks exasperatedly. 

“What? No,” Shauna lies. 

Someone should tell her she wasn't good at that. You were almost embarrassed for her at how painfully thin her voice sounded. She might as well have just confessed. 

“The fact that you even think I would is insulting.”

“You should eat,” Shauna says quietly, in that soft yet deadly tone of hers. It's more unsettling than if she had actually screamed at you instead. “I worked hard to make it.”

Mari reaches across the table and smacks it out of your hand, leaving you to watch it fall in what feels like slow motion. 

You look down at the ground mournfully. It doesn't even matter that Shauna had spit in it. You were still willing to eat it. It's not like you'd find food anywhere else. How quickly Mari seems to have forgotten that awful winter. 

Shauna immediately tenses up, and her lack of access to Mari across the table means that you're the one who ends up face-first on the ground with a mouthful of dirt and what used to be your dinner. 

“I said eat, bitch,” she hisses in your ear before being pulled off, leaving you to stumble back onto your feet as some of the other girls help you up. Your eyes are wide as you look back at an enraged Shauna Shipman, face smeared with dirt and food. 

You spit dirt out of your mouth absently, trying to get the taste out. All it serves to do is anger Shauna again as she lunges at you, held back only by the grip the other girls have on her as you stumble back and away. You open your mouth to stutter out an apology and an excuse because you really did not need this right now, but the glare Nat gives you silences you before it can come out. 

“I've fucking had it with this shit! Starting tomorrow, you're both on house arrest,” Nat says, glancing between the two of them meaningfully. 

You barely notice Mari storming off, too busy wiping dirt off of your face. 

“You know what?” Nat pauses, looking over at you. “You too, actually.” 

You just sigh. 

How has this become your life?

Locking Shauna away in her hut? She was going to come kill you in your sleep. You wouldn't even see it coming. All your friends would be out looking for you when you went missing and would be completely unaware that Shauna probably fed you to them to hide the evidence. 

You were fucked. 

… 

You wait until you're sure the rest of the girls in your hut have fallen asleep before you creep up and out. Both because you're not technically allowed to leave and because you know they would try to talk you out of what you're sure is a monumentally stupid idea. But it's the best one you've got. 

Show up to Shauna's hut, try to apologize, and probably get roughed up a little. At least it would probably get her off your ass afterward, if you looked pathetic enough. Shauna didn't tend to bother the more passive girls, tending not to find any joy in trying to break their spirits. Maybe if she got it out of her system, then you could sleep soundly for the next few nights before you inevitably pissed her off again.

All you have to do is walk in and try to explain–

Oh shit.

She was already up on her feet and coming toward you before you even managed to take more than a step into her hut, almost like she was waiting for you. Not even just waiting for you. Hoping, probably. What was it she said to you earlier? Just give me a reason. It seems like you’ve definitely done it now.

“Wait–” you try, but Shauna doesn’t care to listen as she lunges out for you. You’re already expecting her fist to make contact with the side of your face, so you’re pleasantly surprised when she just grabs onto your arm.

Shauna holds on tightly to your wrist, her thumb digging in hard enough that a whimper of pain escapes your lips and your knees buckle. The look of sheer glee that crosses her face tells you exactly what she thinks of that little reaction. 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, showing up here.”

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” She asks angrily. “You came here in the middle of the night, while I was probably sleeping, to apologize?”

“It sounds stupid now that you say it like that,” you acknowledge with a nervous laugh. Shauna doesn’t laugh with you.

“Why the hell are you here?” She asks again.

“Maybe I wanted to… give you a reason.”

You don’t realize how true the words are until they leave your lips, and the momentary flash of surprise that crosses your face is as genuine as Shauna’s.

“Shauna–” 

“Don't fucking speak to me,” she hisses through gritted teeth, shoving you back into the walls of her shelter hard enough that the whole thing wobbles precariously. 

You look around anxiously, terrified the structure will collapse down on top of you. There's no way that scenario doesn't end with Shauna beating your ass in the wreckage. That's if you were as lucky as Lottie. After what happened last winter, Shauna was more likely to end up serving you for dinner. 

“You're fucking nothing to me,” she continues, stalking toward you. 

You nod quickly, hands held up in some gesture of appeasement that only seems to set Shauna off again as she grabs you by the collar of your shirt to send you sprawling onto the cold, uneven ground as all the air in your lungs rushes out with a pained huff. 

It has been par for the course of what you have been expecting so far. There was something about the look in Shauna's eye that unsettles you, something that you aren't sure you've seen before. You consider just going limp and lying on the ground, but then you remember how many times Shauna had kicked Lottie in the side, and that gets you moving again. 

You start scrambling up onto your knees, but Shauna's too quick for that, settling onto the back of your thigh and pinning your arms behind your back before you manage to get any leverage. 

It's humiliating to be pinned like this, face down in the dirt with your arms held behind your back. You buck your hips frantically trying to get her off, even resorting to try squirming out from under her, but nothing works until you hear her little grunt. 

You still immediately, unsure of what caused it and afraid she's going to hurt you for accidentally kicking her or something. It's not like you're unaware of how vulnerable you are right now, so unprepared to fight back if she decides that she's going to hurt you more. 

“Stupid bitch,” Shauna taunts, sitting firm on your thigh. “Stay fucking still.” She squeezes your wrists painfully in reminder, making you freeze beneath her. 

Slowly, enough that you wonder for a moment if the action was unconscious or not, Shauna rolls her hips down against the back of your thigh. When you don't immediately protest, she tries her luck again, another slow roll like she's testing the waters. 

“Shauna,” you murmur, turning your head to rest your cheek against the dirt as you go limp beneath her. 

It's terrifying to let yourself be so prone on your stomach with Shauna around, knowing she could take advantage of it at any second. But the little sounds that leave her lips and the feeling of just how warm she is above you convince you to let yourself do something reckless. 

How long has it been since you've had this kind of contact? Something not out of necessity or violence. Something out of nothing more than desire. 

How long had it been for her? 

You try to look back at her, but Shauna growls under her breath, and you let your eyes fall back to the side of her hut. She starts humping the back of your thigh in earnest now, her knee bumping into your other leg and forcing it wider to accommodate her stance. It's not questioning, not even tentative. It's a command to move your fucking leg. And you do, without question. 

Back and forth and back and forth until the feeling of her sweatpants rubbing against your thigh turns into a wet glide. Shauna fumbles her grip on your arms, finally wrenching them up to pin them on the ground so she can get a better angle.

She's not trying to muffle her ragged breathing so much as she's trying to stop something louder from coming out. Something needy that girls might be able to hear just one hut over. 

The huts had given you some measure of secrecy that the cabin never could, but there was no real privacy out here. Shauna's hut, the one that belonged only to her, was the closest place you could get. 

There was no doubt in your mind that if Shauna got even a bit louder, then everyone else would know what you were doing. You weren't entirely opposed to the idea. The part of you that would've been horrified to be heard like this died in the plane crash. Now, the thought of everyone knowing you were in here with Shauna was thrilling. Beyond even just the protection that it would give you with the other girls. 

No one wanted to piss off Shauna Shipman. 

You would like to say that the whole thing had been strategic, but you've really stumbled into the whole thing. And that was if you managed to survive the encounter. That was still up in the air. 

She bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder, making you cry out even as you try to stifle it. It's like you can feel every individual tooth as it tears into your skin, quickly making you realize how playful that bite on your hand had been in comparison. Shauna grinds her teeth from left to right, making you shudder as it brings tears to your eyes. 

Shauna sounds feral. Fucking you like a wild animal while you're prone on your belly and exposing your neck to a predator. It's enough of a rush for you that you know it must be driving her fucking insane. She pulls away just enough to talk threateningly into your ear. 

“I could kill you, you know,” Shauna says, her voice heavy from exertion. It doesn't seem to slow her hips down any. “Put my knife right through you and tell them you came to my hut and attacked me.“

You tense up at the words, and Shauna moans as it gives her a sturdier surface to grind against. 

Stabbing a person in the back with a thigh soaked with your arousal. The most obvious self-defense case you've ever seen. That, in combination with how obvious she was lying about spitting in your food, almost makes you laugh. But you manage to choke it down with the knowledge that she might actually kill you if you do. 

“Fuck, just like that,” she mutters distractedly, like the threat was already forgotten. 

At a loss for anything better to do when pinned to the floor, you keep your muscles as tense as you can. Shauna doesn’t bite you again, so you decide to take your wins where you can find them. 

Almost unbidden, your eyes fall to the corner of her hut where her knife lies almost inconspicuously. It’s just barely within reach if you could manage to shake her arms long enough to lunge for it, close enough that you could probably manage to reach it with the tips of your fingers. One of the benefits–or downsides, when you share with three other girls–is that almost anything within the huts is in reach.

Despite how distracted she seems, it doesn’t take her long to notice where your attention lies. She laughs against the curve of your shoulder, nipping at the skin almost playfully. If you didn’t know how hard her jaw could snap down, of course.

“Are you thinking about it?” She asks, digging her nails into your wrists. Shauna sounds like she thinks it’s funny.

You don’t answer, knowing there’s no real way to placate her. If you say no she will just call you a liar, if you say yes… Well, you aren’t in a hurry to find out.

“You’re no fun,” she says, almost to herself, but the tense moment passed almost as quickly as it began.

Her teeth graze your jaw again, a promise more than a threat. Shauna doesn’t speed up or slow down, maintaining that steady drag like she has all the time in the world. She’s not threatened. Why would she be? Her breath is coming out quicker now, short little gasps as she nears the edge she’s been chasing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she murmurs, a sigh that sounds suspiciously whiny falling from her lips as her hips slowly come to a stop. You can hear her breathing heavily above you, her hands holding on tightly to the back of your arms.

“Shauna?” You question hesitantly as the silence starts to edge on uncomfortable.

She huffs loudly, the sound sharp with misplaced anger and frustration. You can feel her weight shift on top of you, but she can't seem to find words angry enough to express herself with. Finally, she straightens up to glare down at the back of your head. You can't see her, of course, but you can almost feel her burning anger. 

“Don't fucking move,” she warns. 

Shauna slowly lets go of your arms, watching you like an animal ready to strike as she sits up to fumble her way out of her sweatpants. You don't dare to do more than flex your fingers as you lie in wait. You're afraid to move your arms when her location is up in the air. It could be anywhere, and you've seen how effectively she can gut things. 

“Now you want to be a good listener?” She asks from somewhere behind you. She clearly isn't expecting an answer, but you couldn't help yourself. 

“Shauna, I didn't–”

“And you were doing so good.”

You tense at the words and at the way Shauna starts to enter your field of vision as she moves closer. Her face is just barely visible, her eyes blown in a mix of rage and sheer arousal. For a brief moment you allow yourself the luxury of sneaking a peek down past Jackie's shirt that she hadn't bothered to take off to the bare skin of her thighs. 

But you don't get long to really enjoy the view. 

“Too good to eat my fucking food,” she mutters, leaning closer to press something into your mouth. “Eat this instead.” 

It's dark enough that it takes you a moment to feel out what it is, a blush rising to your cheeks as you realize she's stuffed her panties in your mouth. Your head feels foggy at the realization, almost lightheaded from the experience. Or maybe that was the way you struggled to breathe, every breath short and sharp as you struggled to get your lungs to fully expand. 

Shauna grabs on tightly to your arm, wrenching it around to flip you onto your back like it was nothing. 

You stare up at her dazedly, only to be met by the sight of her fierce glare. As if it was your fault that she couldn't fuck herself properly with the back of your thigh. She settles down into your lap, thighs spread wide to keep you pinned as she leans forward to plant a hand on your shoulder to brace her weight. 

Shauna holds eye contact with you as she spits on the palm of your hand, smirking when you tense in surprise. She brings your hand between her legs, sighing when you make contact. God, is she wet. It shouldn't surprise you with everything that's happened since you entered her hut, but you still find yourself gasping at the warmth of her as you slide two fingers home. 

She clenches around you immediately, like she's just been waiting for it all night. As soon as you start to thrust your fingers, she moves along with them, matching the rhythm the best she can and digging her thumb into your shoulder warningly when she decides she would rather you match hers. It's not like you care, not when you get to watch the way the muscles in her thighs flex with each move. 

You almost forget how to breathe as you look up at her, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses her face faster than she can quench them. It's a subtle thing with how hard she's trying to suppress it, but a little twitch of her mouth is all it takes to give her away when you're scrutinizing her so closely. 

Shauna surrounds you. 

Her weight on top of you, her body so solid and immovable despite the nearly a year you've been starving. Her scent filling the air, the familiar smell of dirt and animal blood and something uniquely Shauna that you've grown so used to in your time in the wilderness. The wet heat of her wrapped around your fingers and pressed against your lap, a warmth that's more than welcome in the chill of the night air. Then there's the taste in your mouth as your tongue brushes the wet fabric of her panties. There's nowhere to go beneath her, pinned as thoroughly as you are. Nothing to think about but her. 

Just how Shauna likes it. 

You can feel even more of the warmth of her pressed against you as she leans forward, body trembling with adrenaline and something else as she seeks out more contact. You have to adjust the angle of your hand, which Shauna doesn't appreciate until she does. Letting out a little sigh as she rolls her hips down. 

“Couldn't just eat. Had to go get me in trouble with her majesty.” 

So it was your fault now? 

“Who the fuck does Nat think she is?” Shauna doesn't wait for an answer, just continues on mockingly, and ignores the way her breath hitches when you curl your fingers. “I don't want to see either of your faces for a week. Or what?”

You hope the question was rhetorical. It would be just like Shauna to gag you and then get pissed you wouldn't answer. 

The continued angry muttering under her breath assuages that fear, but you don't have much time to think on it as Shauna brings a hand to your face. 

There's a glint in her eye that promises nothing but bad things as she brushes her thumb across your lips, slowly plucking the fabric of her panties and pulling them free. You lick your lips nervously, trying to soothe the dryness of your mouth now that they're gone. 

“Open your mouth,” Shauna commands, and you do so with more than a little hesitance. She hooks her thumb over your bottom teeth, just enough to keep your jaw open as she looms over you. Slowly, taking her time so that you have to watch helplessly, she tilts her head down and parts her lips. She doesn’t spit–nothing as simple as that. Instead, she just lets a thin, glistening string of saliva fall from her mouth to land squarely on your tongue. It’s warm and wet and so unbearably intimate.

You jerk away almost instinctively, but Shauna clenches her thighs tightly around your hips and digs her fingers into your jaw to keep you right where she wants you. Her eyes glance down, watching the way her saliva sits on your tongue and mixes with your own.

“Swallow,” she commands, voice sharp. Your cheeks burn red as you do, struggling for a moment to do so with your mouth held so far open.

She nods slowly, this time just spitting into your open. Her head tilts to the side like she’s studying you, and she seems pleased when you swallow without being asked this time.

“Good.” Her voice is low, gravelly in a way that makes you squirm as she traces her thumb across your jaw. ”Now, hold onto this for me.”

This time, as her spit reaches your tongue, you do nothing. You don’t jerk, you don’t flinch, you just keep your mouth open wide as the string of saliva lands. She leans close enough to kiss you, breath brushing hot against your lips, but she just pulls away again with a pleased hum.

You think she might say something else, but all she does is let go of your jaw to press two of her fingers in your mouth. She doesn't push, doesn't even try to choke you like you were prepared for. Just rests the weight of them on your tongue as she watches the way your lips close around them.

Shauna starts riding your fingers in earnest now, fast enough that you struggle to keep up with her. God, could she fucking move. You knew from watching her on the field, and lately from watching her in the chase, but it was something else to witness it while two knuckles deep. 

Her thighs tremble with the effort of it, but a part of you suspects she's still holding back. The squelching sound fills the air, loud and unmistakable in its simplicity. There's no doubt in your mind that everyone knew what you were doing if they hadn't already pieced it together from the sounds leaving Shauna's lips. She wasn't quiet or shy like you might have shamefully imagined her being before the crash. 

It was like the thought of shame never even crossed her mind. 

Maybe after a very public birth and subsequent well-deserved crash out, little things like all of your former teammates knowing you're getting fucked one hut over don't register as much in your mind. 

You can tell by the way she's clenching around your fingers that she's getting close, but if Shauna's aware of it, she doesn't acknowledge it. Even when your thumb presses against her clit to rub quick little circles, the only response you get is a sharp intake of breath as she presses into the touch. 

It's different now that you can watch her start to fall apart. Different now that you're actually participating instead of just letting her use you as a means to an end. You hadn't minded, obviously, but you much prefer to watch the way her eyes slip shut as her head starts to tilt back. 

When Shauna comes, it's violent, thighs snapping around your waist as a loud cry tears itself from her lips. Tears was the right word, as it sounded like it cost Shauna something as it came out. Pride, maybe. Or something else entirely. 

Either way, Shauna looked wrecked as she lazily rode out the last of it–eyes almost black as she stared down at you. 

… 

You stare up at the ceiling of her hut after everything's said and done, slick with sweat and short of breath. Shauna hasn't said anything in a while, just silently rolled off, and laid down. 

Turning on your side, you sneak a glance over at Shauna, whose eyes are already closed. You slowly reach over to rest your arm over her hip, starting to draw it away as Shauna tenses. She grabs at your arm with her hand, saying nothing but not allowing you the chance to pull away. You hold your breath as you scoot closer, but Shauna doesn't comment one way or another. 

That's the closest to an invitation you're going to get. 

[sailorsoons]

Santa Baby (j.ww)

PAIRING: Wonwoo x reader

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend is stuck working on Christmas Eve in hell on earth. You decide to pay him a little visit to cheer him up - and give yourself a good laugh. 

WC: 1,400

AU: Established Relationship 

GENRE:  Fluff, Humor

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Cranky reader, children slander because the author (me) is a childless wench, some light suggestive talk at the end, explicit language, a single chaste kiss. 

A/N: This was originally a request for @kkaetnipjeon on my sailorrhansol blog before my blog was shot in cold blood. So now I'm posting a Christmas drabble in the middle of February :)

A/N 2: This is not beta read - I just used spell check because I am ungovernable. 

MAIN MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAG LIST | ASK

Christmas Eve at the mall should be illegal. It’s most certainly a hazard to your health as yet another family bumps into you with their handful of demons - children - nearly knocking you into the swing sign at Victoria Secret telling you to buy something so someone could unwrap you. 

You would love for someone to be unwrapping you right now in the warmth of your home in the sheets that smell like laundry detergent and spicy cologne. The man who would do the unwrapping, however, is currently only available to the population of the world’s most hellish mall. 

Which is why you’re in said hellish mall in the first place. 

Christmas music blares over the speakers of the mall. The smell of grease and the distinct scent of cheese drifts from the food court. Your stomach rumbles, not for the burnt taste of Sbarro pizza but at the thought of going home and finally digging into a proper meal. 

That will have to wait, though. 

Smack in the center of the mall is a towering platform decorated like a winter wonderland. Occasionally, a snowblower from somewhere on the second floor shoots out foam, turning it into the North Pole proper. It earns a combination of screaming in delight and terror from the mostly-kid population waiting in line to walk up the metal catwalk to the top of the winter wonderland where Santa is waiting for them. 

