#because every piece of art makes fit hot as hell

[massivewaffle]

Really enjoying people on Twitter deciding Fit would be depressed/giving up without morning crew and thus allowing his stubble/beard to grow back. That is an idea I can get behind.

#also he can get behind me #because every piece of art makes fit hot as hell #wtf twitter artists im onto you #and i praise you #hey ohhhh #im so tired #im in delirium stage

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Sympathy for Breakfast

(Part 1)

—

Time Written - 9:03 p.m

(Completely unrelated photo it’s just funny to me, also just a silly part 2 for no reason. SFW silly, he stands like this for a majority of this Drabble)

—

The early rays of morning sun sent an irritating glare of bright light through his mask when he feels a faint rumble, making him instinctively reach for his phone.

You coming home soon?

I have a surprise :)

Love you <3

Jason smiles at the screen, feeling glad that his girl woke up on the good side of the bed. However, he checked the time, slowly growing concerned as to why you were up so early.

The diner the both of you adored on weekends and midnights wasn’t even open yet.

A handful of thoughts course through his tired brain. Some of them concerning, some of them far from appropriate.

“Good morning, Mister Hood.” You smile from your position on the ground as he shuffled himself through the front door, carrying double bagged to-go boxes in hand.

The only comfort he had at this moment, besides the fragrant hot coffee inside the machine pot, was seeing your smiling, well rested expression. Your hair was styled to keep out of your way as your main focus, the ‘surprise’, was the project the two of you had been putting off on for a while.

“Babe, what’re you doing?”

You sat criss cross on the living room floor in front of an ash gray, large convertible crib, newly put together by yourself alone.

“Built the crib! Isn’t it pretty?” You extend your hands out towards the sight, the crib equipped with every detail perfectly in place. All you had to do left was add in the bedding onto the new mattress for your son, and it’s fully finished.

A very special bed for a very special boy, already loved before he’s even born.

“The box weighed a ton.” Was Jason’s first statement as he eyed the empty box and scattered foam borders. He sets his helmet and breakfast on the dining room table, approaching the messy living room.

“It wasn’t heavy,” you quickly state, gesturing your head over towards the corner of the living room, where the box had sat behind the couch for a good three months.

“It was super easy too! What do you think?” You immediately ask, not liking how he was too concerned for everything but the surprise.

Their was a cute, eager glimmer in your eyes as you stared up at him, like a little girl showing off her extravagant art piece. Right there, he understood why you had lately become quite OCD with all the baby’s essentials.

Sorting out all the supplies, washing all the clothes, ordering a new baby blanket set because it didn’t arrive in the shade of teal blue you wanted.

Nesting. You were nesting.

Cute.

“It’s nice,” Jason says, tilting his head as he examines the large crib. How the hell his eight month pregnant sweetheart built this heavy crib all on your own was a full body shiver he tried very, very hard to refrain expressing.

“Yeah, very nice. How’s it, uh… how’s it gonna fit through the door?”

“What?” Your smile slowly drops. “Huh?”

“I mean, it’s pretty wide?” Jason peeks over towards their semi open bedroom door. “I don’t think the crib will fit through…”

You go quiet, looking over at the crib you were proud of merely seconds ago.

“Huh??”

You express once more, noticing this large, extravagantly built crib, with bottom drawers prepared to pack in freshly washed baby clothes, would be a little too wide to push through the bedroom door. Especially with the bed in the way.

“But this took … this took forever!” Your voice held that tremble that Jason suspected would come, making him playfully pout.

“Awww, Princess.” He tried so hard to hold back a smile or laugh, quickly failing behind his gloved palm.

“Don’t laugh!” You yell up at him. “I was so proud of myself! This was the one time we buy something from IKEA, and I didn’t have to second guess the instructions a hundred times! Now you’re saying it won’t fit through the door!”

Cause it won’t. Jason wasn’t cruel enough to voice it, simply gazing down at his love, who hid her face from his view, still perched in the center of empty screw bags, power tools, and ever so finicky foam beads.

As tired as he was from patrol, this topped the cake of interesting things to happen yet.

He wasn’t delighted to see you cry aggravated tears from this daunting realization you completely missed, but the outcome of your hard work at such an early hour… only to be stumped, it’s funny. Jason can’t help that.

His shoulders bounced with his light laughter, settling down in front of his woman, who had exhausted hands covering that pretty face from him.

“S’okay Princess. Crib looks gorgeous, an’ you still possess all fingers and toes. Proud of you, but no more heavy lifting. Alright?”

His soft praise and gentle warning fell on acknowledging ears, but responded to with shameful silence. Jason couldn’t help that you were a little impatient with exciting tasks, he wouldn’t ask you to change that.

It’s like asking him to stop his horrible, eye rolling humor. Or twisted, cruelly timed jokes. It’s impossible.

He softly shushes you, kissing the top of your forehead. His eyes glance back to the crib, overall impressed at how you put it all together so well by yourself.

At the start of living in your own apartment, the both of you took many IKEA dates. Each night ended up in some form of aggravated frustration over a piece of furniture placed wrong, or the irritation of an extra screw from a missing slot once the entire piece was already finished.

“You take your vitamins?” Jason prompts, watching your head slowly shake no, still sniffling behind your hands.

You were too fixated on building the crib and getting everything together, you forgot the key component of a successful pregnancy; to worry about your own health. The biggest of priorities.

Yep. Nesting.

“We’ll eat, take your vitamins, an’ have our food comas. No worries ‘bout the crib mama, I’ll take care of it.”

Jason’s soothing voice was almost enough to settle your nerves, or the mention of food actually.

“Did you go to Benny’s?”

“Mhm. Got your favorite.”

“Can you help me up?” You reluctantly ask, giving him those pink flushed puppy eyes that he couldn’t go against.

“Whatever the lady wants.”

Tired muscles slip underneath your arms, cradling your sides as he helps you up off the ground. Your swollen belly nudges against his abdomen, making his heart melt. He wondered if your manic rush of dopamine woke up his boy, softly smirking at the idea of you chastising your relentlessly kicking son whilst building his future bed.

“Baby boy missed you, by the way.” You say, as if you just read his mind.

God, kill him already. His twice beating heart can’t take much more of this.

“He just wants food,” Jason chides before stepping to the side, letting you slowly waddle to the kitchen.

“We’re all on the same boat, Papa.”

God, please scratch that last thought. He’s in heaven.

Jason’s exhaustion didn’t stop him from nudging you towards your seat, taking the empty mugs from your hands to fill them with Colombian roast.

He wasn’t just being courteous; he was making sure you didn’t have too much caffeine, diluting the majority of your cup with your preferred milk.

After taking those vitamins you needed, Jason finally allowed himself to sit down and rest, too lazy to pull off anything other than his tactical belt and leather jacket.

He watches the love of his life through hooded eyes open your plate, your expression brightening as if you didn’t just sob over the crib mishap. Something he most definitely wasn’t going to mention at a manor dinner about three years from now.

Fluffy blueberry pancakes, piled with fresh fruit and savory sausage on the side. Honey cinnamon butter, and extra syrup. All topped with chocolate chips.

Beside it, an egg white spinach, cheesy omelette. With vegan cheese, for some odd reason. Suddenly, you had as much distain to cheddar and mozzarella, possibly most dairy, as you did to egg yolks in your omelettes.

This was your breakfast, The only meal out of your three meals a day that wasn’t invaded by a strange concoction of spicy pickles or vinegar based hot sauce. Or any other horrible last minute choices.

Something tells Jason that he’s going to see cake eaten for breakfast after the birth for a good while. Not like he’s going to complain, honestly.

Whatever he can do to combat the birthing blues, but that’s a concern for the future.

“Babe.”

“Hm?” You glance up from your plate before you dug in, seeing that same gentle smirk he carried on his face for the past four minutes.

“I was kidding, by the way.” His smile slowly grew the quicker it sets in, expecting to get pummeled by fruit after this;

“The crib will fit through the door.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #x pregnant reader #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd dc #Jason Todd x #let’s go to Benny’s guys

[neoaya]

Hot take!!! (Nuclear tbh)

People are way too shitty to the LW devs, especially Yumeno Rote.

This guy is responsible for every single piece of non-story card character art in the game, that includes units, costumes, alts, expressions, Music Video CGs, etc. Seeing as a new unit is released per week, along with 2/4 event costumes and 2/3 rebirth costumes at the end of the month, this guy is at MINIMUM drawing 8 fully detailed illustrations and backgrounds per month, for three and a half years straight.

The only other gacha to my knowledge that has one artist doing all the character art like this is Limbus Company, which even then has a significantly longer period between new art being added to the game. (I'm aware there are likely a lot more, but most to my knowledge have multiple artists)

So when I see a post criticising Lost Word, what do you think is being criticised 90% of the time?

Is it:

The fact it's a gacha game

Genuine criticism of the game itself and its mechanics or story

Hell, even criticism of the questionable work practice of having one guy do all the game's art

If you guessed 4, "near insignificant nitpick of Rote's art, AUs shown, or a VA (in a game where you can pick from 3 for every character) because it doesn't fit within their headcanon in a game about multiple different universes" you'd be correct!

Don't get me wrong, I have seen the first two plenty of times, but they're always either fair critiques or people who just don't want anything to do with gacha games and don't care which is understandable.

But for 4? The sheer amount of hatred and seething vitriol people express for details most people wouldn't think twice about is insane to me. It never seems to come from a sincere place of disappointment but rather fear to fit in, like "Oh this relates to me, I better lay in to it as much as possible since everyone else shits on it, wouldn't want to give people the impression I'm weird for liking it after all". It just seems depressing to me that people feel the need to act miserable out of peer pressure and not wanting to stray from the popular opinion.

As someone's who played the game since launch at this point I feel more than qualified to tell you it's FAR from perfect, hell I wouldn't even call it all that good. Gameplay fluctuates from playing the game for you to forcing you to have a full understanding of the meta, grinding is a chore, drop rates are far too low, the nature of the game forcing normally evil aligned characters to act more reasonably, and I unironically think the lack of representation and downright bad writing for Aya until now is singlehandedly responsible for making her drop by one place 3 years in a row in the THVote popularity poll.

So why do I still play it after all this time? Because I genuinely just want to see what they do next. I like seeing what new takes on characters they come up with, I like seeing where the story goes, what the next event will be and I love Rote's art and all the other art contributed by the JP community, I even think the Hifuu and RoM section of the story is genuinely good. It's nice to have a constant and reliable stream of Touhou media to read through in-between the wait for actual new games.