Sighing, you get in line, by-stepping a little girl covered in sticky candy cane residue as she runs from her mother, tears streaming down her face while screaming she doesn’t want a picture with tanta. Well, you’re not sure who tanta is but you can’t blame her, looking at your watch to see it’s nearly eight o'clock at night. 

The line moves sluggishly slow. You shift back and forth on your feet, scrolling mindlessly through social media. The mother in front of you accidentally knocks your phone with her purse as she shifts one of her screaming children from one arm to the next.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, bouncing the baby in an attempt to soothe him. You wince. You get it - she doesn’t have it easy. “And sorry for his screaming.”

“That’s okay, I think it’s a requirement for kids to scream during the holidays. It’s like an instinct.” 

She laughs. “Is this one yours?” 

You look to where she’s pointing. There’s a child standing next to you with snot running down his nose and a grinch t-shirt on with several questionable stains. He looks up at you with big brown eyes, blinking and asking, “Dada?” 

“No, definitely not.” You point to the father swiftly coming over to scoop the child, an apologetic look on his face. “That’s dada, buddy.” 

“Dada,” the kid agrees, turning to reach his arms up as he’s scooped up and taken away from the line. 

“Oh.” The woman in front of you frowns. “No kids? Just here to see Santa yourself?” 

“Yes. I want to ask him to destroy all the Cybertrucks.” 

“Oh.” End of conversation. 

One less friend and an infinite amount of line to go, you flip through your work emails, cringing to see how many people think it’s appropriate to send you emails on Christmas Eve. Don’t they know you have a line to stand in for forty five minutes? 

You think about asking Santa to send all your coworkers away like Kevin on Home Alone, but realize you’d still be expected to take on all their work. Maybe you should ask for the destruction of capitalism. That seems like a world-wide benefit. 

Finally, the line moves forward significantly. The metal catwalk twangs underneath your boots. You lean on the greasy rail, listening to the musical styling of Mariah Carey as she earns yet another number on her paycheck as foam snow blows overhead. 

In a weird way, it’s not terrible. You look around, drinking in the miserable families just trying to take a last second holiday photo, late shoppers scrambling to get the last of their presents before tomorrow morning, the kitschy decorations making up the mountain with Sana’s chair somewhere at the top. 

You grin, feeling a sense of nostalgia as the line moves forward again. It might be an annoying way to spend your evening, but there’s no denying there’s a bit of magic in the air, even for capitalism Christmas. And Sbarro pizza. 

Finally, you near the top landing. There are elf workers helping take photos and managing the line while Santa sits on a gold chair with velvet cushions. His robes are equally as red, nearly blending in with the seat save for the white beard and hair and the slightly askew glasses as the little kid in his lap knocks him in the head. 

Coughing to disguise your laughter, you watch as Santa delicately removes the child from his lap and gives a hoarse ho ho ho before sighing and readjusting to accept the next family. He doesn’t see you in line, entirely focused on lifting up the little tyke in front of him into his lap to ask what he wants for Christmas.

The teenage elf working the line looks you up and down, raising her brow as she chews her gum. “How many?” 

“Just me.”

“Oh. Ummm. Alright I guess. You get five minutes with Santa. Please don’t go over time. Your photos will be available at the kiosk downstairs. Take this ticket and they’ll print them.” 

You take the piece of paper from her. “How much are photos?” 

“Fifty bucks.”

“Jesus Christ, do I get to kiss him on the mouth too? Why is it so expensive?” 

She stares at you before turning over her shoulder to see the family leaving. “I don’t make the prices. Your turn - and don’t kiss Santa on the mouth.”

Shoving the ticket in your pocket, you mutter under your breath that you can actually kiss this specific Santa all you want. The Santa in question turns to greet you, halfway through his greeting when he sputters,” Ho-ho- holy shit what are you doing here?” 

“Wow, what terrible language, Santa Baby.” You grin, plopping yourself on his lap. Wonwoo nearly drops you as you do, but he recovers quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight. “You smell like cheese.” 

“It’s the food court,” he mutters. “It won’t leave me, I swear.” 

“Gross.” You adjust his glasses, heart fluttering. “You look cute.” 

He does, in a weird way. Not because the giant suit and the beard and the hair are flattering, but because you know it’s Wonwoo underneath it all. Wonwoo who somehow got roped into covering for Mingyu as a mall Santa for the evening, Wonwoo who is a little bit overwhelmed by kids but eager to make them laugh anyway, Wonwoo whose grip tightens on you a little, eyes sparkling at your arrival. 

“Do I?” 

“No, but I like you anyway.” 

“Alright, pose with Santa,” the photographer says. 

Both of you ignore him as Wonwoo laughs. “So,” he hums. “Have you been naughty or nice?” 

“Well, I drove an hour in traffic to come to this shitty mall and then fight for parking for another forty-five, got run into by a bunch of families, stood in line and got called dada or mama like four times, all to come see my boyfriend and make his night a little better.”

“Got it. Nice list.” 

You brush stray white hair from his beard. “Definitely nice list.” 

“Thanks for coming to see me.” He hugs you a little closer, softening. “It’s really sweet of you. I’m off in an hour.”

“Good. I’m hungry and I want to watch The Muppets Christmas Carol with my own personal Santa Baby.” 

“Is that what’s on your Christmas list?” 

“Yes. And for all the Cybertrucks to be destroyed.”

His laugh is jovial. You think Wonwoo’s laugh outranks Santa any day, full-bellied and cute. You feel your affection swell, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips despite the teenage elf telling you not too. Too bad she doesn’t decide if you get to kiss your boyfriend or not. 

“Hey!” She yells behind you. “I told you not to kiss Santa!”

“I’ve gotta go,” you laugh. “I think I just made the naughty list.” 

“I’ll see you at home?”

“Mhmm.” You think of the Victoria Secret sale sign. “Come unwrap me.” 

PERMANENT TAG LIST

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[wolfytae-exe]

The feelings box. (S)

summary: In which sending a complaint letter on valentine’s day doesn’t go as planned.

warning: old friends trope, soft sex, sub! reader, soft dom! Beomgyu, big dick Beomgyu agenda, raw penetration (Wrap it up yall), biting

pairing: Idol! Beomgyu x Bestfriend! Reader

wc: 3.4k

this is for @silvergyus Valentine’s day event!

It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve seen your best friend Beomgyu. You’ve known him for years, since your second year in high school to be exact. Now he’s super famous and doesn’t have much time for you anymore. You try to be excited for him, really, but you can’t help but feel a little bitter about how little time you spend with him these days.

It’s like everything has changed, and it’s hard not to miss the days when things were simpler—when your biggest concern was whether the tteokbokki was spicy enough, or what crazy thing you’d end up doing next on a random Tuesday night. You miss those nights. The ones when you’d sit on the floor, sharing food, laughing at the stupidest things, and just talking about life’s bullshit. From your shitty family to the dumbest inside jokes, it all felt so easy back then. You could always count on him to brighten up even your worst days. The kind of friendship that didn’t need much effort—it just was.

But as much as you try to keep your feelings in check, there’s one thing you can't seem to shake off. About a year after meeting him, you started to develop a small crush on Beomgyu. At first, it was something you could ignore, convinced it was just a silly phase that would fade. But the more you got to know him, the more you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. He was charming and magnetic, and it wasn’t hard to see why girls were falling over themselves for him. You tried to push it aside, telling yourself it was nothing because, honestly, what were the chances he’d ever feel the same? Besides, you couldn’t exactly be the friend with feelings; that would be messy. Still, every time his smile lights up a room or when he laughs at something only the two of you get, you feel that familiar tug in your chest, and it makes it even harder to ignore.

This is where your trusty “feelings box” comes in. A stupid old shoebox you’ve had since middle school, tucked away under your bed like some kind of emotional safety net. It's full of notes about all the things you've never said. Some to your family, some to old classmates who never really understood you, some to random strangers who pissed you off, and of course, a few to Gyu. You can’t help but smile bitterly as you think about it. The notes are a mix of silly frustrations and things you never had the guts to share, but they’ve been your secret outlet for years. "God, I hate Valentine’s Day," you mutter under your breath, slouching back in your chair as you stare at the box.

All day, your friends have been buzzing about the upcoming day. They’re all so excited about Valentine’s Day—chattering about their plans, detailing every little moment of how their boyfriends asked them out, and the little gifts they’re getting. It’s all so… perfect. They don’t even seem to notice how much it stings to hear it. You should be happy for them, really. But as you sit at your desk, staring at the clutter of papers and half-hearted doodles, you can’t help but feel a little left out. Not that you were expecting anything grand—after all, who needs a day dedicated to love when you’ve got your trusty shoebox for all the things you’ll never say? Still, part of you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone who’d think of you on a day like this, someone who’d make your heart flutter for once, instead of just filling up your box.

You pull out your notepad, the one you’ve been scribbling in for years, and start writing a letter to Beomgyu. It’s cathartic, this release of everything you’ve been holding in—how much you miss him, how much you wish he wasn’t so busy with his new life. You pour your frustrations onto the paper, wishing things could go back to the way they used to be. You write about how it feels like he’s slipping further away, how he’s always surrounded by people now, and how there are moments when you feel like a stranger to him. But more than anything, you write about him—the little things you notice, the things you’ve never said out loud. How he makes people feel special without even trying, how his laugh lingers in your mind long after he’s gone, how he’s always been your Beomgyu, even when the rest of the world started claiming pieces of him.

And then, almost without thinking, you reach for a fresh sheet of paper. Your hand hesitates for a moment before the words begin to flow—raw, unfiltered, meant for no one’s eyes but your own. A confession you never planned to send.

Beomgyu,

I hate Valentine’s Day. Every year, it’s the same—flowers, chocolates, grand gestures, and yet none of it ever means anything to me. But if it were you… maybe it would.

I don’t even know when it started. Maybe it was the first time you stayed up all night on the phone with me when I was feeling like crap. Or maybe it was when you showed up at my door with tteokbokki after my worst exam just because you “had a feeling” I needed it. Or maybe it’s always been there, lingering quietly, waiting for me to notice.

But I do notice. I notice everything about you. The way your voice softens when you’re tired, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh too hard, the way you always find a way to make people feel like they matter. You don’t even try, and yet you pull people in like gravity. Like you pulled me in.

And I hate it. I hate that I can’t shake this feeling, that every time I see you, I wonder what it would be like if you looked at me the way I look at you. I hate that I know you don’t. Because why would you? You’re Beomgyu—the boy with a thousand admirers, the boy too busy chasing his dreams to notice the way I hold my breath whenever you’re close.

I wish I could say this out loud. I wish I could be one of those people who confesses without fear, who risks it all for love. But I can’t. Because if I say it, if I admit it to you, I might lose the one thing I never want to let go of—you. And that’s a risk I can’t take.

So instead, I’ll write it here, in this stupid shoebox full of things I’ll never say.

—Y/N

When you finish, it’s like a weight has been lifted. The air feels a little easier to breathe, but your heart still feels heavy in a way you can’t shake. You push the paper aside and glance down at the other half-finished letter to Gyu on your desk. You’ve been putting it off for weeks now, but tonight, with everything on your mind, you finally decide to finish it. You don’t want to leave anything unsaid, but you also don’t want to make things weird. So you keep it simple—lighthearted, nothing too serious. You end the letter with a casual sign-off, your name, and a smiley face, as though nothing’s changed. A few days later, you slip it into the mail, not thinking too hard about it. You’re not confessing anything, just telling him you miss him. Simple, easy. That’s all.

A few days later, Valentine’s Day rolls around, and you’re just planning on treating it like any other day. You didn’t expect anything to change, especially not after everything that’s been on your mind. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands—getting yourself some chocolates and settling in for a scary movie marathon. Romance movies? Yeah, not the best idea today. You weren’t about to sit through a bunch of perfect couples and heartwarming confessions while you were still trying to wrap your head around everything. The rain taps against your window, adding to the quiet mood, as you pour yourself a cup of hot cocoa, curling up in your blanket. You start eating your chocolates, letting the sweetness balance out the tension in your chest. The movie plays in the background, but it’s really just the comfort of being alone, of doing something for yourself, that brings peace. You focus on the suspense of the movie, pushing aside the little sting of loneliness, telling yourself that it’s just another day.

A sudden knock on your door makes you jump, the sound slicing through the quiet of your room. At first, you think it might just be part of the movie, or maybe the rain hitting the window. But then another knock—definitely not the movie, and definitely not the rain. “Oh god, now what?” you mutter to yourself as you pull yourself to your feet. “Coming!” you yell, sliding on your fuzzy bear slippers with a sigh. You shuffle over to the door in your cozy sweater and loose gray sweatpants, your hair a bit messy from the comfort of the night. It’s not like you were expecting visitors today, so you’re not exactly prepared for anyone showing up at your door.

“Gyu?” you gasp loudly as you swing the door open. His face is oddly serious, a look you swear you’ve never seen before, like there’s something on his mind that he’s not sure how to say. You’re frozen for a moment, trying to figure out why he’s standing there, looking at you like that. “Wh-what are you doing here?!?” you almost yell, too surprised to contain the shock in your voice as your eyes lock with his. His hair is drenched in water, his jacket soaked from the rain, and his expression is unreadable. Why is he looking at you like that? The silence between you both stretches on, each second more suffocating than the last. You’re standing there, frozen in place, your heart pounding, feeling like panic has replaced all the blood in your veins.

After a few agonizing moments of silence, he starts to turn away, and that’s when your instincts kick in. Without thinking, you reach out and grab the sleeve of his jacket, your fingers curling into the fabric. “No, Gyu, pl—” You don’t even get to finish before he closes the distance, crashing his lips against yours. It’s sudden and overwhelming, and everything you thought you knew about him and about yourself goes out the window in an instant. He pulls you out into the rain, but honestly, you couldn’t care less. The cold drops on your skin are nothing compared to the warmth flooding through your chest at the feeling of him against you. All the confusion, all the panic—it fades into the background, replaced by something else entirely.

Once you finally pull apart he whispers out “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” You stand there in shock completely overwhelmed by emotion. How do you even begin to explain to him everything you’re feeling. It’s one thing to write all your feelings on a piece of paper and shove them into a box under your bed, but now you have to try and say them? You can’t do that. You can barely think. So you don’t. You reach out and pull him down into an even deeper kiss. Soft breathy moans escape your lips as you feel him pull you closer to him. Your head is spinning with emotion and desire. Desire to touch him. Desire to show him everything without ever having to say anything at all.

As you pull away from the kiss, you're both left gasping for air. Gyu's eyes are wide with a mix of wonder and relief. The rain continues its relentless assault, soaking you both, but the warmth radiating off him is enough to keep you going. You run your fingers through his wet hair, marveling at how soft it feels against your skin. Your lips are tender, and swollen from the ferocity of the kiss, but you crave more. You lean in again, capturing his mouth with yours, desperate to convey every jumbled emotion swirling inside you. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your heartbeats sync as your bodies mold together, the cold rain now a distant memory. The world around you fades away, leaving only the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement and the roar of your combined heartbeats.

You can’t believe what’s happening right now. As you kiss the two of you stumble into your room. He gently guides you down onto the bed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ll ever touch” he mumbles before kissing you even deeper. Your sarcastic and witty demeanor is out the window. You can’t even think of anything other than how badly you’ve wanted this. It almost feels like a dream. “Are you sure?” he asks you softly. This is when you meet his eyes again. Seeing that same, idiot best friend you started falling for so long ago. “I’m sure Gyu,” you say in a playful yet sincere tone. His face softens at your confirmation.

His hands continue their path down your body. You’re too shy to make eye contact with him. The intensity of how he’s looking at you burning a pit into your stomach. You lift your hips as he pulls off your pants that are now soaked in more ways than one. Your embarrassment is there but you can’t make yourself care. His hands feel better on your skin than you ever could've imagined. He kisses you again. This time he slides his tongue into your mouth making you gasp into the kiss. You aren’t a virgin but this feels oddly similar to that feeling of having sex for the first time. It all feels so intense and so new. You tug on his hair, deepening the kiss. You need more. He wrestles with his belt and takes his now rock-hard cock out. You can’t help but joke “Who would’ve guessed” you say as you see how big he is. He chuckles and kisses you again. He gently guides himself inside you. “Holy shit-” you gasp at the sudden stretch of him pushing inside of you, it feels surreal to finally have him this close to you. You grip onto his shoulders, eyes closing in attempts to calm your heart and your head.

Once fully sheathed inside you, Gyu stills, savoring the sensation. He gazes into your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. “Do you need a minute?” He whispers softly while moving the fly-aways of your hair out of your face. You take a breath, trying to relax from the burning stretch before giving him a curt nod for him to keep going. Beomgyu takes it and pulls out before slowly beginning to move. Each thrust is careful, measured, as if he's trying to memorize the feeling of being connected to you. You moan softly, your hands clutching the sheets beneath you. The initial shock of his size quickly fades, replaced by pure ecstasy. You match his pace, rising to meet him, your bodies moving in a harmony that feels like it's been years in the making. The air between you crackles with electricity, every touch igniting sparks that travel throughout your entire being. The playfulness lingers in the form of whispered jokes and soft giggles, punctuating the increasingly intense moments of passion. It's a delicate dance of exploration and adoration.

With each stroke, Gyu becomes more confident, his movements growing bolder as he learns what drives you wild. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled moans and the rustling of the bed sheets. You're no longer shy about your desire, meeting his gaze with a hunger that matches his own. He leans down, capturing your lips once more, swallowing your gasps as the pleasure builds. It's raw, it's real, and it's everything you never realized you needed. Who knew this shit was real? You certainly didn’t. ‘How did I go from confessing my feelings to a shoebox to having sex with my best friend?’ you think to yourself. The feeling building in your stomach pulls your attention back to the intensity of your surroundings, The feeling of your chest pressed against his, his lips and teeth against your neck; leaving love bites, and the feeling of his thick cock sliding against your walls in the most dizzying way.

As your bodies intertwine, the tension between you reaches its peak. Gyu's pace quickens, matching the racing of your heart. You clutch onto him tightly, your nails digging into his back as the wave of pleasure crashes over you both. Your moans become louder, and his moans follow suit, filling the quiet space as you reach your climax together. The world seems to pause for a brief moment, the only things that matter is the pounding of your hearts and the feeling of him inside you. Then, as the ecstasy subsides, you collapse against each other, spent and satisfied. For a few seconds, there's nothing but heavy breathing and the sound of your hearts beating in sync.

The rain is still falling outside, tapping softly against the window, but neither of you care. Beomgyu’s hands cup your face, his lips lingering against yours like he’s afraid to let go. When he finally pulls back, his breath is uneven, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words. “I—” He pauses, letting out a breathy laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what just happened. “I wasn’t supposed to do that yet.”