Somehow I don't feel that guy in the middle would want to come on livestreams 3 and a half years after launch if he didn't find it fun, same goes for all the artists and doujin circles that have contributed their art and music, especially those with more than one card or song.

If you want anyone to blame, blame GoodSmile for publishing this game and making this the complete extent they're willing to promote it and Touhou as a whole. (Last new character from them was a Reisen nendo from six years ago btw!)

In conclusion, I think LW has objectively done more good for the series than harm. You can not understate the fact that this game is responsible for introducing Touhou to so many new people and giving the spotlight to characters that are otherwise overlooked. Inaccurate character portrayals are rarely an issue when the series embraces differentiating itself from the source material, that's the nature of doujin culture. That and it seems silly to try and gatekeep people who got into the series through Lost Word, telling them they're experincing it wrong only serves to turn them away and I don't blame newcomers when official touhou media is still hard to come across in the west and the three most popular games in the series still don't have a digital release.

As a tangent, I used to have a problem with how Aya was depicted in a lot of fan media, even from people here, but a friend taught me I shouldn't let those alternate interpretations ruin my enjoyment of her and that I shouldn't fault them for seeing her that way. I feel others should be able to learn from that.

(I definitely forgot some stuff but this is ranty enough as is, I just wanted to get it out of my system)

#touhou #touhou project #touhou lost word #東方project #weird how I never see discourse like this surrounding arknights

[jiminguuk]

Very long post ahead because I’m very irritated by the state of this tag. I have some thoughts. I wasn’t even going to say anything and just lurk, but Jungkook and Jimin have a very special place in my heart and I’m pissed

I think we as a society need to understand that shipping ≠ reality.

I know it’s easy to get caught up in the moments, the “evidence”, the chemistry. But you have to have a healthy dose of respect/common decency.

For example, when Taehyung said that thing to that taekooker (you know what I’m talking about). If I was clocked by bts in that regard I’d pass away. There is a line and you shouldn’t cross it.

As for the video, I’m skeptical of its legitimacy, but I’m not opposed to the idea of it being real. There’s absolutely no way of knowing if it’s true or fake without confirmation. Honestly, I think HYbe will probably ignore it and I know someone will say “it’s very telling they didn’t say anything” but really, it’s so fucking stupid.

1. The video was released very close to a release of a song (seems to be a trend) and my god that song should be the focus not the goddamn video. Whoever, whether true or not, got what they wanted.

2. It’s is insane the lengths people went through to prove it’s legitimacy/Debunk. It’s creepy, it’s terrifying. Imagine you’re Jungkook minding your business and seeing some ARMY in Ohio going through every inch of your apartment you’ve shown to prove it’s you in a grainy 144p video. What the fuck.

3. Hot Take Ahead: I’ve seen a lot of anons on different accounts asking questions/saying theories about jikooks relationship/status. Literally, what kind of fanfictional life do you think they live? “Oh I think it’s an open relationship, I think they broke up :/, it’s possible they are separated but still together” These are grown men. Who the hell cares besides Jimin and Jungkook. Who the fuck are you to dissect their entire bond to pinpoint moments you felt they may have been on “a break”. Have you thought perhaps, I don’t know, people are busy and are unable to interact the same way they did in 2015-2019? Or maybe they aren’t around each other as much in front of cameras? Their private lives, together or not, in a relationship or not is none of our business. It is so weird to me to make these kind of claims based on interactions you see/don’t see anymore. It’s like some people think it’s a damn show. Something I always enjoyed about Jikook is how close, cute and questionable they are. But not once have I thought to track their entire “relationship” and think “oh this is when they broke up” it’s literally a ship. It’s a pairing. I’m also a Yoonjin enthusiast and I have yet to see any kind of comments similar to the ones about Jikook. Shipping is supposed to be fun. It shouldn’t be dissected and analyzed to fit a narrative.

4. If I have to see one more post about JK being a fuck boy/ disrespectful to women or Jimin being heartbroken I’ll pull my hair out. How do you know? Song lyrics? Really? You think every single thing is connected to each other? It can’t be separate? Could Jimin be singing about a past relationship he was in not related to JK? Could JK’s songs be written for a western audience that thrives on that type of music? It would be great if we could separate art from ships. Not everything is about the ship, because quite frankly, I doubt they even think about it when creating shit. (I will say I did lose my mind over that JM tattoo in the seven MV lmafo, but that was because whenever I see it I gasp. I know the tattoo has been debunked or whatever but god it gets me in the feels) It’s must be so frustrating to be tied to a ship whenever you create a piece of art.

5. I’ll forever be a jikooker at heart for the fact I absolutely adore the pairing/ship. But I’m not going to sit here and pretend that they owe me the satisfaction of being true. I will take my crumbs and be happy because, really, that’s what it’s for. Everything from hickey gate to the fish in the clouds to the traveling around the globe for a birthday. Until proven otherwise, I’ll always have 👀 on them and continue to be a supporter but I’m not going to thrust my hand into believing that they are 100% together because I have absolutely no way of knowing it’s a fact.

Finally: 1. Who ft. Jikook never got the attention it deserved 2. Jimin is literally God reincarnated 3. Yoonjin is so Cam/Mitchell, Rei/Kazuki, Gojo/Nanami coded. Prove me wrong.

#jikook #kookmin #bts jeon jungkook #bts jimim #im so tired #i’m too old for this

[acorrespondence]

Writing Pattern Game

Thanks for the tag @raylangivins ♥️

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns! (from most recent to least recent, starting from the top)

I only have two published works but I thought it might be interesting to see if there are any patterns in how I start a chapter! Every single chapter I’ve posted still only adds up to nine, haha, so it still fits!

i put this heavy heart in you: Miami (Part 1)— It’s hot as hell on the Miami rooftop where Raylan shoots Tommy Bucks, and with the sun in his eyes and the long stretch of water spread out before him, Raylan could almost believe he’s still in Nicaragua.

i put this heavy heart in you: Miami (Part 2) — Boyd plans, because he always plans, tries to get ahead of everything and coax it around in their favor.

i put this heavy heart in you: (The Road) — Fifteen minutes in, Raylan yanks on the wheel and pulls the van over.

i put this heavy heart in you: (The Motel Part 1) — Boyd’s elbow comes down hard on the soap ledge, with a crack fit to set the whole tub to juddering.

i put this heavy heart in you: (California) — Raylan’s phone rings at 12:38 on Lissy’s birthday, while he’s making lunch over the little hot plate on top of the fridge.

i put this heavy heart in you: (Harlan Part 1) — By the time Art comes around to check on them, Rachel and Raylan have been sitting crammed into a surveillance van masquerading as a carpet cleaning business for three days straight.

i put this heavy heart in you: (The Motel Part 2) — “Raylan,” Boyd mumbles from somewhere in the vicinity of his armpit. “Raylan, the door.”

catching bullets in our teeth: (Chapter 1) — The first time it happens, they’re in the mine, sent down beneath the hills to pull Harlan’s black teeth.

catching bullets in our teeth: (Chapter 2) — Boyd’s triumphant return is marred by the fact that the fighting’s already started.

I guess the pattern here is that my opening sentences tend to be fairly short, matter-of-fact statements. A lot of them include orienting details like a specific location, date, time, or a quick summary of recent events. I don’t have much patience for exposition, so I try to get the essential pieces of information into that first sentence to move things along. The exceptions are Miami Part 2 and The Motel Part 2, the first of which is a character note and the second of which is some dialogue, in an attempt to give the moment a sense of urgency that the others don’t have.

I’m going to keep my tagging bare bones because I’m trying to catch up on these, so if I missed you and you want to give this a try, just imagine your handle in the following list: @esteefee @bringmefoxgloves @tallsinspace @norgbelulah @toli-a @willowmckinley @skelingtonsderek

#justified #writing #heavy heart #catching bullets #my fic #justie2justie communication #tag game

[neonovember]

The art of Kintsugi

stucky! x reader

part two of the moments before crumbling

summary: in which bucky and steve put the pieces back together of their girl, and make an unexpected decision that will change the lives of the three avengers.

warnings: major TW for ptsd and mental health problems, mentions of suicide, guilt, survivors guilt, imposter syndrome, hy*ra, torturing, psychiatry, flash backs + suppressed trauma, violence, murder, death threats promises, nsfw themes, fluff towards the end, domestication!

word count: 6k worth of brain vomit

author notes: so much love for part 1, thank you guys! hope this piece holds up the same weight, if not more, really loved writing this, especially the end, al though I may extend the ending to be a little “where they are now” kinda fic, not too long! just thoughts hm…also of course I had to add a little nsfw because im a sick human being :)

It was a Thursday, the team were seated within one of the windowed meeting rooms, going over the last mission recall that has remained unfinished due to your accident. Steve's presence was demanded, the Captain grumbling about more important things before he tightened his jaw and gripped the edge of his seat, wood splintered under his grasp.

How they expected Steve to just carry on whilst you were lying there, unconscious, surveyed by the nurse Steve and Bucky didn’t trust enough was beyond them, they were growing increasingly restless and angry at the helpless situation and everyone felt it.

One afternoon, whilst gathering the Avengers for lunch in the tower, Tony made the foolish decision of encouraging Bucky and Steve to just go back to normal. There was a splitting silence that clung to the air moments after Tony’s words, the playful banter of before now replaced with heightened tension. The sticky anger radiating off of Steve and Bucky, surrounding the room.

The Avengers all thought it, at the back of their minds, what would happen if they asked Bucky or Steve to relax a little? let the doctors do their jobs? let their girl breathe without their constant watchful eyes?

Everyone was worried for you, hell most of the team had grown sick with nausea at the thought of your unresponsive frame in the hospital, but by the way Bucky and Steve were acting, they didn't know what wouldn’t happen to them if you didn’t wake up.

But as Steve slowly got up, followed by Bucky, taking smooth calculated steps to a scared shitless Stark, they cowered back in both fear and acceptance that that was a topic to not be branched.

Unless of course, they wanted to hear exactly what Bucky and Steve whispered into both Tony’s ears, leaving him aghast and abruptly leaving back to his room, his tail between his legs and his glass of bourbon swallowed by Bucky. A cheeky grin as the liquid glided down his throat, practically Kool-Aid to his tongue.

The fact remained, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were slowly losing their grip on themselves. As the hours and days stretched on in morning heat, as the rest of the world moved in motion, as people just went on, the tight lidded rage the two soldiers garnered the second you lost yourself was beginning to seep through the cracks. Red hot anger spilling like molten lava through their fragile, weak composures.