Your heart is still racing, but the panic from earlier has melted away, replaced by something warmer, steadier. You’re lying beside him now, wrapped up in the blankets, your fingers loosely tangled in the fabric of his shirt. The glow of your bedside lamp casts soft shadows across his face, and you can’t help but think how right this feels. “What do you mean yet?” you ask, voice quieter now, calmer. He sighs, shifting slightly so he’s closer to you, his arm draped over your waist. “I got your letter.” His eyes flicker to yours, gauging your reaction. “Not the one you meant to send, I’m guessing?” Instantly, heat rushes to your face. “Oh my god,” you groan, rolling onto your back to cover your face with your hands. “I knew I sent the wrong one.” Beomgyu chuckles, gently pulling your hands away. “Hey, don’t hide from me,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “I read it. Every word.” His voice turns quieter, more serious. “And it wasn’t exactly what I expected… but it wasn’t unwelcome either.”

You blink up at him, confusion giving way to something else—hope. “What?” He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve liked you for so long, but I kept convincing myself I didn’t. I told myself it was just friendship, that I’d get over it, that you didn’t feel the same.” His expression is open, vulnerable, and it makes your heart ache in the best way. “But then I read that letter, and I realized… maybe I wasn’t the only one scared of ruining this.” The words settle over you, and suddenly, everything makes sense. You were never losing Beomgyu—not to fame, not to time, and certainly not to unspoken feelings. Instead, you’ve found something even better, something you were too afraid to reach for before. “I was scared too,” you admit, fingers tracing absent patterns against the fabric of his shirt. “Scared of losing you, scared of things changing. But Gyu… I don’t want to keep pretending.” His lips twitch into a soft smile, his arm tightening around you as he tugs you closer. There’s no more hesitation. No more hiding. Just warmth. Just him. He leans in again, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before resting his against yours. “No more letters. No more hiding,” he whispers, his voice as familiar and comforting as ever. “Just us.” And as you nod, letting your fingers tangle with his, you realize the truth—this isn’t the end of something, it’s the start. You haven’t lost a friend. You’ve gained a love that’s always been there, just waiting for the right moment. “Just us,” you whisper back, smiling as the rain continues to fall outside.

[sunshineangel0]

-late night adrenaline.. ☾

pairing– han jisung x reader summary– after a suffocating day, the walls start closing in, and you need an out. so, naturally, you show up at jisung’s doorstep in the middle of the night, throwing your car keys at him. fast cars. empty roads. music so loud it rattles through your bones. it’s supposed to help, supposed to clear your head. but nothing—not the speed, not the wind whipping past—drowns out the fact that jisung sees right through you. genre– friends to lovers, slow burn, high tension, late night recklessness word count– 2.5k warnings– mentions of stress/overwhelm, dangerous levels of tension, reckless driving, suppressed feelings finally snapping, intense first kiss, mutual pining, jisung being unfairly attractive while behind the wheel. a/n- so. i wrote this yesterday evening after a fight with my boyfrined so it may be a litle angsty (sorry). hope you enjoy it anyways babes. also, i accidentally published this on the wrong acc, so here is take number two.

It’s one of those nights—an unbearable weight of stress compresses against your chest, squeezing your ribs until breathing feels like a challenge. The walls of your apartment seem to inch closer, threatening to swallow you whole, while your thoughts clamor noisily in your head, refusing to quiet down. Restlessness buzzes beneath your skin, making it impossible to stay put.

You don’t even know where to start.

It’s everything. All at once.

You're drowning in work, deadlines looming ominously, the weight of responsibility pressing down like an unyielding vice. Each task you complete seems to multiply into three more, a relentless cycle that leaves you questioning if you'll ever catch up. No matter how hard you push yourself, it's never quite enough.

Then there's your personal life—an entangled mess you can't quite face. Texts go unanswered, calls are ignored, plans canceled because the thought of dealing with people feels insurmountable. Everyone seems to want something from you, pulling you apart in every direction, leaving you utterly exhausted.

And then there's Han.

Han, your best friend, the one you've secretly loved for five long years. Han, who never demands but somehow intensifies your turmoil just by being there—those dark, knowing eyes seeming to peer into your very soul, hearing what you never dare to say. Han, who dates other girls but never really commits, leaving you in a limbo of hope and despair. Han, who treats you like you're something more but never takes that crucial step.

You're caught in a whirlwind of exhaustion and restlessness, feeling on the brink of breaking apart. The thought of staying still for even a moment longer is unbearable, yet moving forward seems just as impossible. You're torn, unsure if confronting these feelings will bring relief or only deepen the chaos.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You grab your keys and go.

Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself standing at Jisung's doorstep, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as your knuckles strike the solid wood with a desperate urgency, defying the screaming impulse to flee. The door bursts open, and there stands Jisung, blinking in bewilderment, his expression an electrifying blend of confusion and intrigue as he absorbs your chaotic state—hair whipped into a frenzy by the wind, eyes blazing with intensity. Without uttering a single word, you hurl your car keys toward him with a flick of your wrist, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension.

He arches an eyebrow but catches them effortlessly, his fingers curling around the cool metal. “Uh… hello to you too?” he says, a hint of amusement tinged with concern in his voice.

“No talking. Just get in,” you demand, your voice edged with urgency and an undercurrent of something raw and restless, like a storm about to break. It sends a shiver down his spine, an electric charge in the air.

For a second, he hesitates, his eyes lingering on your tense figure. Not because he doesn’t want to follow—he always does—but because he can almost see the crackling energy swirling around you like a brewing storm. Your fingers twitch restlessly at your sides, like a coiled spring ready to snap, as if you're on the verge of punching something or bolting out the door. Jisung exhales sharply, the sound slicing through the charged air, then he snatches his hoodie from the couch and trails after you without another word.

The cityscape blurs by in a muted rush as you speed along the highway. The usual city noise is subdued, reduced to a low hum as streetlights streak past like scattered stars, casting brief, glowing halos through the car windows. Jisung grips the steering wheel firmly, his knuckles pale in the dim glow, driving with his signature style—quick and efficient, yet with a touch of caution. Normally, he's in control, but tonight there's a different energy in the air.

The car's speakers thrum with heavy bass, each beat pulsing through the seats, merging with the thunderous growl of the engine. It creates a cocoon of sound that isolates you both from the world outside, intensifying the charged atmosphere inside the vehicle. The faint scent of leather mingles with the crisp night air that sneaks in through the slightly open windows, carrying a hint of something almost smoldering, like the promise of something about to ignite.

"Drive faster," you urge, your voice barely cutting through the blaring music

. Jisung casts a quick glance at you, his jaw set. "Y/N, I'm already pushing almost 100 miles per hour,"

he snaps, his tone fraught with urgency. But you fire back instantly, your words sharp and impatient, "Clearly, it's not enough."

“Y/N, for God's sake, what’s going on? What the hell happened?” H

His voice quivers with raw concern as his knuckles turn white, gripping the steering wheel with a desperate intensity.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, your eyes fixed on the blur of landscape racing by, your voice a ghostly whisper.

“No, you’re not,” he presses, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide, filled with alarm. “You just told me to go faster when we’re already tearing through the speed limit. Are you trying to get us killed?”

"I'm fine, Jisung. I just need to clear my head, that's all," you insist, your voice strained, struggling to sound convincing.

Jisung’s gaze remains locked on you, worry etched deep into his features. "Tell me what’s wrong, or I’m pulling over," he demands, his voice a mix of firmness and gentle resolve.

You feel the tension in your body as your fingers curl tighter around the worn fabric of your jeans. You turn your head slowly to look at him. The streetlights whip past, casting sharp, fleeting shadows across his face. You can see the way his jaw is set, the hard line of his determination. His knuckles are white, gripping the steering wheel with a force that betrays his worry.

"Keep driving," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, he obliges. The car speeds down the highway, the engine humming beneath the loud, rhythmic thump of the music that fills the space between you. It’s a familiar escape—driving too fast, the music too loud, pretending the weight of your thoughts is just a whisper in the wind. But eventually, the car slows, and Jisung pulls over onto the gravel shoulder, the tires crunching softly beneath you. The engine idles quietly, and the night air seeps in through the cracked window, cool and expectant.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts the car into park with a soft click and leans back against the seat, eyes fixed on the empty stretch of asphalt ahead. The silence is suffocating, a heavy blanket smothering all other sounds. Outside, the world feels frozen in time—only the gentle hum of cicadas fills the air, and the distant, sporadic flicker of neon signs from a lonely gas station punctuates the night.

Inside the car, the tension is palpable, thick enough to make breathing a struggle. Jisung remains motionless, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as if preparing for an unseen collision. The music plays softly in the background, a faint, steady rhythm that fails to distract from the oppressive weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily between you.

You can feel his gaze on you, a palpable weight that you choose to ignore. Your forehead leans against the cool, misted surface of the window, and your eyes are fixed on the dark horizon stretching beyond the highway.

But then—

"Y/N."

His voice is quiet, yet there's a sharpness to it, like a blade edge barely concealed beneath a velvet sheath. There's something raw, something unyielding in the way he says your name. You swallow hard, feeling the dryness in your throat. “What?”

Jisung lets out a sudden, frustrated breath, his hands finally loosening their tight grip on the steering wheel. He shifts in his seat, turning his body slightly towards you, determination etched into his posture. “Look at me.”

You hesitate, your fingers tracing the seam of your jeans. The seconds stretch, filled with the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump of the tires against the road.

He waits.

When you finally muster the courage to turn, his eyes—dark and intense—are pinned to you with a force that makes your chest constrict. He looks at you as though he's peeling back every layer, seeing through every flimsy excuse, every half-hearted "I'm fine" you've ever tossed his way. His gaze says he already knows the truth, but he's patiently waiting for you to find the strength to voice it yourself.

But you can’t.

You don’t know how.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

"You didn’t have to pull over," you murmur, shifting your gaze to the dashboard, anywhere but him. "I just needed to—"

"Needed to what?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a bite to it, something pressing, something fraying at the edges. "Race through the city like you’re running from something? Pretend like you’re fine when you’re clearly about to break?"

Your breath catches. “I don’t need you to fix me, Ji.”

His jaw tightens. “I never said I did.”

The words sit between you like an open wound, bleeding, aching.

You close your eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. The night air slips through the barely-open window, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. The words slice through the space between you, raw and aching, like an open wound that neither of you have the strength to ignore anymore.

And then Jisung shifts closer. Not much. Just enough for you to feel it. And suddenly, the space between you feels unbearably small. His presence a slow-burning fire licking at your edges. Jisungs hand lifts, hesitant at first, before his fingers ghost over yours, a barely-there touch that sends something electric racing up your spine. You freeze. His thumb brushes lightly against the back of your hand, tracing slow, aimless circles. It’s soft. It’s careful. But somehow, it feels louder than the pounding of your heart, louder than the music still humming in the background.

“Just tell me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. "Whatever it is, I can take it."

His words wrap around your ribs, tightening. You want to tell him. You want to tell him that it’s not just the stress, not just the deadlines or the exhaustion or the way the world keeps demanding more from you. It’s him. It’s always been him. It’s the way he’s been your constant for five years, the way he’s the only person who can read you like an open book. It’s the way he looks at you—like you matter, like you belong, like you’re his even if he’s never said the words. It’s the way he’s never crossed the line, but he’s always stood so damn close to it that you’ve spent years wondering if he ever would. It’s five years of wanting, five years of aching, five years of pretending that this friendship is enough. It’s the unbearable ache of wanting him.

And suddenly, the air inside the car is too thick, too heavy.

You don’t think. You don’t second-guess. You just move.

Before either of you can process it, your hands are tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. Jisung barely has time to react before your lips crash into his— messy, burning, rough and desperate, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. With something neither of you are ready to name.

He makes a sound—soft, surprised—but then he’s gripping. The sound swallowed by the way he presses you closer. One hand tangles into your hair, fingers threading through the strands, tilting your head back just enough for him to deepen the kiss. The other finds your waist, curling tight, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s reckless—like an open flame. It’s adrenaline and burning rubber on pavement and breaking every unspoken rule. It’s five years of tension snapping in an instant, five years of stolen glances and almosts unraveling between his teeth. It’s the taste of midnight air and unspoken confessions, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for doubt.

When you finally pull away, both of you breathless and wide-eyed, the world outside feels eerily still, as if it, too, is holding its breath.

Jisung stares at you, lips parted, eyes dark and stormy. His chest rises and falls heavily, like he’s struggling to process what just happened.

And then—

Jisung exhales sharply, a breathless sound that’s half-laugh, half-disbelief. He drags a hand through his already-messy hair, his fingers tangling at the roots as if he needs something to ground himself. His lips are still parted, kiss-swollen, the ghost of your touch lingering there like an unanswered question.

"Holy shit."

Your hands remain clenched in the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles white, as if releasing him means accepting the weight of what just happened. Your pulse is a violent drum against your ribs, your lungs burning like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

"Yeah."

The word barely escapes, a whisper carried away by the hush of the night.

Silence stretches between you, no longer suffocating but something else entirely—something that crackles, something that waits. The only sound is the steady tick of the cooling engine, the soft hum of the radio playing a song neither of you are really hearing. The air in the car has thickened, charged with something electric, something inevitable.

Jisung is staring at you, his gaze dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and you follow the movement, pulse jumping, skin prickling. His eyes flicker down to your mouth again—once, twice—before dragging back up, locking onto yours.

And that’s when you realize.

You don’t regret it.

Not even for a second.

His fingers twitch against his thigh, and before you can think, his hand moves—slow, tentative, yet deliberate. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against the back of your hand, tracing lazy circles, sending a shiver rippling through your entire body. It’s nothing, barely a touch—but it’s everything.

You exhale shakily, the sound catching in your throat, your grip finally loosening on his hoodie. He notices. Of course, he does.

Jisung’s lips part, his voice low, careful. “So… do we talk about this, or do I just keep driving?”

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s a slight waver to it—an edge of hesitation, a quiet vulnerability that tugs at something deep inside you.

Your breath hitches. Your heartbeat stumbles, then picks up again, harder, faster.

You could talk about it. You could dissect every moment, lay everything out on the table, risk everything you’ve built with him over the last five years. But the thought of breaking this fragile, raw moment terrifies you.

Instead, you bite your lip, eyes never leaving his.

"Drive," you murmur.

Then he spoke. Softer, deadlier—"But don’t you dare run from this." The smirk that tugs at his lips is slow, almost dangerous—like he knows exactly what youre about to say. Like he’s daring you to hold him to it. His fingers tighten slightly around yours, a promise, a warning, a silent challenge.

"Not a chance." you whisper.

And then, just like that, he’s moving.

The engine growls back to life, the soft rumble vibrating through your seat. Jisung’s hands find the wheel again, steady now, but his knuckles are still faintly pale, his pulse still erratic beneath his skin. The car eases back onto the highway, tires rolling smoothly over the asphalt, but the energy inside the vehicle has irrevocably changed.

The city lights blur past, neon reflections casting shifting patterns over his skin. You watch him out of the corner of your eye—the sharp angle of his jaw, the tension still coiled in his shoulders, the way his fingers tap absently against the wheel like he’s thinking, processing, feeling.

You exhale, letting your head drop back against the seat, the adrenaline still humming through your veins.

Outside, the world rushes past in a blur of midnight hues.

Inside, the two of you are no longer just running.

This time, you know exactly where you’re headed.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

[prettyangellllll]

Drunk call

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader x Barry

Warnings: Mild swearing, alcohol consumption, drunk Rafe being the sweetest, lots of fluff, Barry third-wheeling, FaceTime romance, slight clinginess from Rafe.

Summary: Rafe is having a boys’ night with Barry, drinking and messing around like usual. But after a few drinks, he starts missing his girlfriend way too much. Drunk and hopelessly in love, he calls her in the middle of the night just to see her face, much to Barry’s amusement. What starts as a simple video call turns into Rafe begging her to come over, showering her in sweet, slurred compliments, and proving that even in his drunken haze, she’s the only thing on his mind.

also barry is being the cutest eveeer

------

It was almost 2 AM when your phone buzzed against the nightstand, the sound making you stir from your half-asleep state. You groaned softly, blinking against the dim glow of your bedroom, before reaching for it. The screen lit up with a familiar name.

Rafe Cameron.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you picked up the call. The second the video connected, you were met with Rafe’s face, slightly flushed, hair messy, and a dopey grin stretching across his lips. His blue eyes were heavy-lidded, but the second he saw you, they lit up like fireworks.

“There she is,” he slurred happily, holding the phone too close to his face before pulling it back. “Hi, baby.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Rafe, are you drunk?”

Barry’s voice rang out in the background before Rafe could answer. “Oh, he’s wasted.”

Rafe ignored him, his entire focus locked on you. “M’not wasted. Just a little… buzzed.” His head swayed slightly, and you could tell he was lying.

“Rafe.”

“Okay, maybe a lot buzzed,” he admitted with a laugh, tilting his head dramatically. “But, babe, listen. I miss you so much.”

Your heart melted instantly. “You do?”

“Duh,” he scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m tryin’ to have fun, but I keep thinking about you. You should be here. Should be cuddlin’ me.”

Barry snorted in the background. “He hasn’t shut up about you for the past hour.”

Rafe shot him a glare. “Shut up, Barry.” Then, he turned back to you, pouting. “Baby, you left me all alone.”

You giggled. “You’re literally with Barry.”

“But it’s not the same,” he whined, flopping back against the couch. “Barry doesn’t smell as good as you. Barry doesn’t give me kisses. Barry doesn’t—”

“Okay, we get it, bro,” Barry interrupted, shaking his head. “I ain’t your girl, and I ain’t tryna be.”

Rafe rolled his eyes dramatically, then focused back on you, lower lip jutting out. “Come over,” he pleaded.

You shook your head. “You’re drunk, Rafe.”

“So?” He blinked. “I still love you when I’m drunk.” His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. “Love you even more, actually.”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re cute when you’re like this.”

“I’m always cute,” he corrected, grinning lazily. “But you’re the cutest. Prettiest. Sweetest. The bestest girlfriend in the whole world.”

Barry made a gagging noise in the background. “Christ, I need another drink.”

Rafe ignored him, too busy staring at you through the screen like you were the only thing that mattered. “Baby, please come over,” he whispered, eyes practically begging. “Wanna hold you.”

You bit your lip, debating. It was late, but Rafe wasn’t going to let this go. And honestly? You missed him too.

“I’ll think about it,” you teased.

Rafe gasped dramatically. “No, don’t think. Just do.”

Barry laughed. “This is the neediest I’ve ever seen you, man.”

Rafe huffed. “You wouldn’t get it, Barry. You’ve never been in love.”

Barry raised a brow. “And you have?”

Rafe didn’t even hesitate. His gaze softened as he looked at you. “Yeah. I have.”

Your breath hitched. He was drunk, but you knew it was the truth. The raw honesty in his voice made your heart flutter.

“Fine,” you sighed, rolling out of bed. “I’ll come over.”

Rafe cheered like a little kid, grinning ear to ear. “Yes! Best girlfriend ever!”

Barry just shook his head. “Y’all are disgusting.”

But you didn’t care. Because even through the screen, you could see the way Rafe looked at you—like you were the only person in the world.

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - four (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. one | two (section 1); (section two) | three | four | five 📖series masterlist 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: okay we're um.... getting into it now. hold onto your lightinys, and trust me.... part five isn't too far behind.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, mentions of insomnia/serious exhaustion/being overworked, no smut in this one but there's some definite fluff, some sexist language used towards reader, not by any of our boys

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 11.2k

Be additionally cautious means that this time, instead of secret rendezvouses, you don’t see Yunho at all. 