Perched on the seats that never quite fit their huge bodies, they kneaded your stiff legs and arms, helping your body ease its way through the trauma and shock of the past few days. They made sure to replace the Lilies on your bedside table, the petals growing wilt every few days, a gift from Fury himself.

They were sure you’d make a complete joke about it when you’d wake up, eyes crinkling in laughter and amusement as Fury’s feeble attempt at a get well soon gift. You hated lilies, absolutely despised their smell and actually, audibly gagged whenever you were near them, and that was precisely why Steve and Bucky kept bringing them, lipped edges quirking at the images of your scrunched face flitting towards the infamous devilish plant.

You’d try and hide it though, whispering “at least he tried” under your breath before your amusement got the best of you. They loved that about you, your adamant desire to be good, even if your boyish, teenage sense of humour nudged its way in your tried optimism.

You were going to be pissed, they knew this, as their throats caught at the beginnings of your stirring, rushing towards you in relief and happiness. The flooding rush of gratitude spreading across their bodies, from the tips of their toes to the tops of their hands, until they were repeating nothing but “god thank you, thank you, thank you”, pressing kisses everywhere.

Awoken on a Tuesday, the day hinted to nothing, in fact, the day was embarrassingly mundane and civil, the transitioning period towards the middle of the week rather than a recognised day.

Perhaps that was the beauty in it, that you came back to them not when they were begging for it, gripping the chairs, or on a birthday or holiday, but just on a weekday. A simple, lazy, warm, weekday. Whilst the rest of the world commutes to work, catches trains and sipped on bad coffee, Bucky and Steve were granted the greatest wish they had ever only wanted.

Their girl back to them.

It took 30 minutes for Dr Choi to retch Bucky and Steve off of your bedside, and another 20 before Thor stepped in, Mjolnir aimed at their chest in caution, pushing them out of the room.

Your croaked laugh echoed around them when this happened, and immediately, Thor’s movement faltered, a sucker for your laugh and a true bear at heart.

That's all it took for Bucky and Steve to run back to your side to hear that sound again. Hear your croaked laugh, even as fragile and crackling as it was, just hear it, feel it cover them like a blanket, its familiarity and filled love soak them up in a hug, tug at the threads of their hearts.

“Hey pretty girl, how are you?” Steve measured out, eyes watching every movement of your face, catching the many discomforts tugging at your skin.

You opened your mouth before a splitting cough broke out of you, the practical hack ripped from the confines of your chest, swirling up through your ribs and rippling up your oesophagus.

Squeezing tightly on the edge of your hospital bed, your vision blurs with tears as your body takes the onslaught of the fit, willing, begging you to just breathe. Let the sweet fresh air blossom through you, licking away the pained bruises.

Opening your eyes once again, you quickly accept the glass of water Bucky has for you, greedily gulping down the transparent substance. You always had trouble drinking enough water through the day, Bucky and Steve having to frequently remind you before giving in and bringing you the bottle anyway.

Right now though, with the soothing sensation running down your throat and chest as the water slid down, you wanted nothing more than just it. Water. You lay there for a few moments, head tilted back, ending a bottomless pit, drinking up all that it gave you, the relief, the ease.

Setting the cup down, you realize a crack has formed from your grip, multiple in fact. The glass was close to shattering and you were just drinking water.

The rest of the people in the room noticed it too, eyes furrowing at the glinting cracks of the glass, following the lines until running back to you, concern and wonderment at your doing.

Your eyes turned downward, unease rippling through you as reality came crashing down.

Why.

Why were you here?

What had happened?

The team must have caught on to the wrath of questions circling your mind, eyes going wide and body going into panic at the unknowingness, as the erie gap in your memory. There was something grabbling at you, pulling you down into subconscious, a memory, no a trauma, and your face crumbled with fear and terror.

“No, no, please not again” You whispered, clenching your teeth, frustration at your feeble and tired body, frustration at your body’s willingness to just give up, give in. You never gave up.

Steve and Bucky tightened their grips, tethering you to this world.

“You're okay, you're okay, you’re safe, we’re here, just breathe, breathe for me doll,” Bucky said, holding back his pained expression in reassurance for you.

Nodding slowly, you forced the manually movements of breathing, deep breathe in, deep breathe out, in, out, in, out.

Before you could relish the ease of your movements a memory seized your frame, stilling you into paralysis to relive it right in front of them.

Eyes fluttering over your surroundings, white walls encompass your vision, followed by a white bed, in fact, the porcelain shade covers your entire room. Shealthing the confides with its dusty, snowy cloak, effectively preventing you from any and all stimuli.

Blocking out the parts of your brain that needed to survive, like fucking thinking, you couldn’t fucking think. The bleeding white light from above drilling into your cranium.

Why is it so loud?, and why are you here? Trying to examine the room around you, you will every bit of your subconscious to come forward, to let you in on your suppression so you could get the fuck out of this memory, but your stilled.

“In, out, in, out, in, out, that’s right, you got it” You feel yourself say, looking down your spine tingles with a hot white pain as you see it. See her.

May.

She’s a little girl, no older than you yourself, judging by your feeble hands. You're gripping her hands, running smooth circles on her thumb as you coax her anxiety attack to run its course, urging her to just breathe through it because you can’t do anything else.

Her hair is braided, the childlike hairstyle hinting at her young age, it’s dirty blonde, and you don’t know if that's its natural colour or because she’s been hunkered down with you in this room, left without the necessities to even shower. Dirt collecting on the strands of her hair till it became it.