What no one really remembered that night in the studio is just how jammed the next few weeks if not months of their schedules were. The hidden truth about idol life is that even when you’re not in the middle of a comeback, schedules are just as  tight and days are still a minimum of ten to twelve hours. If you’re not promoting one album, you’re recording or filming context for the next, planning the tour, writing music, filming variety content, and being active on social media. There’s a constant, required drip of content that requires a constant, required effort from every single member of the team. 

It’s a job that burns people out regularly, especially at a company this size. 

So you’ve seen Yunho at the office, but not much more than that, and since you don’t even do his makeup regularly there’s not an opportunity for even an hour of closeness even if it’s just in stolen glances. 

You’ve been getting regular text updates though, and you and Yunho communicate on Kakao Talk like you're in a long distance relationship even when you’re feet away from each other. 

They’ve met and worked out their own requirements for early renegotiation, but now comes the secret meetings with lawyers and planning their approach, which is hard to do between all of their schedules on top of a quick promotional week in Japan for three stages, two special appearances, and multiple fansigns for their last album. 

The hours have been near comeback levels of workload, and while management has promised vacation time once it passes, that seems farther and farther away with every minute you’re not sleeping and every minute you’re not with him. 

Today is more of the same. 

Now back in Korea, you at least have access to your own bed, but today is an early morning shoot at four thirty so that the music video directors can have optimal light, so you still have barely slept. Yunho’s awake, you can feel that through the bond, but he and two other members haven’t arrived to set yet, a product of winning the ladder game and getting a little more time to themselves in the morning before call time. 

After you finish Seonghwa’s base, he asks to take a quick break and you sink into the chair to get off your feet for a moment, yawning heavily. 

That’s a cute sweater - Your phone vibrates with the message and you smile, eyes flicking up to the mirror to catch Yunho, Wooyoung, and San just coming in the far studio door. 

Morning x - You reply. 

You watch him in the reflection as he smiles softly at your message, typing out a response.

How’s it been so far? - He asks.

You sigh - Quiet, everyone’s exhausted after the trip.

You had all returned from Japan only yesterday, and though you’re not contending with jet lag, you’re all still balancing heavy schedules and the switch up between home and away. 

This should help then - Is Yunho’s next message, and you’re not sure what he means until you hear him behind you. 

“Morning,” Yunho says to the room, getting everyone’s attention but keeping his voice soft, “we’ve got coffees on the back table for everyone,” 

There’s a collective groan of appreciation. 

“Thank god,” Dahan says, “I’ll get ours,” 

You jump up before you can stop yourself, “I got it,” 

“Oh,” She takes a step back, smiling, “thanks girl,” 

“For sure, Hwa’s on break anyways,” 

Eunji and Dahan both return their focus to the members in front of them, but Iseul gives you a sly smile. You shoot her an eye roll and head towards the loosely formed circle around the back table. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” You hear Wonshik say as he grabs a cup. 

“Ah,” San shrugs, “it’s too early to film, we couldn’t let everyone go without a little strength,” 

Jongho slips through the side, a roller and clips still in his hair, to find the iced americanos, “Let me know what we owe you,” 

Yunho waves him off, “You’re good,” 

As you get a little closer, you finally meet his eyes and you trade a little smile. You keep it professional, as always, but the warmth in both your chests at just stepping a little closer to one another is undeniable. 

“Thanks for this,” You tell all three of them. 

San and Wooyoung both grin, but step away fast, leaving you almost alone at the table with Yunho. 

“Here,” He picks up a cardboard carrier with four hot cups, “this one's for you and the team,” 

“Oh,” You smile, “thank you, Yunho,” 

“Mhm,” He taps the lid on one cup and nods, “this one’s yours,” 

You glance to the side, but no one’s lingering around too close so you look back as you take the cups, eyebrows raised. 

“Extra shot,” He murmurs, “and vanilla,” 

You could kiss him. 

“Anyways,” He leans back and puts some space between you, “I hope it’s still warm enough.” 

“It’s perfect,” You hear Seonghwa’s voice behind you, you have to go back to work, “thank you,” 

He nods, and you force yourself to turn around, to put your face back on and get back to work. At your station, you slip your coffee cup out of the carrier and leave it on your side table.

”Lattes,” You place one on each station behind the other makeup artists. 

“Perfect,” Eunji turns from Hongjoong and snaps the cup up, “I’m so tired I could inject this,” 

Everyone laughs softly and nods, and you yawn as you get back to your station, taking a long sip of your coffee. 

“Mm,” Dahan says as she wipes her lip and nods towards you, “what’d you get?” 

“Hmm?” You don’t really understand her question. 

She nods towards your coffee, and you lift the cup to glance at the side. 

There’s a hastily drawn English initial there in sharpie, matching your name, and you laugh, “Oh, mine just has vanilla,” 

You’re getting good at fighting through those waves of panic that people might be catching on, better at lying around every turn, so you keep yourself relaxed and shrug this off.

”I like vanilla,” Eunji comments. 

Your eyes connect for a hair with Iseul. 

Seonghwa interjects smoothly though, “I’ll tell Sannie for next time, we were just talking about coffee at that spot in Hyogo, he must have remembered,” 

“That’s thoughtful,” Dahan nods, “you take care of us too well,” 

“Ah,” Hongjoong adds, bringing the attention away from you, “please, it’s the least we can do when you’re always awake an hour before us.” 

“I’ll never complain about coffee,” Iseul smiles and then shifts the conversation like a professional, “Eun, do you have any spare cotton buds? I’m smudging this mascara,” 

“You’ve got to use the guards,” Eunji says, going off on one of her favorite tangents, shifting through her station for her beauty gadget of the moment, and you let Iseul take the reins on that so you can fade right out of their thoughts. 

Seonghwa gives you a quick smile when you turn to him, and you quietly rotate the lid on your coffee so that the initial faces away from them and towards your body. 

“So,” You focus again, smiling at Seonghwa, “how much glitter today? A subtle wash, or a truly tragic amount?” 

He laughs, relaxing into your chair again, “Somewhere in the middle, but I really want these contacts to pop in the closeups,” 

“Got it,” You find your favorite palette for him, setting your coffee to the side, your thumb unconsciously brushing over Yunho’s handwriting as you do. 

The morning gets a little easier after that. The surprise caffeine has put everyone in good spirits, and filming days, while stressfully tight and complicated, are still some of the more fun days you get to have at this job. The pressure is a little lighter without a live performance, and there’s always room for the members to relax and joke around a bit which tends to spread infectiously towards the staff. 

You watch them work with quiet affection, thinking of how quickly they fell into step with you and Yunho the moment they realized what you were to each other. That night in the studio has brought you closer to them in many ways, even if subtle and unspoken, and Yunho looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that his brothers know. 

He feels happier, despite the stress and long hours, and you’ve relaxed considerably with him as such a pillar of strength. 

Early into the afternoon it’s time for solo and unit shoots, and you find yourself in a largely unoccupied area of the set with Wooyong as you finish cleaning off his first coat of makeup. As you prep your tools, he gently nudges your leg with the tip of his boot. 

“You good?” He asks softly, with a friendly expression. 

“I’m good,” You answer automatically, plastering back on your smile. 

“You don’t look good,” He says plainly. 

You glance around the room, but it’s still empty, “Uh, thanks?” 

“You look exhausted,” He clarifies. 

“We’re all exhausted, it’s no big deal,” 

He cocks his head slightly to the slide as you mix a fresh batch of his foundation shade together on the stainless steel pallet in your hands, “Are you sleeping?” 

You shrug, “When I can,”

”Because he’s not sleeping,” Wooyoung points out, “which is weird, he used to be able to nap anywhere,” 

Your mouth snaps shut, lips pressed together. Wooyoung has always been painfully observant, but this goes the extra step. 

“Yeah,” Is all you can muster up. 

“Damn,” He murmurs, “can you not sleep if the other person is awake?” 

Your eyes scan the room again, “Uh,” you shrug again, “kind of? I mean, you can, definitely, but I don’t know… things are weird right now, and new.” 

He nods, tilting his face up so you can start his foundation again, “The physical separation affects you?” 

He’s not going to let it go, so you sigh, “I think so,” 

“Hmm,” He chews the inside of his lip for a moment as he considers that, “that makes sense,” 

“Does it?” 

“Sure,” He says like it’s only natural, “I mean, you’re literally connected. It would make sense that it gets stronger or feels better when you’re together and it’s the opposite when you’re apart.” 

You’ve read articles that propose that same idea, but so much of the scientific research into soulmates and bonds just isn’t there. Especially not on something like separating soulmates or testing physical proximity, not when the pull towards each other is so strong, it’s practically obvious you’re not supposed to be apart and a study like that would be unnecessarily cruel. 

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking that through, but then Wooyoung asks a question softly, “Does it hurt?” 

You blink, “Does what hurt?” 

“Not being with him?” 

As if on cue, your chest aches, and you nod, “Yeah,” 

“Like pain?” Wooyoung’s brows draw together. 

“Not… pain exactly,” You try to explain, “it’s just this… weight, maybe? Or ache?”

”I’m sorry,” He murmurs, “that sounds hard,” 

You feel Yunho deep in the bond, a tiny tug on the cord that connects you, a wordless question. 

You smile at the sensation and Wooyoung looks more confused. You shake your head, “Sorry,” you laugh softly, “he’s checking on me,” 

Wooyoung’s mouth drops open, “That’s amazing,” 

You nod, before brushing your fingers over your mark, sending a wave of reassurance back to him. 

Wooyoung’s eyes flick down to watch the motion and back up, “And you’re…” 

“Telling him I’m fine,” You feel your face warm up a bit. 

“Wow,” He murmurs, a grin spreading on his face, “I can’t wait to know what that feels like,” 

You smile, returning your attention to the makeup palette in your hands. 

“y/n,” He says, “I really think it’s going to work out, I think people will be so happy for you both.” 

For a moment his earnestness makes you believe him, and you thank him softly before you focus on his makeup, you don’t tell him about all the things you’ve seen online that tell you otherwise. 

In the weeks that have gone by, you haven’t been able to stop yourself from researching. 

In your deep dives you’ve found very little to comfort you. 

Two idols have found their soulmates, but their relationships were announced quietly years into retirement from public life, and even then the articles were full of negative comments. 

Plenty of idols have gone through dating scandals, and that always seems to end one of two ways. Either the company says nothing and the rumor fades into nothing, or the evidence is too damning and the destructive cycle of public outcry and idol disgrace continues until companies and contracts break down. 

Yunho has popped up in a couple of unfounded dating rumors, but even those comments made you ill. The way they turned on him, and the way they speculated about his non-existent mystery partner certainly contributed to your sleepless nights. 

Wooyoung’s confidence is almost sweetly naive for someone in the industry. 

You finish his makeup and make it through several more hours of standing around on set ready to hop in and touch up your members between takes. You hold on to the feeling of Yunho’s adrenaline while he practices and performs for the camera to keep you going. 

Hours later, the shoot has started to dwindle down to the people left who still have filming to go or members on set but both Wooyoung and Seonghwa wrapped and went home by the time you make it back to the set’s break tent. 

It’s quiet here, just a collection of plastic tables with snacks and water bottles, some seats, and organized chaos of everyone’s belongings. You could fall asleep right here. 

You’re nearly drifting, your body exhausted after a day of standing, and you sink into one of the break tent’s folding chairs, eyelids heavy. It’s empty for now, a good number of staff already gone for the day, but Yunho’s solo shoot is last and all you want is to see him one more time before you drag yourself home. 

Your head lolls to the side and you don’t know if you really sleep or not, but the next thing you register is a gentle hand on your hair. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, you blink your tired eyes open, “Mm,” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Yunho murmurs softly, “time to wake up,” 

“Y-Yun?” You blink again, yawning as you shift out of the awkward position. 

“What are you still doing here?” He murmurs. 

“I guess I fell asleep,” You sweep a hand under your eyes, “is the shoot over?” 

He nods, “It’s already nine,” 

You look to your watch, surprised to see he’s right, “God,”  

He lovingly strokes your hair again, “Let’s get you home,” 

You sigh into his touch for a brief moment and then he steps back and you push yourself to standing. He takes one fast glance towards the tent opening before dipping down and kissing you once, just a quick indulgence of his lips on yours before he takes a few large steps back to leave a healthy gap between your bodies. 

“How was your day?” He smiles, starting to gather his belongings. 

“Good,” Your skin is still buzzing from the kiss, but you shake it off and look for your own bag, “long,” 

“Mm,” He nods, “same,” 

“How was the shoot?” You start to say, but voices outside catch both of your attention.

You didn’t realize many people were still here. 

You quickly pull on your coat and snap up your bag.

Wonshik, one of their managers, steps into the tent, all of his focus on the phone in his hands, “You ready?” 

“Yep,” Yunho nods, and you notice the other voices of your coworkers are hovered by the door as they talk animatedly about something you can't quite catch.

Wonshik responds but you miss his words, your mind still foggy with sleep. 

“Hyung,” Yunho says, “can we give y/n a ride, it’s late,” 

Wonshik looks up from his phone and finally notices you in the room, “Oh,” he nods, “sure, hey y/n,”

”Hey,” You normally would protest, but you’re dead on your feet, “you sure you don’t mind?”

”All good,” 

The tent flap opens again and San, Eunji, Iseul, and a few BB Trippin dancers start to step in, still mid conversation. 

Wonshik catches your attention though “Where do you live?” 

“Seongsu,” Yunho says it before you can open your mouth and a strike of alarm twists in your chest before he smoothly recovers, “you were just saying how close you are to the studio,”

”Yeah,” You nod, catching on to his misdirection, “super close, I usually walk,” 

Wonshik nods, “No problem, do you have everything? Another early one tomorrow,”

“Sure, I’m ready when you are,” You nod to them both. 

Wonshik turns, reaching into his pocket for his keys, and heads for the entrance again. You and Yunho exchange a quick look, and he nods for you to go first. 

“Good night,” You say to everyone as you pass by. 

They give you a good night, and as you pass each other, you feel Yunho’s tall presence behind you. He says something to San, and gives one of the BB dancers a fist bump for something that happened on set, but then for the first time in weeks he moves without thinking. 

“See you in the morning,” Yunho says, and then turns to follow you, his hand settling on your mid back to guide you forwards out of the tent. 

It takes you both a second to realize what you’ve done, the weight of his hand feeling familiar and right against your back, but you hear San say something loudly enough he could only be making a distraction and your gut twists. 

Yunho drops his hand, shoving it in his coat pocket. 

You feel the rapid pick up of his heart, the apology that he wants to give you but can’t in front of other people. You want to tell him it’s fine, no one saw, and even if they did it was the most mild, brief touch imaginable, but you bite your tongue and climb into the waiting car. 

Wonshik drives you home, and despite the closeness of your bodies in the backseat of the car, Yunho keeps his eyes on the window and an ocean between you. 

Two more days of shoots like that have you propped up on coffee and sheer force of will alone. 

You keep almost falling asleep everywhere, and you’re sure that to any of your coworkers who don’t know about Yunho and your sudden soulmate insomnia, you look terrible. 

“You’ve got to figure out this sleep thing,” Iseul says, nudging your shoulder as she collapses next to you on the couch in your offices at the KQ main building. It’s getting late, finally time to go home, but you just need a second to yourself before trying to muster up the strength to catch the train or risk falling asleep in another Uber. 

You sigh, “I know.”

“Is Yunho still avoiding you?” She asks. 

“He’s not avoiding me,” You huff a tired laugh into your sweatshirt sleeves, “he literally can’t when we’re literal soulmates.” 

He’s been a little distant since the other night, but it’s to be expected. You don’t need him to explain, you can feel it. He’s been looping through the line of mistakes from that night; the kiss, knowing your address, the back touch, all brought on by your joint exhaustion and the constant magnetic energy of the bond that tugs inside you, willing you to touch, to be close. 

“y/n,”

“Sorry,” You sigh, “I’m tired, but no he’s not. He’s just keeping some distance after the other night, he slipped up and he’s beating himself up over it,” 

“It’s a platonic enough touch,” She says, and you’ve heard this argument from her before, “and no one saw,”

“Mm,” You nod, “this is just how he deals.”

“By shutting you out?”

“By hyperfocusing on work,” You correct, “we’re texting, it’s fine, Iseul,”

“Fine,” She says with a sigh, “I just want my best friend back to healthy and happy,” 

You give her a close lipped smile, “Soon,” 

The door opens and you look up as Eunji, Dahan, and Eunwoo from the hair styling team come in, Hongjoong rounding the corner behind them. Hongjoong and Eunwoo are mid conversation, and the other members of your makeup team are carrying an arm full of vending machine snacks.

“How bad do you think I’ll break out after only living on Turtle Chips and caffeine this week?” Dahan groans and you smile.

“I’m telling you,” Eunji shakes the clear box in her hands, “the vending machine salads are surprisingly good,” 

“How? It’s a literal vending machine,” Dahan’s nose crinkles. 

They keep bickering, almost ignoring you and Iseul completely, but then you hear your name out of Hongjoong’s mouth and it catches everyone’s attention. 

“y/n,” Hongjoong says as he steps towards your group and makes eye contact with you, “I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about, do you have a few minutes while I’m already down here? Seonghwa wanted me to pass a bit of feedback back to you,” 

Your eyebrows raise, “Um, sure,” 

Your teammates glance at each other in a bit of confusion, it’s rare for the boys to give you feedback like this, if at all after working with each other for so long, but they let it lie and don’t interject. 

He waits for you, and then nods towards the hall. 

“Right,” You pull yourself up and brush your hands over your wrinkled trousers, “no problem,”

“Text me later,” Iseul says as she stays with Dahan and Eunji, and as you step away you feel their curious glances at you, leaving a strange pit in your exhausted stomach. 

Hongjoong steps into the hall and walks down towards the lobby on this floor, an empty space between elevators with no office doors or onlookers to overhear. 

Once you’re alone with him, you cross your arms over your chest, “Hwa needed you to give me feedback? What did I do?” You smile, keeping it light. 

He waits until he’s sure everyone’s out of earshot, and then he looks back at you, “Nothing, I just needed an excuse to talk to you for a second,” 

“Oh,” You relax. 

“My office,” He starts, “my recording booth, you know where it is?” 

You nod, “Sure,” 

“When the red light is on, no one ever bothers me, not even a knock,” He tells you. 

“Okay,” The word stretches on your lips, confusion on your face to be sure. 

He sighs, “Sometimes when comebacks get tight like this, members will use my studio to get a quick hour of sleep,” 

“Ah,” You nod, “okay,” 

“People will start heading home soon,” He points out, “but we’re all working late and have practice,” 

“I know,” You nod, “Yunho said it would be another late one,” 

“He’s in my studio,” Hongjoong continues, “and you both look exhausted. Wooyoung said you’re not sleeping either,” 

You shake your head a bit, “I’m fine, you all have enough to worry about,” 

He smiles softly, “I worry about my members,” 

Your shoulders drop, “You’re worried I’m affecting Yunho’s work,” 

“No,” He waves a hand to dispel that thought, “that’s not it, y/n. I know we haven’t spoken since that night at the studio, so I can understand why you’d think that, but no. I admit, I also wanted to apologize to you for how I reacted, the things I said.” 