Her eyes, they’re striking, so blue it rises bile up your throat as you remember who has those same blue eyes. Your boys, your beautiful, helpless boys who are begging you to come back to them once again, your beautiful boys who are so close to shattering with you.

The next few moments are a blur, the clarity and realness of before gone, replaced with jagged ends and blurred images. You see yourself then, you see you.

Your curled hair in a bun, your clothes purely tactical wear, hands reddened with dried blood and a soulless look in your eyes. Your cheeks were covered in tears and dirt, you were so young, god you were so young.

You still had that unrelenting innocence to you they tried so hard to break, kindness and goodness that was just in you, ran through your veins like blood. You screamed then, a blood stopping thrill, but it was inaudible, a soundless movement coming out of your mouth and you struggled with what looked like guards, the blur of their greys and blacks and metal weapons signalling your captivity. The young girl, May was begging ripped from your hands, tugged by the guards as you refused to let go. Her panicked cries mixing with your screams as you demanded;

“No, please, not her, you said you wouldn’t! please take me!, please” You screamed before you were injected, stilling your movements, gliding over your muscles and bones until you were a crumpled heap on the ground, whispering nothing but please.

And just like that, you were thrusted back into your reality, ripped from the memory, your subconscious tucked away and shrugging its shoulders at its actions

You hear the instant sounds of voices calling out your name, and you don’t have to open your eyes to know who.

Steve and Bucky are calling for you, tones desperate as they watched your dazed out expression, trying, hoping, to bring you back. Opening your eyes for the second time, you grip at their hands tightly, confusion written across your face.

“What happened?” You said looking at Steve’s pleading face.

“You were going through a flashback, reliving a memory that was suppressed,” He said calmly, hoping his voice wouldn’t give way to his terror.

“What? I-, it felt so real? why did it feel so real? How?” You questioned, eyes burning with frustration.

Sensing your distress Dr Choi stepped forward, eye scanning your face.

“Your body has been undergoing an unruly amount of stress, but your mind is a different case” She started

“Your recollection may be a bit hazy, but 9 days ago, whilst you were flying back from a mission, you had a mental breakdown before falling unconscious,” She said clearly, noticing your tightened grip.

“Uh, yeah, we, I remember, I didn’t know how it happened, one second I was trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in and then the next, I was- I was just gone” you croaked out, swallowing down the brick in your throat and the pool of tears ready to break.

You looked towards Steve and Bucky, noticing their pained expressions

“I don’t know why it happened..I know, I’m sure, I usually know these things, I don’t know why I can’t” You said, sighing out in defeat.

“That’s why I’m here, why we’re all here” Dr Choi gestured to the rest of the room.

“We think that your breakdown was not only due to your body’s exhaustion of keeping this suppressed, and forced to remain in your subconscious, but because something, or maybe someone triggered it” Bruce informed, his face scrunched at the effect of his words.

Bucky’s metal fingers gripped the seat tighter at that suggestion, instincts ready and muscles starting to move, prepared to murder whoever did this to his baby. The grunt from Steve was left only for Bucky's ears, the two soldiers silently nodding in agreement with their eyes that if it was, a someone, they’d be the ones to track them down and put a gaping hole in their head.

“You see since your breakdown happened on the quinjet, it points to the trigger happening elsewhere, somewhere within a time frame of the night before and the mission itself” Tony continued, fingers gripping his suit’s glove, just in case your dear lovers wanted to begin their vengeance a little early.

“Hydra” you whispered scornfully

Dr Choi looks towards you in surprise

“Hydra?” She questions

“Our last mission, the one before she-, we were surveying an abandoned Hydra facility, sifting through, making sure there wasn’t anything that could be of use to SHIELD, making sure it wasn’t a full-fledged functioning operation under the guise of an abandoned building.

“She’s had a history with Hydra” a new voice enters the room, this one belonging to a crumby old man with an eyepatch.

“Fury?” You whisper, eye-straining over to see him.

“Hey gorgeous, you doing okay? No matter what we’ll find out what happened” He whispered to you kissing the top of your head before resuming his speech, the action shocking Dr Choi, and even Bruce, surprised by his fondness, being acquainted with his usually cold, sarcastic demeanour.

Fury had a hard time showcasing his love to the people he cared for, and that was undoubtedly true when it came to you. The first hearings of your breakdown sent Fury into a frenzy, his voice gruff and demanding for answers as to why it happened.

Misplaced anger at himself, Tony, Cap, even a young innocent intern who was screamed at for getting his coffee wrong. That day, everyone at shield avoided Director Fury, and anybody in a 5-mile victory of him was in danger of his unfiltered anger and emotion.

The danger zone, one of the agents called it, eyes filtering over Fury’s form, as the huddled group of archivers watched Fury scream at an agent, his loud voice booming.

The entire building of SHIELD knew the root of Fury’s sour mood, the news of your breakdown getting out to even the janitors, their whispers of “how’s, what’s and why’s” pressing the conversations they pretended not to have when any of the Avengers walked by.

It was no secret that Fury took you under his wing in a way, acting like the father figure after you had lost your entire family to the merciless hands of Hydra.