“Thank you,” You manage. 

“I did some reading,” He admits, “I was… wrong, what I thought the connection was for you both, I didn’t understand and after what Yunho said that night, I did research.” 

“Oh,” 

“What I’m trying to say is,” He glances quickly to make sure you’re still not being overheard, his voice maintaining his low tone, “If I’m worried about Yunho, that means I’m worried about you too. You’re feeling these schedules just like he is, and your exhaustion is feeding off each other. I’m worried about you both, and I can only imagine how much worse the stress is making things,” 

If you weren’t so tired, down to your marrow, his words might not make you so emotional but you take a sharp breath and nod, feeling a pinprick of tears behind your eyes. 

“So,” He says with a small smile, “Yunho’s in my office trying to get a couple hours of rest, and I think you should join him. Get some sleep, we’ll text him if something comes up and we’ll cover for you both. Just be careful going in and out, but at this hour things should be pretty quiet.” 

“Hongjoong,” You say his name in a breath, “I don’t know what to say,” 

“You’re good,” He waves that off too, almost uncomfortable with the sudden emotion you’re trying to keep tamped down. 

“Thank you,” You smile, “really,” 

He nods and steps away, “Alright, I have to get to a schedule,” 

He doesn’t, and he knows you know that, but you let him off the emotional hook with ease and make your way to the stairs. 

Hongjoong’s office is close, which means Yunho is too and your chest starts to warm with anticipation. 

Quietly, you make your way down the recording studio hallway and it’s blissfully, absolutely silent. Ahead is Hongjoong’s door, a red light above acting like a do not disturb sign, and with one more fast second glance up and down the empty hall, you turn the handle and step over the threshold in one smooth move. 

The room is dark, but you hear the shift of a body on the couch before Yunho says, “Did you need me afterall?” 

“Hey,” You whisper. 

Yunho rolls over, and in the dim light you see him sit up, “Baby?” 

“It’s just me,” You confirm, flicking the lock on the door just for good measure before walking over to the couch, “Hongjoong said you were up here.” 

“Is everything alright, you okay?” He rubs a hand over his tired face before reaching out to you. 

“I’m fine,” You assure him, stepping into his gentle hold, “but scoot over, let me in here,” 

He shifts on the couch so you can slide next to him, but you can see the confusion on his face. 

“Joong said they’d cover for us to get a quick nap,” You tell him softly, “can I lie down with you?” 

He sighs, a smile stretching over his face, “Of course,” 

You both shuffle onto the couch, and it’s too narrow for his big body and yours, but you wind your legs together and make little adjustments until you’re comfortable, Yunho’s arm banding protectively around your back to keep you from rolling backwards. 

“Come here,” He murmurs as you adjust your head, cheek nestled into his bicep, “is that alright?” 

“Mhm,” You sigh, feeling the tension of the day and of the past week unspool inside you, “missed you,” 

“I missed you too,” he presses his lips to the top of your head and lets out a long, relieved breath, “so much,” 

You nod, but your eyes have already started to grow heavy. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his body on yours. Faintly you can catch threads of his scent, clean skin and something earthy, soft cedar and juniper. 

You nestle into his chest a little more, taking a deep breath and letting yourself relax, “Love you,” 

He hums softly, but you feel him relaxing right alongside you, “Love you,”

You don’t even remember falling asleep. No sooner do you hear his soft reply, an alarm is sounding above your heads and you start out of sleep, Yunho gasping sharply and pulling you closer as he bursts back into consciousness alongside you. 

“Mm,” You burrow into his chest, “that’s too loud,” 

He searches above his head for his phone, the alarm still blaring. 

“Yunho,” You groan. 

“I got it,” He says, clicking the snooze button, “sorry, sorry,” 

You sigh, “I think everyone in this building heard that,” 

He snorts a laugh softly and sighs, “I can’t sleep through it,” 

“That’s for sure,” 

He wraps you back up in his arms and tucks his head against yours. 

“Did we sleep?” You murmur. 

“Mhm,” He says, his voice rough with sleep, “almost three hours,” 

“I feel like I died,” You yawn, “oh my god,” 

He stretches his legs out, joints cracking as he adjusts. Neither one of you moved an inch during sleep, and you’re both feeling all the stiffness that comes with that now that you start to come out of it. 

“Did anyone message you? Are we good?” You prod Yunho gently. 

“Um,” He finds his phone again, wincing when the bright light hits his eyes, “fuck, um, no, we’re good,” 

“Good,” You sigh.

”I want to ditch practice and take you back to your place and just sleep for a hundred years,” He groans, winding his arms around you and rolling you artlessly on top of his chest so that he can stretch his long back and still keep you on the couch, “how much trouble do you think I’d be in?” 

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest, “A lot,” 

“Yeah,” He yawns, “probably,”

  You hum softly, relaxing into him, “Do we have any time, or do you need to go?” 

He winces, “Five minutes, maybe?” 

You can’t hide your disappointment at that. 

“I know,” He strokes your back, “I’m sorry, I wish schedules were less…”

  “It’s okay,” You soothe him with another kiss, “it is what it is,” 

His lips press closed, and he nods, “Yeah,” 

“Only a few more days,” You sigh. 

A few more days of schedules like this, of early mornings and late nights and commitment after commitment stacked on top of each other. 

He nods, but then he says, “We’re going to start negotiations next week,” 

“You are?” Your head pops up and you meet his gaze. 

“We have a day off after these schedules,” He says quietly, a tentative smile on his lips, “after we sure things up with the attorney, and then we just have to request the meeting.”

“That’s fast,” You admit. 

“None of us want to waste any time,” Yunho admits, “between us and the potential our contracts could be better for all of us? I think we’re all ready,” 

“When do you think,” You let your words trail off, but he picks up on your point with ease.

  “A couple of weeks, I think we’ll know,” He smiles, “just a little longer,” 

You smile, pushing up from your position to capture his lips in a kiss. 

Yunho pulls you closer, shifting you higher on his chest as he hums pleasantly against your mouth, kissing you gently, tenderly, like all good sleepy, intimate kisses should be. 

Yunho’s phone lights up with a second alarm and you jolt, breaking the kiss and sighing. 

He silences the phone much more quickly this time, “I’m sorry,” he gives you a squeeze, “I really have to go,” 

“It’s okay,” You slide off him, taking quick stock of your clothes and how mussed your hair is as he gets to his feet. 

His phone dings with a notification and he checks it, before quickly tapping out a reply.

  “All good?” You check. 

“Mhm,” Yunho yawns and tucks his phone away, “Joong says the hallways are pretty quiet.” 

“Should I go first, or you?” You ask, reaching out to smooth the collar of his shirt. 

“I’ll go,” He leans in and presses a fast kiss to your forehead, “let me double check the coast is clear,” 

“Okay,” You nod.

  He takes a deep breath and shakes out the nap, “Only a couple more weeks,” he repeats, as much for himself as it is for you, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” You kiss him quickly, just a peck before he gets on with the rest of his work day. 

“Let me know when you get home safely, okay?” He kisses your again, his warm hands cupping you close, “Try to get some more sleep,” 

You nod, but you both know you won’t be sleeping until he’s in bed too, “Text me when you’re home later,” 

“I will,” He says, “but try to sleep, okay? You need your rest too,” 

“I promise I’ll try,” 

His phone dings again, and he exhales sharply with a little exasperation, checking his phone again, “Alright, I have to go, I love you. Be safe.” 

“Love you too,” 

He kisses you fast, and then his hands are off you and he’s out the door. 

You sink back down onto Hongjoong’s couch and collect yourself, pushing through all the post-nap brain fog now that you have a second. You wait until he messages you it’s safe to leave, and then quietly you turn off Hongjoong’s recording light and slip out unseen into the hall. 

Downstairs you gather your things and get yourself back together so you can go home, darting quickly towards the exit when you hear that you aren’t completely alone in the building. Far off voices down one of the halls by your workspace, the sound of someone else in the lower break room, you don’t wait to see who could be working late. 

Walking to the train you take a deep breath of cold air. 

Only a few more weeks. 

You can do a few more weeks. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

Not everyone would agree with you, but you love night schedules. As one of the staff members who has to be there before the members, you love any schedule that means you get to wake up at a normal time and not the three or four in the morning call times for morning shoots. 

A night shoot means you get the morning off. 

Last night after days and days, you finally slept, sinking into sleep alongside Yunho, even though he was across town at his own apartment. It was the best night you’ve spent without him by your side since that first night after the European tour. 

You woke up without an alarm, natural light and feeling fully sated. Today was going to be a good, good day. 

You get to the office with a brightness in your body. An afternoon coffee in hand, a cute outfit, and you took the extra time to put a soft curl in your hair just to see Yunho’s eyes light up when he sees you later today. 

He had texted you good morning and that he loved you. 

You had joked about ordering the same thing for dinner later and eating over FaceTime for a virtual date. 

Tomorrow was their meeting with the contract lawyer.

Everything was going right. 

You’re almost there.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary until it does. 

At the office, you scan your keycard to enter just like always, but you only make it halfway across the lobby before you’re intercepted by two of the largest men you’ve ever seen, dressed in simple black suits with armbands identifying them as security. 

“Miss y/n?” One of them stops you with an outstretched hand, blocking your access to any more of the lobby. 

“Yes?” Your heart speeds up. 

“Come with us, please.” The other says plainly. 

Your fingers tighten on your bag, “What’s this about?” 

“Come with us, please,” He reiterates, and you can tell the please is a polite formality. 

”Can you tell me what this,” You start to say, but you barely get a full sentence out before you’re cut off again. 

“Miss,” The first one says, “let’s not discuss this in the hall. Follow us.” 

They start walking, one in front of you and one behind, and you can sense people in the foyer starting to notice an employee being escorted by security, stopping to stare, but you keep your eyes ahead and try not to look as terrified as you feel. 

It could be nothing. 

It could be a keycard replacement or a problem with a clearance for one of the filming locations, it could be anything. 

They walk you swiftly towards the back elevators and take you up until you’re passing your normal floors and going higher, towards the offices with better views and higher salaries. 

Your stomach clenches when you get off and follow them further back to a corner office. 

“This way,” The one in front says as he opens the door to the office, and your eyes flick over the name on the door. 

Han Minchul - Attorney

Everything in your body is telling you to turn around, to get out of this hall and back to the elevators, to never step foot in this man’s office, but it’s just not an option. 

Stepping over the threshold, you come face to face with Han Minchul himself. 

“Ah!” He says, “Miss y/n,” 

You greet him, professionally and cordially, “Mr. Han,” 

“I don’t suspect you know who I am,” He gestures towards the chairs in front of his large dark wood desk, “please, have a seat,” 

Slowly you step forwards and take the seat. He’s perfectly average in every way with the exception of his nice office and even nicer suit. You clock the watch on his wrist and the decorative table in the corner with the crystal bottle of expensive scotch. 

“Well,” He says with a slight smile, folding his hands over a red file folder on his desk, “I do wish we were meeting under better circumstances,”

Your stomach drops out, “What circumstances are those?” 

His smile falls away and he taps the folder, “We have some serious and very credible information about you and one of our idols, Miss y/n.” 

It feels in a split second like your chest is collapsing in on itself. 

“Nothing to say?” He leans back from the desk and sits comfortably in his desk chair. 

“What would you like me to say?” You manage. 

“It doesn’t really matter to me,” He sighs, “and there’s no point in lying. You and Jeong Yunho have been seeing each other secretly for some time, though we were only made aware of the nature of your relationship this week.” 

“I see,” Your throat feels hoarse, your stomach rolling. 

You feel a tug inside you, a press against the bond, but you stay focused on the conversation.

”It took us a few days of digging and corroborating information, but you are both less secretive than you think you are,” He adds, “we’ll be speaking with him later today, but for now, if you’ll turn over your keycard and identification badge,” 

“You’re firing me,” 

“Very good,” He says, and then he taps on the folder again. 

Your ears are ringing, and you see his mouth moving but things feel like they’re falling apart all around you. Your heart is thundering in your chest and you feel another distinct touch of Yunho’s consciousness to yours. 

Mr. Han clears his throat and looks at you with a withering stare. 

“What did you say?” 

He purses his lips at you like you’re an annoyance, and then nods to the two stocky security officers at the doorway, “I said, we can make this simple, or we can make this difficult,” 

You swallow tightly, fear pooling in your gut. 

“Simple includes signing these two documents,” He finally folds open the folder and reveals a stack of contracts that are tabbed on multiple pages for your initials and signature, “and then you will quietly leave the premises. You will be let go without recommendation, but you will receive a lump sum of six months salary, still subject to tax of course.” 

“Y-you’re buying me off?” Your head feels like it’s spinning. 

“You’re a smart girl, y/n,” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “now do I need to explain what difficult means, or do we have an agreement?” 

As if on cue, both of the security officers take a step from the door towards you. They linger behind your chair like menacing pillars, and you have no doubt they’ll drag you from these offices kicking and screaming if necessary. 

“I,” You start, fumbling over your words, “I’m sorry, but there’s been a misunderstanding,” 

“Oh?” For a split second you think he’s going to listen, but then he leans back in his chair as he shakes his head, “No, I don’t think there has,” 

Nervous knots tighten so hard in your gut you feel sick, “No, please, you have to listen to me,” 

“Does listening get you to sign these papers faster?”

”We’re soulmates,” You finally get the words out, “we would never have broken the rules if that weren’t the case, but I know you can understand that, that we’re supposed to be together, that it was out of our control,” 

The man across from you barely blinks, “Well,” he shrugs, “I’ve heard that one before,” 

“But our marks,” You insist, “if you just let us show you, you’ll see,” 

“Let me stop you there,” He shakes his head and sits forward in his chair, “because I can tell you exactly how that happened,” 

His words don’t make sense, “What?” 

“You developed a little crush,” He gestures towards you with his meaty hand, “and your crush turned into an obsession,” 

He doesn’t even need to say it, you know exactly what this story will be. You’ve feared it from the second you realized he was yours, and to see it laid out in front of you is a cold reminder that you were right from the start. 

That doesn’t stop the ringing in your ears though, and the way your heart starts to beat faster and faster like a bird in a cage, pure panic lacing through your body. Something sharp pulls in your chest, and distantly through the bond you feel Yunho’s own fear, his own sudden panic. 

Mr. Han continues, even as the blood drains from your cheeks, “No, I think you’ve broken your contract so severely you’re lucky I don’t contact the police.” 

“But,” 

“How did you do it? A peek down one of his costumes? Did you walk in on a wardrobe fitting to get a good look?” He sneers, “Or did you seduce him first and get your own tattoo later?” 

“I-I didn’t,” You feel cornered, trapped, fear pulsing through you, “I wouldn’t do that,” 

“You,” He levels you with a hard stare, his eyes flicking down to your exposed forearm, “wouldn’t get a tattoo?” 

You tug the fabric of your sweater down over your skin, “That’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying I wouldn’t get a fake soulmark, I wouldn’t deceive someone like that,” 

He has to believe you, he has to. But instead, he only shrugs, “I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter.” 

“It,” You feel lightheaded, sick, dizzy at the way the floor has all but dropped out from under you, “it has to matter,” 

“y/n,” He sighs, tapping the papers before him, “my job is to protect the company from liability, to protect our idols from things that would be catastrophic for their careers, and you, my dear, are catastrophic.” 

Panic slices through you, hot tears pricking at your eyes, “But I love him,” 

His nose crinkles slightly, disgust masked with mock pity, “I’m sure you do,”

His words, the way he looks at you, you feel small and silly. A foolish girl with a crush clinging to a fairytale, and your eyes land on the file folder of contracts, beneath them no doubt all the evidence he alluded to before, thick and likely full of a false version of your love story, crafted so that you look like nothing more than a rabid fan. You think suddenly of the girl in the airport who pushed you aside for her chance to touch Yunho’s skin, and you can see exactly the rumors they’ll spread about you if they have to.

Underneath the panic and the pulsing dizziness though, you feel Yunho. His own heartbeat seems to knock against your ribs, and distantly you know it, he’s coming for you. 

“I’ll offer you one last time,” Mr. Han says, and your eyes flick up to his, “I urge you to be smart about this. Sign the papers, take the money. I’m sure you can find somewhere that will hire you to do hair anywhere, it just won’t be alongside any other idols you can dupe.” 

This time all you feel is the popping sensation of rage, crackling through your body so quickly you can’t catch your tongue, “I’m a makeup artist.” 

“Yes, well,” 

“No,” You cut him off, leaning forwards and fisting your hands to keep them from shaking, “I’ve sat here and listened to you insult me, and insinuate that I am some kind of delusional, love-sick fan, and threaten me, I’ve worked here for five years.” 

“Congratulations.” He says dryly. 

“What is wrong with you?” You stand up, the chair pushing back behind you as it bumps into the security officers, “You haven’t even talked to Yunho, you dragged me in here like you’re a cop and I’m some sort of criminal, this is our lives!” 

”No, this is a place of business,” He shakes his head. 

You rub at your temples, a headache bubbling in your brain, “How?” 

“How is this a place of business?” He smirks. 

“No, how did,” 

“I know what you’re asking,” He interrupts and taps the stack of papers on the table, “it seems your friend thought you were behaving inappropriately in the workplace,” 

A wave of dizzy nausea passes through you and you grip the back of the chair for stability, “My friend?” 

“Your friend, one of the other makeup artists,” He repeats, “she had quite a lot to tell us.” 

“She,” You feel unmoored, “she told you?” 

“Everything we needed to know.” He confirms. 

“I,” You stumble over your words and then find the stability to straighten back up, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

“Believe whatever you want,” He shrugs, “it won’t make a difference. It’s my job to ensure,” 

“No liability,” You roll your eyes, anger bubbling hot inside you, “and a steady paycheck for you while KQ’s biggest group stays nice and profitable, and a soulmate for one of their idols would really cause a scandal, wouldn’t it?” 

His jaw tightens, muscles tensing in his jaw before he recovers and nods again to security, “The difficult way then,” 

One of the security guards steps smoothly to your side, his large hands closing over your upper arms tightly and he tugs you back. 

The ringing in your ears gets louder, but you taste bitter adrenaline on your tongue and feel the bond inside you thrumming, you feel him closer. 

The other security officer grabs your bag from the floor though, and it pulls your attention, “What are you doing?” 

He ignores you, swiftly finding your phone and passing it over to Mr. Han who stays comfortably behind the desk. 

“Let me go, give that back!” You jerk an arm, trying to push free, but it only makes the man holding you still grip harder, pressing angry bruises into your skin.

 “Liability, remember?” He says as he flicks through your phone, “once this is cleaned up, you’ll be escorted out. Your access badge will no longer swipe into the building, and staff will be made aware that you are no longer welcome on the premises.” 

“Fuck you,” You wriggle a little harder, only to get yanked back into the chest of the security officer. 

“Very nice,” Mr. Han comments dryly, “very professional,” 

You want to scoff, to tell them there’s nothing professional about anything that’s happened since you sat down in this room, but you hear fast footsteps in the hall, a distant shout.

The men in the room look up, towards the door, and you take the moment to your advantage. You twist sharply in the security officer’s arms and duck to the side, breaking his hold while he’s momentarily distracted and rushing to the opposite end of the room by the door.

 He takes two steps towards you, but the door bursts open between you. 

Yunho pushes over the threshold with a kind of reckless purpose, his eyes focused and searching, cheeks flushed from running and chest heaving, Mingi and Hongjoong hot on his heels. 

He finds you in a second, and without a single thought to the room around him he rushes towards you, “You’re alright? You’re alright?” 

His hands cup your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your cheekbone, and you shake your head, “They want me to go,” 

His brow furrows, and it takes him a moment to register your words. He felt fear and panic and dread so distinctly in your body that he didn’t know what he would find behind this office door. All he knew is that you were terrified and he was running, straight out of the recording studio with Hongjoong and Mingi stumbling behind him. But you’re here, alive and unharmed, and it takes a moment for the blood rushing in his ears to calm, to understand what you meant, but when he turns his head towards the room, he finally takes in everything in front of him. 

The paperwork, your phone on the desk, the attorney, the guards, it all threads together. 

You reach up and gently take his wrists, drawing his hands down from your cheeks so you can both face the room, and you thread your fingers tightly together with Yunho’s.

”What’s going on here?” Yunho asks. 

“They know,” You explain, “I’ve been asked to leave,” 

Mr Han sighs, finally standing, “I was trying to handle this situation professionally, I don’t know what you think calling them is going to change,” 

“I didn’t call them,” You shake your head incredulously, “you have my phone, you can see that,”

 He pauses, a brief flicker, but then shakes his head, “Regardless.” You watch him push together the contracts, gathering them to tuck them neatly away and your hand tightens on Yunho’s.

Hongjoong steps swiftly forwards, snatching the papers and bringing them back a few steps, “What are these?” 

“Contracts,” He replies, and for the first time this whole meeting you can hear a little tension in his tone, “standard for employment termination.” 

“Employment termination,” Yunho shakes his head, “that’s insane.” 

“You can’t break the rules like this an expect there to be no ramifications,” 

“Fire me then,” Yunho’s eyes narrow. 

“Yunho, be serious,” Mr. Han says. 

You feel a flash of Yunho’s anger in his chest, but then Hongjoong interrupts, his head shaking as he flips through the papers.

 “These are unethical,” He glances up at you both before continuing to flick through, and Mingi leans over his shoulder to read more.

 Yunho turns his head towards the two of them as Mingi reads aloud, “I, y/n, hereby acknowledge and agree to the terms of termination and the accompanying settlement as outlined above. Terms including, but not limited to, defrauding a member of the idol group ATEEZ, defrauding other KQ Entertainment employees in an attempt to establish co-conspirators, and intention to defame and devalue the aforementioned member’s career using these lies through public channels such as social media and the press. I understand and accept that by signing this letter, I am waiving all claims against KQ Entertainment, agreeing to the terms set forth in this agreement, and accepting the settlement outlined above.”

Read aloud, it’s even worse. 

“This is a lie,” Hongjoong flips through the papers again, “all of it,” 

“Defrauding me? Defaming me?” Yunho’s voice is low and steady, but you can see the look of betrayal on his face, you can feel the hurt, “You seriously wanted her to sign this? This bullshit?” 

“Yunho,” You warn him gently.

”No,” He shakes his head and drops your hand, pulling the papers from Hongjoong, “this is ridiculous,” 

“This is how it works,” Mr. Han replies, “this is is how we insulate you, and minimize liability,” 

“Liability!” Yunho’s voice is sharp, “This is a mile from the truth,” 

“It’s a smear campaign,” Mingi interrupts, calmly as he steps to Yunho’s side, “you get her to sign this and if the story about the two of them got out, you have it on record that she’s a liar and a manipulator.” 

The attorney’s jaw tightens.

Hongjoong snatches back the papers and shuffles through them until he finds a subsection, “By means of seduction and false representation…. fabrication of a soulmark.” 

Heat burns your cheeks even though the words aren’t true, and you swallow tightly to bury any threat of tears. 

“What the fuck?” Yunho manages, pulling the papers closer. 

“We don’t do this,” Hongjoong’s face is pinched in disgust, “we’re better than this. You make her sound like… you make her out to be some,” 

“Gold digging whore?” You offer, a sick laugh in your throat at the absurdity of it all. 

Yunho bristles, tossing the papers onto the desk and shaking his head, “She’s not signing this,” he says, “and she’s not fired, if you had just asked me instead of assuming I could have just told you that it’s true. We’re soulmarked, we found out while we were on tour. It wasn’t expected, but we’re happy. If you had just asked me, instead of treating her this way, we have nothing to hide.” 

“But you’ve been hiding,” He counters.

 “We were waiting for the right time,” 

“And let me guess, that was her idea?” He nods towards you. 

Yunho leans forwards, “Speak about her like that again and this conversation won’t be so professional.”  

Hongjoong closes a hand around Yunho’s forearm in warning. 

Mr. Han sighs and rubs his eyes, “Yunho,” his voice softens up and you brace yourself, “you need to think about your career, your livelihood. No one wants an unavailable idol, they want the fantasy.” 

“We’re not objects,” Hongjoong bristles, “we’re not dolls for you to dress up as you please and play boyfriend,” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Fuck you,” Mingi curses.

”Be serious,” He continues, “I know you like the girl, this is certainly not the first time someone’s broken a dating ban and it won’t be the last, but it always ends the same. I am telling you, no girl is worth your career.” 

“She’s not some girl,” Yunho says sharply, taking a step back to you and finding your hand again, “she’s my soulmate, and I would have thought that would be different,” 

The beat of silence stretches into two

”He doesn’t believe us,” You murmur, “he thinks I saw your tattoo and copied it, that I tricked you,” 

“We’re bonded,” Yunho counters, “you can’t fake that,” 

Mr. Han sighs again, “I’ve seen it more than once,” 

You can’t help the flurry of rage that bubbles in your gut, and your hands fly to the buttons of your blouse. All eyes fly to you as your shirt starts to open, and Yunho reaches for your hands, “Stop, baby, stop, you don’t need to do this,”

You push his hands away, your shirt parting open, “You think I faked this?” You tug down the band of your bralette, “You think I’m lovesick and crazy, and would trick him like that? My tattoo is red, so is his, both of them used to be black. I have pictures of mine to prove that, and I’m sure your files have pictures of his.” 

You let the band of your bralette slip back into place, covering the mark, “But that’s not what this is about at all, is it? It doesn’t matter if it’s true. All that matters is me disappearing, and the money flowing.” 

His lips close into a tight line.

”Would you have convinced him it was a lie? After I was dragged out of this building by your goons, would you have told him all the stories of other idols who have been fooled?” You take a step towards the desk and press your nails into your palms to keep steady, “How many real bonds have you broken? And for what? A nice house? A nice suit? You’re disgusting,” 

His jaw tenses again, “We’re done here,” he says, flicking a hand to security, “get her out of here.” 

They step forward on command, but Yunho takes a swift step between you, putting his body between you and the room, “Don’t touch her.” 

“It’s over,” Han Minchul says, exasperated, “she’s fired. You can be angry with me all you like, but the decision is final.” 

“Then I quit,” Yunho drops the sentence like a bomb. 

Mingi and Hongjoong snap up to look at him, and you press forwards to touch his back, “Yunho, don’t, don’t do that.” 

“She’s right,” He nods, “you and this company have had a positive working relationship for years, don’t throw it away for a woman.” 

“You son of a,” Yunho darts forwards, but Mingi is faster, locking his arms around his best friend and dragging him back.

 You suck in a sharp breath of air and shake your head, tears threatening. It’s all coming down, just like you knew it would. When you look up, the attorney looks almost pleased. He holds your gaze as Mingi and Hongjoong get Yunho under control, a final challenge, and even though it kills you, you nod. 

With your stomach in knots, you touch Yunho’s arm and bring him back to you, Mingi's hold breaking, “Yunho, it’s done, it’s over.” 

“What?” He swivels to you, surprise across his face “y/n, we can’t,” 

“Not us,” You assure him, pulling him closer, “never us, but this is over. Even if we could work it out, I wouldn’t want to stay where I’m clearly unwanted and we’re being watched.” 

He studies your face, a tense crease in his brow, “But,”

”Let me go,” You squeeze his hand. 

“This isn’t fair,” He breathes, cupping your cheek, “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, we had a plan,” 

“But we always knew it could,” You remind him softly. 

Hongjoong steps close, keeping his voice low, “We’ll find a way to take care of this, but y/n is right. There’s nothing we can do here,” 

“So you’ll go?” The lawyer pipes in, “Because as much as I appreciate this tender moment, I have a one o’clock,”

Yunho’s jaw sets hard.

”I’ll go,” You say from behind him, “just give me a moment,” 

You go to move, but Hongjoong clears his throat softly, “Your blouse,” 

Your cheeks flush, and you step back to Yunho who straightens up and tucks you closer to his chest while you hastily do up the buttons of your shirt.

You want to cry, to scream, to throw something and run away into the sunset with the man you know is yours, a truth so deep it’s in your marrow, but you can’t. 

Yunho drops a kiss to your hair, checking to be sure your blouse is closed before he turns back to the room, “She goes, but she’s not signing those papers.” 

“That deal is off the table,” The attorney says, “but our official position will be a downsizing of the department. You’ll be let go without severance, and without reference, but we will not interfere with your future job prospects negatively. Security will see you out of the building.” 

Yunho doesn’t move, he keeps you tucked behind him and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves even without the bond. 

Hongjoong nods towards the desk, “Her phone?” 

“Ah, yes,” He stretches out a hand with it towards you, but Yunho intercepts before passing it back. 

One glance tells you all you need to know - Yunho’s contact is gone, your chat history is gone, and when you click on your photo library you see that every photo is missing. 

You make a soft, involuntary sound, “Our photos,” 

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are still bound by your original Non-Disclosure Agreement as an employee,” Mr Han says, “if anything is published online or otherwise about your relationship, you will be in breach of that contract and we will be forced to bring forward a suit. I trust you’re smart enough not to do that, but you’ll have to forgive me for taking additional precautions.” 

“Liability,” You breathe. 

“Exactly,” He nods. 

Yunho spins back to you, kissing your forehead and gathering you close, “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

“I know,” You murmur, “I know,” 

“I’ll fix this,” He presses, “it’s just a job, we’re still us.” 

Mr. Han makes a non-committal sound, “In case you’re planning on maintaining whatever relationship and contact you have, Yunho, I will remind you that your employment contract still maintains a romantic entanglement clause.”

Your stomach drops out, and Yunho turns. 

“You can consider this a formal warning,” He continues, “but if you break your contact again, you will be terminated, and that includes paying back a considerable amount of debt.” 

“This is insane,” Mingi manages.

”This is business, standard business.” 

Yunho finds your hand, pressing your palms together. Slowly, he exhales and looks up, “Understood.” 

Your heart aches in your chest. You wonder if he can feel it too. 

“Those contracts expire in a little over a year,” Yunho says, “I can tell you now that I will not be renegotiating.” 

Your heart starts to pound. 

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Mr Han says, “groups lose one or two members after rookie contracts all the time, that’s not a concern to the company, that’s a probability.” 

“And if you lose eight?” Hongjoong says sharply, “Because I won’t renegotiate if this is the new climate at KQ, and I know the rest of the members will be right behind us.” 

“Yep,” Mingi nods, “Count me out.” 

Yunho’s stunned silent, so are you.

 “You’ve treated us terribly,” Hongjoong says, “but what you’ve done to y/n might actually constitute harassment, and I intend to find out.” 

“You’ll never,” 

“We understand the terms of our contract well,” Hongjoong interrupts, “and you will not catch us breaking those terms, but let me know how the CEO feels about their debut group walking away with grievances after that contract expires. Do you think that will be good for business? I know exactly how much profit we generate for this company, and if you think all we’ve done for six years is sing and smile on command, you’d be sorely mistaken.” 

Mr. Han takes that in, eyes flicking over the room, “This meeting is over.”

”Meeting,” Mingi scoffs.

”Miss y/n,” Mr. Han clears his throat and addresses you, “your final check will be mailed to you.” 

You have nothing to say, so you nod. 

“Security will escort you out,” He reiterates. 

Both of the security officers step forwards, looking at Yunho squarely, almost a challenge to see if he’ll let you go.

Panic lances through you at the thought of not seeing him again. 

Yunho turns, tugging you close. With his lips at your ear he murmurs something just for you, “I love you,” he promises, “I’ll come, I promise,” 

Tears track down your cheeks and you nod, “I love you,” 

“It’s you first,” He squeezes your hand, “I promise, y/n, I swear,” 

Your breath hitches, “I know,” 

“Yunho,” Mr. Han says firmly, “that’s enough.” 

Taking a step back from Yunho, the tears come faster but you scrub them away quickly with the sleeve of your shirt. The security officers nod and you step closer to them. 

One of them secures a hand to your elbow and Yunho takes a step forwards, “Take your hands off her,” he says

You pull your arm away from the unwelcome touch, “I know the way out,” 

“Yunho,” Mr. Han interjects, “stay. We have things to discuss, everyone else can go.” 

“Let me walk her out,” Yunho steps towards you. 

“No,” Mr. Han grows serious and gestures to the chairs, “sit. I’m done entertaining this,” 

Yunho’s name is trapped in your throat and you press your nails into your palms. 

“Miss,” One of the security officers nods towards the door. 

Yunho’s looks to you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears and his lips parted, there’s more to say but he can’t. 

“I’ll walk her out, I got her,” Mingi interjects, locking eyes with his best friend. 

Yunho nods, words still trapped in his throat. 

“Mr. Song,” The attorney says, “don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

Mingi clenches his jaw, muscle jumping and he shakes his head, “Just the lobby, what a coincidence,” 

Mr. Han looks briefly irritated, but looks to security. 

They don’t touch you, but they do guide you with their hands outstretched, and it’s clear this is fully over. You stumble out, eyes still glued to Yunho, but Mingi swiftly steps to your side and falls into step with you.

 “y/n,” Yunho manages, a stricken look across his face. 

“Do not make a scene,” You hear as you leave the room. 

Yunho lays a hand across his chest, a firm press to his soulmark that echoes in your chest and hot tears rush to your eyes. Security pushes you down the hall with their unrelenting pace though, and you’re forced to face front. 

Behind you, you hear the door shut but not before Hongjoong’s sharp voice gives you all the comfort in the world, “No, I think I’ll stay.” You’re deeply, deeply grateful Yunho won’t be in that meeting alone. 

“Mingi,” You manage as you all file into the elevator.

”It’s going to be okay,” He assures you softly, “keep your head up. We’ve got him, you know we do.”

You nod, swiping away the emotion from your eyes. 

“How did they know?” He asks quietly as the elevator descends.

”He said Iseul,” You can barely say it without the idea turning your stomach, “but she wouldn’t have done that.” 

“Are you sure?” His eyes track the floors as you descend. 

“I’m sure,” 

There’s a ding as you hit the lobby, and you breathe through the anxiety of knowing your coworkers are about to watch you be escorted out of the KQ offices. 

“Miss,” Security gestures forwards and you step out. 

“You got this,” Mingi says softly.

 The walk to the doors is a blur, surreal and strange. Five years of your life, gone in a second. 

You barely remember the walk home. 

Curled up on the couch you wait for something, anything. A phone call, a text, a single message from anyone but you get nothing. 

He doesn’t call. 

He doesn’t text.

He doesn’t come for you. 

The bond is strangely quiet, and it feels like your world is shattering around you. 

In the morning you call the one person you know will be there, sobs wracking your chest the moment the moment your sister picks up the phone. She doesn’t need to know a thing before she’s in the car and driving to Seoul.

You want to go back, you’d keep hiding if it meant you could have even a little of him, but this. 

You can’t stay here, choked by the ghost of him everywhere you look.  

For a little while, life really was beautiful.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

An (Almost) Unheard Confession

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

genre: soft fluff

requested: yes

el's thoughts: i hope yall like it!! requests are open, so if you have any, feel free to send 'em my way!

bucky masterlist

Bucky and Y/N’s friendship had been forged in the middle of chaos. She had joined the Avengers a couple of years ago—sharp, capable, with a heart too big for her own good. Unlike most people, she had never looked at him with fear or hesitation, never treated him like a walking weapon.

At first, Bucky had kept his distance. He was used to being on the outskirts, keeping people at arm’s length. But Y/N didn’t let that happen. She had a way of worming into people’s lives, into their hearts, without even trying.

She checked in on him without making a big deal about it—making sure he ate after long missions, dragging him into movie nights with the team, and bringing him coffee exactly the way he liked it. She talked to him like he was just Bucky, not the Winter Soldier, not Steve Rogers’ best friend from the 40s—just Bucky.

And somehow, without realizing it, she had become his best friend.

She was the one who could make him chuckle even on the worst days, the one he trusted with the pieces of himself he still didn’t fully understand. She was the one who saw him—not who he used to be, not who the world thought he was, but who he was actively trying to become.

And somewhere along the way, he had fallen for her.

He had tried to push it down, bury it deep where it couldn’t ruin everything. She deserved better than him. Deserved someone who didn’t come with blood on his hands and ghosts in his head. So he stayed silent, stayed in his place as her friend, even when it hurt more than he’d ever admit.

Because having her in his life—no matter what—was worth everything.

~

The compound was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled in after a mission, when exhaustion weighed too heavy on everyone’s bones to do anything but rest.

Bucky sat on the couch, head tipped back against the cushions, muscles aching from the fight earlier. He should get up, take a shower, maybe even crash in his own bed for once. But Y/N had dozed off beside him, legs tucked under her in a way that was bound to cause her slight pain when she woke up, curled up under a blanket, and he hadn’t moved since.

She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, her breathing steady with her lips parted. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and Bucky had to resist the urge to brush it back. He clenched his metal hand into a fist instead.

He should leave. Should get up before he did something stupid—like say something he couldn’t take back.

But the weight of his feelings pressed against his ribs, suffocating in the silence.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “Maybe it was always there. I just refused to let myself see it.”

Y/N didn’t stir. Bucky exhaled, he rested his head on the back of the couch and tilted it so his eyes lingered on her peaceful form.

“You take care of everyone, you know that? Always checking in, always making sure I’m eating, sleeping, not losing myself in my own head.” He huffed a whisper of a laugh. “You probably don’t even realize how much you really mean to me.”

His fingers curled against his thigh. He’d faced enemies, and fought battles most people couldn’t even imagine, but this—this was terrifying.

“I care about you, Y/N. More than I should. More than I know how to handle.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. He finally brought his hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear, his cold metal finger dragging across her soft, warm cheek. “But I don’t wanna mess this up. I’d rather have you as my friend than risk losing you completely. But I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. I’m–what did Parker call me?” he muttered to himself. “Down bad. I’m down bad, Y/N. I love you.”