He was the one that brought you to the Avengers, helping clear your name from the blooded actions you were forced to carry out per Hydra’s request. Their puppet, used and controlled until you didn’t know anything before or after Hydra. He put his trust in you, and put his trust in Steve to make sure you were taken care of, whispers of your fragile teenagehood and past life of Hydra only ever uttered once at the beginning of your induction to the team.

“She was taken by Hydra, or more so her family was, each of them was killed, none surviving the turmoil experiments they graciously performed,” Fury said, voice in disgust.

“That was until they did it on you,” He said pointedly

“Shocked with over a million volts of electricity, you somehow survived, you had garnered the aftershocks of what electromagnetic force does when condensed in an airtight chamber with nowhere to go but to you. We already know that your skin is impenetrable, and you can gather the forces of energy to manipulate yourself into said energy, but what we only have a small idea is your time with the rogue Nazi organisation”.

“You spent over 6 years in the palm of their hands, carrying out their demands and daily tasks as their puppet, and whilst you never assassinated as many people as Barnes over here” His eyes following Bucky, watching the way his metal arm maneuvered in resentment and anger.

“You were forced to take care of a little girl they’d thrown in your grasp” He said finally.

“May” you whisper

“Yes, Maybelle Santana, a 5-year-old girl they’d captured to continue their experiments and further their expansion of enhanced peoples” He replied, seemingly unfazed.

“You and her both shot up a friendship, tied by the terrors of Hydra, bonded forever by their greed and evil. You’d grown fond of her?” He questioned

Your throat constricted as you tried to remember her. May.

You did, you loved her, she was the only thing giving you hope to continue on in that godforsaken place, an anchor in times where things got too much, where your brain was willing to give in to the shadowed hands of the void.

“Yes, Uhm, she helped me, made me, forced to survive,” You said shocking in your own words as you tilt your head blinking back tears.

Waking around the room, Fury nodded, before continuing

“She was with you, day in, day out, and when they took her from you, your brain couldn’t handle it. The one thing you had to yourself, the one thing keeping you going was now snatched away, kept or taken, or murdered you didn’t know” Fury said, remorse now edging its way into his voice.

A gutted cry left your lips and your hands flew to your mouth, trying to hush your wails. Turning to your side, you pressed your chest, trying to grab at your aching heart, it hurt so bad so so so bad.

“They took her from me! I can’t-” You furiously shake your head, terror in your recollection.

“It hurts, it hurts so bad Stevie, why did they do that? Why did they do that to me Bucky” You croaked, voice small and childlike. As if it was your younger self asking, begging for an answer. Steve grabbed for you, tugging at your head to rest on his large chest, pressing soothing touches to your back, whispering reassurances and “I don’t know’s”. The super soldiers burned with a hatred for their helplessness, you called out for them and they couldn’t give you an answer, the reality burning through them like molten glass.

You didn’t know, you didn’t know, you didn’t know.

That day had ruined you, branded your brain with a nauseous, bile rising memory that she was gone. Taken from you. And they didn’t tell you where, or what had happened, silent ignorance to every wail and cry you let out into the now darkened room, begging, pleading with them as they held back amusement and growing annoyance at you day in, day out breakdown, demands.

You realised by the third month without a single drop of her name by the guards or scientists, that they had done it on purpose. They hadn’t wanted to expand their enhanced peoples, they just wanted to improve the ones they already had. Advance then, refine them, perfect them. The innocence that you had was what they were trying to ruin, break, shatter.

They needed every bit of your morality to dissipate from your body to keep you where they wanted, as a soulless shell of a person, an asset to their weapons, a cloak of shadow that didn’t have the ability to even think for herself, the perfect soldier, the perfect weapon. What better way than ripping away the one person who continued that morality? Remove and dispose the person who brought you any semblance of happiness, or joy, or care, or fondness. Hack away at the last bit of softness until what was left was a jaggered heap begging them to just kill you.

Bucky held your face, nodding at your admonishment, acknowledging the pain and grief that was losing someone.

“It wasn’t your fault okay, okay?” He started, before pulling your head closer

“Look at me doll, it wasn’t, Hydra will stop at nothing to turn people inhuman, you are not faulted in this, it was them”

“They did this, they are doing this,” He said, jaw unhinged and teeth grinding. The animosity radiating of you, Steve and Bucky towards the mention of Hydra had covered the room in a thick cloak of rage. Each of you a split second away from tracking them and slaughtering every single one of them all over again.

You laughed humorously, the quesy, inappropriate sound startling the people around you.

“You know I asked them to kill me? Just murder me because I couldn’t deal with another day of it, of remembering her. Of just keeping her in my memory when I knew, I knew, I knew she was out there. She probably thinks I did this to her, I was the only one she trusted and look where that got her. God, I was so weak, so fucking pathetic” You spat out, disgust on your voice.

The soldiers held back cries as their resolve split in two, you had asked them to kill you. Your stay at Hydra had never been formally discussed, always written off as a civilian mistake, but this, what you were saying, was anything but that. Hydra had broken you, jagged your soft edges and branded you with a lifetime of guilt, trauma and bloodied hands that refused to be washed away.

“You were a child, you weren’t meant to be strong, and you weren’t weak, you aren’t” Bucky spoke with a fury you only hoped was indignation.

“You’re so brave, so brave, you’ve been brave for too long, and I want you to let go, let us take care of you, let yourself put down those walls and let us in” Steve whispered to you, growing weak with the day’s events.