He swallowed, his chest tightening.

“Guess it’s easier to say this when you’re asleep, huh?”

Silence.

Bucky let out a slow breath, shaking his head at himself. He should really get up, and put some space between them before—

“Bucky…”

His entire body went rigid.

Y/N’s voice was groggy, quiet, but there was something else in it too—something careful, something knowing. She lazily reached out and laced their fingers together, the metal bringing her comfort against her hand. She moved closer and softly laid her head on his shoulder.

“I love you too.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

She had heard everything.

Bucky froze, barely breathing, as Y/N's words settled into his chest.

She loved him too.

For a moment, all he could do was stare down at their intertwined fingers, at the way she had instinctively sought out his touch like it was the most natural thing in the world. He had spent so long convincing himself that his feelings were one-sided, that loving her was something he had to keep buried. But here she was, curling closer, her heartbeat steady against his arm, as if loving him had never been a question.

A shaky breath left his lips.

“You—” He swallowed, shaking his head with a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “You heard all of that?”

Y/N hummed against his shoulder, her voice laced with exhaustion but warm with amusement. “Mhm. Every word.”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch. “Great. So you heard me say I was ‘down bad’ too.”

She chuckled, squeezing his fingers. “Oh, definitely. That was my favorite part.”

He glanced down at her, and for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like running from what he wanted. She was right here, looking up at him with tired, fond eyes, no hesitation, no second-guessing.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I really love you, Y/N.”

Her smile softened, and she shifted, pressing a gentle kiss against his shoulder. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I really love you too.”

He exhaled and the tension in his chest unraveled, replaced with something lighter, something hopeful. Slowly, carefully, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of hers, letting himself savor the warmth of her skin against his lips as he closed his eyes in contentment.

Y/N sighed blissfully, her grip on him tightening as she settled against him once more. “Can we talk more about this in the morning? ‘Cause I really just wanna fall asleep right here.”

Bucky chuckled, wrapping an arm around her, holding her close. “Yeah, doll. We can talk in the morning.”

And for the first time in years, tomorrow didn’t seem so scary—it felt like the start of something good.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can there be a fic when Choso finds sunshine reader crying and hiding herself from being seen by the others. Choso being so soft, cute and sweet with her. Hugging her and holding her, asking for consent before. Could they both have feelings for eachother, but they don't know yet.

[part i]

Choso couldn’t sleep.

He was beginning to wonder if he ever really slept. All that time locked away, was he sleeping or just waiting? He didn’t dream when he was asleep, so was that really sleeping? Sleeping like a human? He envied his little brother Yuji who seemed to be able to sleep anywhere, as the young sorcerer, even with all the danger around them, was out like a light beside him.

He perked up when he heard movement coming towards them. Readying himself for an attack if need be. However, when he saw [Y/N] break through the shadow line he dropped his shoulders again. “What are you doing out so late?”

[Y/N] tilted her head up. A slight look of alarm in her eyes before she sniffed and rubbed her face. “Oh…sorry…didn’t know anyone else was still up…” She had been crying.

Choso might not know a lot about the human experience, but he knew pain when he saw it. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing….”

Choso would not accept that answer. Carefully and quietly, as not to wake Yuji, he stood up and led [Y/N] away to a new, more secure spot to talk. “It’s not nothing. No one goes out crying in the middle of the night for nothing. Tell me what’s wrong.” He waited for a while but [Y/N] remained tight lipped. So he reached out, carefully, and took her hand. “You helped me when I was in despair.” Remembering when she had found him crying over his brothers. “Let me help you too.”

[Y/N] sniffled again and then everything just came pouring out. Her stress, her frustration, her sadness over their losses. It was like a wave and Choso just stood there. Trying to cut a path through it like a rock stubbornly jutted up in a stream. When she had finished, he wasn’t sure what to do, so he just reached out, “may I?”

He held his arms up and [Y/N] gave him a nod. He stepped forward, carefully, and embraced her. “I know this is all hard, but we will get through this. Or at least past Sunday.”

[Y/N] startled to quiver in his arms, and, for a moment, he was concerned. Then he realized she was laughing. Laughing uncontrollably. He started to laugh to and for another moment he too thought everything would be ok. “Is everything alright out here?” The pair turned to see Yuji stage left of them. Rubbing his eyes with a messy bedhead. “You guys are being kind of loud.”

[guiltyasdave]

all those shadows

chapter 5 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.3k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 36), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares, implied death of characters, grief, the angst is once again angsting, reader's thoughts have suicidal undertones, i'm aware that the seasons timeline doesn't align with tlou canon and that's okay <3

a/n: we are so back babies!!!!! thank you for being patient and for all the love and encouragement for this story in particular. it means more than you can imagine <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

It must be close to Christmas, you think, based on how little daylight you see on the camera footage. The fuzzy images from outside started showing snow some time ago. Everything covered in white, a thick carpet on the earthy floor, a heavy weight on empty branches. 

There had been a time when you kept track, when you cared. Dutifully crossing out days, counting down. A faint echo of the giddy anticipation from past years, but still. 

You remember the first year, creeping outside, fighting to push a tree down the narrow stairs. It had lost most of its needles on the way down, but it didn’t matter. Silently tiptoeing your way through the house, up the wooden staircase to the attic, the boxes labelled in handwriting that you hadn’t seen for months. How fresh it had all felt, back then. 

How their eyes had lit up at the sight, how you had decorated the tree together. Delicate ornaments between small fingers, gently placed on branches, careful not to let them fall. Christmas music playing from the radio in the corner. Almost, almost normal.

There had been the three of you, huddled together under a woolen blanket, a book in your lap. The stories that your Dad used to read to you on Christmas Day, now alive in your voice. You had tried not to think about how rude you had been the past few times, at fourteen, fifteen years old. Too grown up to listen to children’s stories. How desperately you longed for it now. How desperately you wanted to stop being the grown-up. 

You didn’t have any presents, but you lit a candle, making a wish for the next year. You had whispered it, together, eyes closed, all of you dreaming the same thing. 

“It must be close to Christmas,” you say out loud now. Still on the same couch, still wrapped in a woolen blanket. But it’s many years later, and you haven’t celebrated Christmas in forever. 

Joel had wrapped the blanket around you, which he’s doing almost every evening now. Like he somehow knows when you’re cold. It’s nice, and it scares you how nice it is. Nice things don’t last.

He only hums in response, and when you look at him, his brows are drawn, his lips tightly pressed together. Ellie chooses one of the movies that you can tell by now he’ll like, but he stays quiet the whole evening. When you steal glances at him, he doesn’t seem to be really watching, his eyes unseeing and far away. His hands are fists in his lap, the knuckles white. Do you look like that too when you get lost in the memories? 

When the movie’s over, he goes to bed with only a grumble of good night. You watch him go, your lip worried between your teeth.

Ellie is oblivious to it, or maybe just not as concerned about Joel’s mood as you. 

She waits in your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, propped up against the headboard, eyes wide and body fidgety with impatience and one of your favorite books in hand. 

A few days ago, a quiet evening, you had been reading it, your eyes silently tracing the words that you almost knew by heart at this point, when she asked what it was about. You had started explaining, and eventually reading it to her when she wouldn’t stop asking questions. 

Sinking down on the covers beside her, you slide it from her fingers and search the page where you left off last night. 

“What was it like, before? Christmas?” she asks timidly before you can start reading, searching your face with that unbridled curiosity of hers that makes it impossible not to answer. You can’t not let her in, the instinct to care for someone younger still ingrained deep in your whole being. 

You smile at the memory, despite the sharp sting it sends through your chest. “It was really nice,” you tell her, settling deeper into the softness of your bed, your eyelids fluttering at the images your mind conjures up, vivid as if it was only yesterday that you lived in them. “We— we always had a really big tree, and so many candles, and my mom baked all these cookies, and—”

Your voice dies down, unable to find a way around the lump that’s swelling in your throat. She shuffles closer, just a little bit, but it’s a welcome weight against your side. Something to ground you, something to hold on to. 

“Yeah, it was nice,” you finally manage, and feel the movement of her nod against your shoulder. She doesn’t ask another question, and after a beat, you start reading. 

It’s only when she’s gone to her own bed and you’re alone with your mind and its memories, that they start flowing in again. How quickly everything changed, how one day everything was fine, and then nothing was. 

You used to keep track. Of holidays, of birthdays. Determined not to lose things, to keep yourselves human. To be more than creatures trying to survive.

Staying up until midnight on New Year’s Eve, small eyelids drooping again and again, but so eager to see the clock strike twelve. Lighting sparklers than you had managed to dig from one of the boxes, the cracking and glittering reflected in wide eyes right there in the living area. It had been a terrible idea, the burnt smell not dissipating for weeks.  

Getting up at the crack of dawn, silently moving through the kitchen, whipping up something that resembled a cake. 

Carrying it into a bedroom, singing happy birthday, blowing out candles. Making the same wish, over and over. 

You haven’t celebrated your birthday in years. You don’t even know how many. 

Have you already hit forty? Are you older than your mother, now? 

When sleep takes you, your mind is still lost deeply in the past, your dreams taking you to a place where everything feels real and the present never happened. It’s not what you’re used to, not the panic of losing something, not the image of your blood-stained hands. 

But somehow, it’s worse. They’re right there with you, so close. You can feel their touch, small hands in yours. You can smell their scent again, burying your nose in their hair, pressing the warmth of their bodies against yours when you hug. They laugh, without a care in the world, like everything is right. 

You wake slowly, wandering between the here and there, between dream and reality. The dread settles in slowly, as the chasm opens further and further, until you can’t see, can’t feel them anymore. Until you remember where you are, what happened. How you’re all alone. Just let me stay with you. Please just let me stay there. Please.

The tears are already flowing when your eyes open to the familiar darkness of your room, your chest aching with the overwhelming sensation of loss. You have always tried very hard to never think of the first day you realized you were all alone, the feeling too painful to ever let it in again once it first subsided. But it’s here now, ripping you wide open until you’re gasping for breath, the pillowcase damp with tears and sticking to your cheek. 

Through the closed door, faint sounds of Ellie and Joel starting their day begin to filter in. It sends another wave of grief through you, when you remember that this short period of being together, of feeling like part of something, like you’re actually living again, will come to an end someday soon. That one day, you’ll wake up to utter silence again, to be broken by no one but yourself. 

It won’t hurt as much as the first time you ended up alone, nothing ever will. Still, you don’t know how you’re going to get through it again. 

You eventually push your door open, hoping your eyes aren’t as red and swollen as they feel, and quietly pad over into the kitchen. Joel is there, his back facing you, waiting for the coffee to be ready. His fingers drum against the counter. 

You hesitate for a moment, allow yourself to watch without him noticing for once. Commit the image to memory for when he’s gone, only to be buried deep the second it starts hurting, but no less important to have. 

He turns around as if he sensed your presence, something akin to a smile on his face, but it falls when he sees you. His brow furrows, one hand awkwardly extended to reach out to you until he thought better of it. 

“Are you okay?” 

The soft, gentle lilt of his voice brings a new wave of hot tears to your eyes, but you nod quickly, forcing the corners of your mouth upwards. 

“Y—yeah. Just didn’t sleep well.” 

He nods back, slowly bringing his hand to his side again. You kind of wish he didn’t. You kind of wish he held you, comforted you. 

“Me neither,” he mutters. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Joel never talks about his past, and neither does Ellie, but you reckon that anyone who has survived this long has had their share of loss. Sometimes you hear his voice through the two cracked doors when he talks in his sleep. You shouldn’t have brought up Christmas yesterday. 

“‘S not your fault.” 

He brushes past you on his way out of the room, the coffee in one hand, the other one ghosting against yours for just the fraction of a second. It could have been purely accidental, could mean nothing. But as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin, you like to think that it was his way of trying to comfort you without saying so. 

Sadness cloaks you with a heavy blanket all day, impossible to shake off. You hear Joel talk to Ellie in their room for a little while, their voices too low for you to make out what they’re saying. You couldn't bring yourself to care anyway. 

It helps to go through the motions of a normal day, to prepare food like you always do even when Joel protests that he can do it. It’s nice to do something with your hands, to keep at least some part of you occupied. 

It passes you by quickly, too quickly, and then it’s evening again. You’re scared to go to sleep, scared to go to that place again, and at the same time scared of never finding it again. Scared of how badly you wish that, if you find it, you won’t wake up. 

You’re already in bed, talking yourself into closing your eyes, when a small knock against wood sounds through the room. Ellie shuffles in, a quiet greeting on her lips, her voice anxious. You feel bad instantly. 

It’s an integral part of you, the urge to swallow your own pain down if it means easing the pain of someone else, someone smaller. 

“Come here,” you say softly, pulling the blanket away to make room for her. She hesitates for just a second, eyes flickering. Then she crawls into bed with you, both your breaths the only sound in the room. “Sorry I was so out of it today,” you finally murmur. 

“That’s okay,” she says, sounding so much older than she is. “Joel said you weren’t feeling good.” 

You hum. That’s one way to put it, you guess. And you’re thankful that Joel talked to her, even when he didn’t have much of an explanation to offer. 

Silence surrounds the both of you, until finally, she takes a deep breath, the sheets rustling when she fidgets a little. “I’m really glad that we found you.” 

Your exhale comes shakily, just like your fingers when you grab her hand with yours. 

“Me too, Ellie.” It’s gonna hurt like hell when you leave, but I still am. 

When she bids you a good night and slips out of your bed again, you finally feel some faint calmness and close your eyes to let the inevitability of sleep take over you. 

Until you find yourself in the forest again. There’s snow on the ground this time, littered with the red of blood. Blood on the ground, blood on your hands, coating your tongue, until all you feel and taste is death. You wildly turn around, panicked, looking, searching, desperate for… something. You had to do something, find something. Someone. Someone? 

You can’t remember. Promise you’ll keep them safe. It’s the most important promise you ever gave. But you’re lost, you can’t remember what you need to do. Who it is that you need to keep safe. 

Your own scream wakes you, dying in your throat as soon as you realize, but it’s too late. 

Joel’s voice is already in your ears, his hands on your shoulders, on your cheeks. His eyes are wide in the yellow shade of the bedside lamp, his hair a mess, and you just need to be held so fucking badly. 

His arms open instantly when you lean into him, engulf you in warmth and press you against his chest, where you sob into the fabric of his shirt. He holds you there, shushing you gently, his hand traveling up and down your back. 

“It’s okay, darlin’. You’re okay.” 

You shake your head against him, moving back a little to look up into his face. 

“I— I forgot about them. I had to save them, and then they were just— gone.” 

Another sob wracks through your body, and he holds you steady, a solid mass against your quickly crumbling form. He doesn’t ask who, just sighs and tightens his grip on you. One thumb wipes at the skin under your eyes, but it’s a lost effort with how fast the tears are streaming. 

“Do you think—” He clears his throat, searching your face. “Do you think it might help to talk about them? To help you to keep the memory?”

thank you so so much for reading! if you enjoyed it, imagine how much i would enjoy reading a reblog or a comment <3

[wooskirbyplushie]

Meddle About ~ J.YH

✰ Synopsis: bestfriend!Yunho x reader | You happen to run into an old childhood best friend at a bar and hope to rekindle in more ways than one...

✰ Word count: 1k

✰ mdni/18+

✰ Warnings: drinking, no smut but it's suggestive, mentions of cigarettes (let me know if i missed anything else)

✰ Italics are used for inner thoughts, bold italics are used to emphasize words

✰ a/n: In all honestly i wrote this for my friend's birthday, and because like half of my friend's are Yunho biases so I figured why not. This short is based off of the song Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, just because it's one of my favorites, so anyone else who happens to be an Atiny and a C4 fan, this is for you! (also @freakjjunie so you can't say I didn't tag you)

If I could figure it out, id take you back to my house so we could meddle about ~

It was a Friday night and you were dragged to yet another night club with your friends. The air was stiff, with the smell of cigarettes, music blasting with the bass heavy against the soles of your feet. Your friends danced against some strangers on the floor while you opted for the more sane option of sitting at the bar. A tumbler glass of whisky sat in front of you, ice slowly melting into the contents of the glass, with condensation building up on the outside. You picked the glass up and briefly swirled it around before taking a sip, letting the alcohol burn your throat before sitting it back down on the counter.

You took a turn to look at the dance floor, watching how your friends lost themselves to the music, dancing against random guys that wanted nothing more than to get int their pants and dash. You rolled your eyes at the thought and turned back around in your chair, still lost in your thoughts until a voice reached above the music and snatched you out of them.

“Y/n ?? Is that you?”

Your ears perked up at the sudden call, recognizing the voice but not being able to put a face to it. Turning in your chair once again, you locked eyes with your old childhood best friend. Jeong Yunho.

“Yun?? Holy shit, it’s been what, like 6 years?”

Yunho walked over to your spot at the bar, a glass in his hand, and a slight smile on his face. “Yeah just about.. Crazy that we found each other again at a rank nightclub.” He says with a chuckle. “How have you been though? Everything okay?”

You laughed with him about the state that you found each other, sighing about the time you lost with each other. “I’ve been… okay. Uh what about you? You and your girlfriend still together?” You ask, taking another swig of your drink. But when you see Yunho shift awkwardly, you know you struck a nerve on accident.

“Well we actually broke up a few months ago… I guess high school sweethearts wasn’t the word for us.” He says with a dry chuckle, adjusting the way he leaned against the bar. Shit I didn’t mean-

“Get out your head y/n. You didn’t know so it’s not your fault, okay? But uh what about you? Any boyfriend I might have to fight?”

You snorted in response. Honestly that should’ve been enough response to that question. “I haven’t dated since freshman year of college, Yun. Not my thing apparently.”

“I’m sure the right guy will come around.” Yunho replied while making a mental note of what you said. It was then that you finally looked up to get a good look at him. I mean Yunho was always attractive, that’s why you got so much hate in high school for being such close friends with him; because every girl wanted to be you to get close to him.

He had on his class ring he won from your senior year football championship, along with a few other random rings he collected over the years. His leather jacket and loose tshirt adorning the muscles chiseled under his clothes with his chain sitting right in the middle of his chest. His pants were black with rips up until his thighs, with a pair of gray and blue Nikes on. Yeah you could thank yourself for his taste in sneakers.

Even in the dark club, he still looked extremely attractive. His side profile glistened with the led lights softly hitting his face, and you were not proud to say how hot you thought he looked at this angle. Especially with him towering over you while you sat in the bar chair and he stood only a few inches away from you.

Oh I wanna see you undress now, I wanna hear you confess now ~

Chat is it wrong to find your friend attractive?

“Y/n? Did you hear me?”

Crap. “No sorry, what’d you say?”

“Did you wanna dance with me? For old times sake.”

Fuck it…

****

And somehow you ended up in the midst of the dance floor with your hips swaying against Yunho’s while his hands traveled all over your body. His cologne had a woody undertone mixed with his natural body scent and it filled your lungs to the brim, suffocating you in the most delicious way. His presence was like a drug and you were addicted; you wanted more and more of him as time went on.

Was it wrong to think of him in that light…?

You caught a glance of your friends across the room with the same guys from earlier, looking like they were getting ready to leave. You had other plans though, and they included a private room, a bottle of champagne, and Yunho. You assumed that he was feeling the same way because it wasn’t long before Yunho spun you to face him, hands still feeling you all over. It was taking everything in you to not let out an embarrassing moan at the way he felt touching your hips and ass.

“Yun…” You warned, it sounding more needy than anything. His head dipped down to your neck in response. “Yes princess?” He obviously wanted you on top of him, why else would he use that name.

Oh for fucks sake.

“Need you… Please Yun?” You said while gripping onto his jacket with one hand, other hand tangled in his hair.

You got me down on my knees, it’s getting harder to breathe out ~

He smirked at your request, you not knowing that you played right into his plan. Yunho grabbed your hand and led you through the crowd, out to his car.

“Yes ma’am.”

[minnimstar]

°Sleepless Nights°

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: kisses, pet names(honey), chan referred to as chris

summary: four weeks postpartum, and your baby still wouldn't sleep properly, constantly waking you up throughout the night. She was just barely a month old, still a newborn. You haven't been able to get much sleep lately, but thankfully, your husband was more than willing to help you with a crying baby in the middle of the night if it meant you got some well deserved rest.

Masterlist

It was 12:03, just past midnight, when the first set of cries rang through the apartment. It was always like this, your baby girl waking up every other hour or so crying for her parents.

Sometimes it was because she was hungry, or needed a diaper change, but more often than not she was just wanting to be held. It was tiring, constantly waking up throughout the night just to hold her. You were lucky if you got her to sleep for atleast two hours without waking up.

As the baby began to cry, you let out a tired huff before pushing the blankets off your body and getting out of bed to head down the hallway to the nursery while leaving your sleeping husband in bed.

When opening the door, you were met with the sight of your baby on her tummy, squirming around and letting out frustrated wails.

Upon hearing the door open, her cries quieted down as she turned to your direction, before crying louder and reaching out for you.

You walked over to the crib before reaching down, lifting up the baby and cradling her against your chest before beginning to rock her in your arms and rubbing her back soothingly. Her cries gradually quieted down until all she was letting out was soft hiccups and sniffles, and you lost track of time and didn't realize how long you had spent calming the baby until you heard a soft voice from the doorway.

"Honey? Is everything okay?"

It was your husband Chris, and as you turned around to face him, you could see how exhausted he looked.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's fine.. The baby was just crying again, is all." You responded.

Chris nodded, and with a yawn he stepped into the room and walked over to you before taking the baby girl out of your arms and into his own.

The baby practically melted against his chest, letting out a soft noise as she clenched the fabric of his shirt between her fists with a tight grip.

"You go back to bed, okay? I'll get the little one back to sleep." He spoke, a soft smile on his face as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Smiling, you muttered a soft 'thank you' before pressing a kiss to the top of the baby's head, then left the room to go back to your shared bedroom.

You got settled back into bed fairly quick once you laid down, and it wasn't long until Chris entered the room and laid down beside you and pulled you close.

The both of you went back to sleep, and before you knew it a few hours had passed and the baby had woken up, crying again.

You pushed yourself up from the bed, and just before you could get out Chris gently pushed you back down against the mattress.

"I've got it, okay? Get some rest."

He gave you a tired smile and leaned down to give you a soft kiss, then got up from the bed and walked down the hallway to the baby.

With a small sigh you let yourself relax against the soft pillows again, and fell back into a deep sleep as your husband took care of the baby.

Chris knew how little sleep the both of you had been running on lately, and while all he wanted was to get a goodnight's rest without the baby waking up, he would rather you get as much rest as you can over himself anyday. With you handling your baby girl all day while he worked, he knew it was only right to have you sleep while he handled the crying baby during the night.

[mochie85]

Just For Tonight - 11:00PM

Just For Tonight Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: Things start to speed up as you let Bucky, Sam, and Loki get a peek into your life. Pairing: Loki x Reader/OFC Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, tattoos, needles.

“Me?” You stood in the middle of the road like a deer caught in the headlights. A blank expression on your face as you processed what Loki just said to you. “I don’t understand,” you muttered. “Why were you looking to compare someone to me?”

“You’re right. You don’t understand,” Loki chuckled. “I wanted to find someone like you. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Even if it was just for tonight. But then I realized it wouldn’t matter because, in the end, they wouldn’t be you.”

“And…you want it to be me?” you asked as you exhaled in disbelief.

“Ayo! Are you guys gonna get off the street or what? I’m starving and something in there smells good!” Sam pointed toward Delia’s front door. Loki gave you a closed-lip smile as he passed you. Not once taking his eyes off you.

An explosion of warmth and energy exploded within you as your eyes met. Your mind thought of a million different questions- a million different objections- to what  Loki just said. You were excited and giddy. A juxtaposition to what your body was currently doing. Which was stunned into disbelief in the middle of the road; frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. He wanted it to be me?! Wha- who-

His cold hands gripped yours, “Come on.” Loki smiled, trying to get you off the street. I must’ve inhaled too much nitrous back there. This has to be a dream. He pulled you along, smiling, as you both entered Delia’s, hand in hand.

The bell on the door jingled as you passed through. You relaxed as the familiar sound of the coil gun buzzing hit your ears. The smell of burgers and fresh-cut tomatoes wafted through your senses. You were home.

A curtain to one of the private tattoo booths slid open at the sound of the bell. Addie’s head popped out with her bright red curls in a messy bun atop her head.  “Well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in!” Addie bellowed, opening the curtain further. She had been working on a customer. His entire right arm was sleeved with ink. Making it hard to distinguish what Addie was working on. “Or should I say car? I saw the videos circulating, girl. You whooped their asses!” Addie wiped the arm of her customer, revealing beautiful linework in geometric patterns.

“Oh my God, there’s a video? Shit, are we on it?!” Sam asked worriedly, fiddling with his phone.

“Hey, Addie!” You laughed, ignoring Sam’s questions and running over to give her the tightest hug.

“You come bearing trophies, I see.” She said sizing up the three men behind you. “What did you have to do to win them? And I assume it’s one for each of us, right?” She said winking to Sam.

“Cute. Addie,” rolling your eyes. “You can harass my friends later. I’ll introduce you when you give me my winning tally. Is Laney here?”

“Oh ya. She’s next door cooking up your favorite.”

“Thanks. I’m starving.” You kissed her on the cheek and told the others to follow you.

In the same building, separated by a curtain of beads, was a fifties-era diner. Complete with bright pink vinyl booths and bright neon clocks. If Addie’s tattoo parlor was an art gallery, then Laney’s diner was a museum. A collection of old Hollywood memorabilia and nostalgia from a time when men smoked cigars and women matched their lip color to their nails.

“Oh God, it smells amazing in here! Better than that nacho cheese, ey Laufeyson?” Barnes asked, hitting Loki’s torso. The four of you walked further into the restaurant. The few customers that were there were the quiet types who had night shift jobs or the drunk club-goers who needed a place to eat before they set off to their next destination.

“Order up!” a flowery voice from the kitchen yelled out onto the floor. Laney’s head popped out through the kitchen window, setting down plates of food with a mountain of fries each. “Hey! My sister from another mister! I was wondering if I’d see you tonight. I saw your victory.” Laney stepped out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron and giving you a tight hug.

“I need to see this video!” Sam grunted walking toward an empty booth.

Laney looked like Rosie the Riveter with her hair up in a high ponytail kept in place by a handkerchief. “Go on. Have a seat. I made your favorite. Burgers all around?” She asked pointing to your friends.

“Yes, please. I’m starving!” Bucky said.

“Good. Cuz I’m not making you anything else.” She laughed making her way back into the kitchen.

The four of you sat in a booth in the corner. You noticed how quickly Sam and Bucky were to pair with each other, leaving you to sit with Loki. His arm settled on top of the booth behind you as you sat down.

“So, what is this place?” Bucky asked you looking around and smiling. You could see a small twinkle in his eyes. As if he was remembering something from a bygone era.

“Delia’s is home. It’s a juxtaposition of my two favorite women. My best friend, Delaney, and her eccentric mom Adelaide. Addie is my tattoo artist. The only one I would trust with my body. She was the mom I never had growing up. She worked odd jobs and moved around a lot till Laney, over there, decided to put her foot down and demand to stay in one place. That’s when they met me and my dad. Delaney and I became best friends.” That’s when you started laughing. “We even set a parent trap between my dad and Addie. But it never took. When my dad passed, Addie continued to watch over me. They opened up Delia’s as a compromise between the two of them.”

“Very unique if you ask me. You don’t see many tattoo parlors behind a diner.” Bucky noted.

“Ah hah! Found it!” Sam yelled pointing to his phone. Everyone gathered close to the tiny screen to watch snippets of your race on TikTok. “There you are starting. There's you turning on your nitrous. There's you winning. Aaand…there’s no me! HA! I ain’t gettin’ caught!” Sam joyously commentated.

“Congratulations, Sam” you laughed sarcastically.

“All right,” Laney said coming over to your table. You looked up and found that Loki had already been staring at you. His eyes lingered on yours for only a second before he smiled and looked up at Laney. “Four cheeseburgers. Four fries. And one stack of onion rings.” Laney placed the plates down in front of you all, earning an appreciative tummy growl from each of you. “You better eat fast! I can only hold my mother at bay for so long before she barges in here to start asking you questions.” She said looking at you decidedly. And then at your three companions with a suggestive smirk.

All four of you ate in delicious silence. An occasional moan of approval or praise would come out of Bucky or Sam’s mouth.

“So, Devin was in here earlier,” Addie said surprising you from the booth behind you.

“Mom!” Laney yelled from across the counter.

“What?!” Addie yelled back. “He watched a live feed of your race here. That’s how we found out you won.” You nodded your head, your mouth full, unable to respond back.

“Did he… say… anything?” you asked cautiously, picking up a fry. Your eyes darted quickly to Loki to see his reaction.

“Well, he came in with a crew. His arm was around another girl and I thought that was weird cuz you had a date with him tonight, right?”

“MOTHER!” Laney scolded from the kitchen.

“What?! She has a right to know that the guy she’s dating is a scumbag.”

“Yes, but not in front of the others!” Their argument faded into the background of your thoughts.

You had missed your chance with Devin. You knew he wouldn’t have waited for you. He incessantly kept asking you out and each time you said no. You told him that you were too busy with work. Being part of the team that got to work closely with the Avengers was your dream job and it meant that you kept odd working hours. So, when you finally decided to get over your crush on Loki and try dating, you didn’t hesitate to say yes when Devin asked you last time.

Not that you had any feelings for Devin. He was a distraction from what you really wanted.

“Was this the guy you had a date with tonight, Wheelz?” Sam asked, stuffing his mouth with the last morsel of his burger.

“Ya,” you answered swirling your fries in ketchup.

“You want us to pay him a visit?” Bucky asked in the most uncharacteristic mafia nod you’d ever see him do.

“We’re sorry, Wheelz,” Sam said.

“That’s ok. I wasn’t interested in him anyway.”

“Ya, he wasn’t who she really wanted.” Addie teased.

“So, you do want someone!?” Sam asked, his eyes growing big like saucers. Probably to catch all the tea he wanted you to spill. You missed it when he turned those eyes to look decidedly at Loki, a small grin forming on his face.

“Mom, isn’t it time you give Wheelz her tally? You know, right now! This very instant.” Laney said ushering Addie and you out of the booth.

“Thank you,” you whispered to Laney.

“Go!” She whispered back. “Or she’ll just come back here and harass your friends even more.” You nodded, wiping your hands on a napkin, and excused yourself from your friends. You hesitated and turned back.

“Go! I’ll take care of them!” Laney laughed.

“What tally?” Bucky asked Laney.

“Every time she wins, she gets a mark on her shoulder to mark her win. She doesn’t race often. Especially now that she has that goody-two-shoes-uppity job with y’all. But when she does, she likes to win. And she likes to remember that win,” Laney explained.

Curiosity spread through Loki’s mind like fire in dry weather. The more he knew about you the more questions he had. The more intrigued he felt. It wasn’t even a couple of hours ago that he found out about your tattoos and now he wants to know how many you have. What do they look like? And where are they placed on your delicate body?

Loki looked up and watched as you disappeared behind the beaded curtain. Before he realized what he was doing, he stood up and followed you across the diner back to the parlor.

Loki was about to part the beaded curtain when Addie quickly strode through and almost bumped into him. “I apologize,” Loki charmed as he stepped to the side.

“No worries, handsome.” Addie smiled as she patted his muscular arm. “I ran out of black and need to head into the back for supplies,” she added. “Do you think you can let our girl know while I get some?”

“Absolutely.” Loki smiled. Addie scurried away with a smirk on her face winking at Laney. Laney was watching the whole scene ready to step in if her mother got out of hand. She rolled her eyes and turned back around, giving her attention to Barnes and Wilson, enjoying her hard work.

Loki walked in quietly, wanting to tell you that Addie would be just a moment, but his steps faltered. He took a deep breath as he watched you straddle the chair and disrobe your shirt. You leaned forward with your arms crossed and relaxed waiting for Addie to get started on your tattoo.

Loki was mesmerized. The luster of your skin hailed him closer and closer. A smooth canvas with small works of art depicted on your spine. The different phases of the moon were embellished with dark ink lines and stars all intricately drawn down the length of your back. There was a small tally on your left shoulder and a script or font on your right that Loki couldn’t make out.

You heard footsteps walk back in. “Addie, I think this would mark my tenth win. I don’t know…”

“Addie isn’t here,” he swallowed. “She had to search for more ink in the back.” You turned your head at the sound of his voice, clutching your shirt tight. “I apologize. She sent me to inform you,” he smiled.

You were caught in a compromising position with your top half exposed. You didn’t know what to do but stare at his beautiful face drinking all of you in. The way he looked at you. The way his eyes glinted as they roamed your body. The way he swallowed his words before he spoke. You had never felt more beautiful…more seen…as you do now.

“I-I can leave. If it makes you uncomfortable,” Loki offered.

“No. You can stay,” you murmured back. You turned around, unable to look into his adoration any further. You heard his heavy footsteps come closer and around you.

“They’re beautiful.” He said standing behind you. Admiring you like you were a work of art. By now, goosebumps had formed all over your skin, making you shiver. Addie wouldn’t like that.

“Thank you.”

“May I?” he asked reaching his hand forward. You turned your head slightly to see what he meant. “Can I touch you?” he clarified. You nodded your head once. A pink blush climbs your neck up to your cheeks. Surely, he sees the way he’s affecting you.

His finger traces the name on your right shoulder. You felt his gentle touch with each letter. Each stroke. As if you were being branded. A signature you had Addie replicate in your dad’s handwriting. “My dear Carri. Love, Dad,” he read aloud. “Whose Carri, darling?”

“I’m Carri. It’s my name. Well, it was my dad’s nickname for me.  My full name is Carrisa,” you smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Carrisa.” He said coming closer to you, bending down, and gently kissing your name on your shoulder. You sat upright, shocked.

“I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”

“Ya. Um, it’s ok,” you said looking down, as your body prickled with heat. His lips left a sear on your shoulder that spread throughout your body, making your heart beat wilder and your breathing shallow. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“I fear that you have caught me in a daze, my dear Hnöss. What exactly did I say earlier?” His fingers traced the moon phases down your spine. You remembered when Addie drew those on your back. It was one of the most painful experiences you’ve ever had. But the electricity from his touch replaced the bittersweet memory with a new feeling.

“What you said about looking for someone like me- because you couldn’t stop thinking about me.” He circled you. His fingers lingered at your waist, trailed across your bunched skirt, and onto your right thigh. Facing you, he opened his hand to palm your thigh and stroked it with his thumb.

“Is that what I said?” he asked, transfixed by the Ouroboros on your thigh.

“Loki.” You tried to sound exasperated and annoyed. But you feared you sounded breathy and needy instead. His eyes looked at you through his long lashes. While his attention was still consumed by your tattoo.

“Why was I looking for someone like you?” He posed and inhaled, preparing for his explanation. “Perhaps the same reason why you picked Barnes to be your spotter instead of me. The same reason why you went on a date tonight with David-”

“Devin,” you corrected.

“I could care less what his name is, darling. Because you wanted to forget about your supposed unrequited crush.” He held his hands to his chest and moved closer to you. His height was even more impressive when you were sitting down and looking up at him. He leaned down to your flushed face and whispered, “The same reason why you agreed to go on this circus of a date, with the three of us. Just so you can spend more time with that unrequited crush. With me.” He smirked. Like a predator who had caught his prey, flashing his teeth through his grin.

An electrifying kiss followed. You took a quick intake of breath as his mouth caressed yours. His lips were cool and smooth. You closed your eyes and leaned further into the kiss. His hand squeezed tighter moving ever so carefully up your thigh.

“I finally got the ink! I hope you’re ready. And I’m not interrupting some romantic kissing session.” Addie’s voice sang through the beaded curtain. You both pulled away from each other in shock.

Loki smiled as he backed away to give Addie space in between you. “Look at you. Why do you have goosebumps? Good thing I’m doing your shoulder.” She set the ink down and turned on the gun. The familiar buzzing helped calm your nerves and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“I think I convinced your other friends to get a tattoo as well,” she said as she snapped her gloves on. “

“Addie…”

“What? They can keep their shirts on…” She rubbed your shoulder with a small alcohol pad and began. Your eyes strayed towards Loki and he hasn’t stopped smiling.

The needle was quick and sharp. A short line and another wipe from her pad and you were all set. Addie covered your shoulder with second skin and smiled at Loki knowingly. No sooner had you put your shirt on that Sam and Bucky walked in with prying curiosity.

“Is everyone decent?” Bucky yelled before parting the curtain and made his way through. “Are you done, Wheelz?”

“Sweet, can we see it?” Sam asked. You pulled your shirt collar down and showed them the small tally mark on your shoulder counting to eleven.

“Nothing fancy.” You remarked.

“You know, I always wanted a tattoo,” Bucky’s voice sounded wistful.

“Scared of needles?” Sam teased.

“No…well…not really, no.” Bucky rubbed his face, uncomfortable where the dialogue was going.

“I can’t believe that the same Winter Soldier who can step in front of a speeding car at eighty miles per hour and stop it dead in its tracks…is scared of needles!”

“It’s not the needle…not only the needle.” Bucky’s voice got quiet. “The needle, the chair…it’s all just too…” Bucky’s eyes went vacant. His mind took him to a memory long forgotten and suppressed. Memories of him being revived and activated. A lab chair with restraints and a scientist with a needle on standby.

Loki placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, returning him to this reality. He could recognize trauma when he sees it. The horrors of war and abuse weigh heavily on the eyes.  And right now, Bucky’s eyes were at their heaviest.

“Hey, you know what I think we should go next on our little date?” You tried to lighten the mood. The three men looked at you expectantly. It was your night after all. You called the shots. “Karaoke!”

⬅️ 9:00PM | 12:00 Midnight Coming Soon ➡️

Hnoss - daughter of Freyja and Óðr. Hnoss is the Aesir goddess of beauty and desire. She is associated with love and lust as well as temptation. Her name means "jewel" or "treasure"

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