He wanted to care of you, they both did, they’d give anything to take you their shared room, have you rest on their beds, sandwiches between whilst they press kisses and hold the burden your graceful body carried. Come to their quarters to find you sitting on their bed, writing on that notebook of yours, or giggling whilst you scrolled through the questionable sights on Tumblr, face warming with the typed words.

They just wanted you there, safe with them, and only them. They wanted to cement your presence within their shared spaces, have your shoes toppled against their boots, or your numerous beauty products scattered against their own, colours mixing, scents merging.

Or maybe they wanted to build a house for you, a big large cabin-like home in Colorado or Wyoming. Rested next to a lake, emerged in the valley of pine trees until all you could see was rows and height and scents of green.

They’d thought about domestic life, especially with you, they yearned for it, the pit of their stomach knotting at the possibility, trembling fingers with excitement. They might not be retired, but everything in them called them to that life, it’s peace, simplicity, it’s easiness.

Just you, them and a dog, maybe even a couple kids, living the rest of your days in complete and utter tranquility. No fighting, no pain, no violence. If you ever asked what James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers wanted in their long-lived life’s, it would be just that, that was what they wished for.

Your head moved up to face Steve, fingers brushing against his cheek, you managed a wobbly smile that you only ever kept for your boys.

“Listen, if you were triggered by the one thing that can only trigger you; Hydra, it means we have a large problem on our hands. SHIELD thinks Hydra has been inactive for the last decade, but a few of us have kept watch over a few small low-level operations popping up on our radar.”

“Nothing but a couple of hail hydras following after a dead organisation. Definitely not something warranting a seize and extraction. But this, if you were triggered by something, and especially someone, it means it’s bigger than we thought. And it’s happening right under our noses” Fury stated matter of factly, scratching his chin in annoyance.

“You’re telling me you think Hydra’s still active?, after all this time” Steve started incredulously, he had been there when they destroyed the last operations under Hydra, hell you were there yourself, eyes bright as you saw the flames erupt the place.

“It’s Hydra, try and cut off one head, and two will pop up in its place” Bucky replied, knowing the nature of Hydra, understanding it was never really over, even if it was.

“What do we do?” Steve replied, anger blooming at the realisation that the fucks that did this to you might still be alive.

“Well firstly, you take care of her” Fury said, eyes pointed towards you, voice emphasised.

“Let me worry about logistics and countermeasures” He replied

“Be with her, I know she’ll needs you, both of you” Fury states, smiling at the soldiers shocked expressions, no one knew about your relationship except them and the team, or so they thought.

“Eyes everywhere Captain, eyes everywhere” He replied before walking out, the air collecting under his coat, authorization following him out.

Dr Choi stood frozen for a bit, mind relaying all the information that had just been fed, eyes scanning the room, brain trying to understand. Gripping her clipboard, and tying back her hair, she nodded before moving towards you.

“Okay, okay” she started

You laughed at her frazzle and awe of Fury, he was a sight to behold.

“This helps, it does, now we know it was triggered from Hydra, and the memory itself,” she said eyes looking down at her chart

“Suppression isn’t easy, and I think you know this is a direct symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. Since you were so young, as Director Fury stated, your brain couldn’t probably process the trauma like an adult could, so as a last measure to protect you, your brain had suppressed it into your subconscious. Of course, now, it has resulted in being not probably processed and instead triggered.”

Nodding you understood her, your brain slowly releasing yourself from the incoherent, frazzled stumped that stopped you from proper cognition.

“It’s going to be a while for you to properly process your trauma, and I’ve already spoken to a fellow who specialising in this kind of thing” she starts, eyes looking over you smiling

“I’m sure Bucky will enjoy exactly where they’re from too,” Dr Choi says, eyes sliding over your interactions with the two men.

Eyebrows quirking at her comment, your mind is blank before you register what she’s hinting at;

“Wakanda” you squeak, eyes blew out in surprise

She nods, eyes brightening at the way Bucky chuckles at your excitement, and his own happiness, at the thought of going back to the one place he truly feels at home, at ease.

He and Steve gave each other a knowing look, you’d be okay. They knew Wakanda would treat you with the same fervour and care they’d done Bucky. Freeing you from the grips of Hydra memories and misplaced guilt.

It was also the added bonus that Wakanda was protected by T’Challa, and was mostly unknown the to rest of the world, proving a reassuring cloak that had Steve and Bucky at the ease of your safety. They were ready to arrange someone to watch over you on the days that they couldn’t, still paranoid of everyone they didn’t trust. But now that the talk of Wakanda taking care of you was known, that wouldn’t be the case.

The talk of Wakanda has you both excited and anxious, excited because of the prospect of seeing the gorgeous county again, the first view, the animals, Dora Milaje, Shuri, the fresh country air that was only ever reserved for the advanced nation. Your eyes crinkle at the thought of Shuri, so smart, so funny, everything in you hoped she continued to be. Everything you’d wished you were before.

“The road to recovery is going to be a long one, it’ll be hard and exhausting, and you’ll feel like your going backwards some days, but it’s a path I trust you won’t walk alone,” She says, smiling towards you, as you eys fleet across all the team members that had slid in, their soft smiles and whispered affections bringing tears to your eyes. happy tears.

After a few more discussions about the proceedings of your treatment of PTSD and suppressed memory, as well as the schedule both Tony, Bruce, Dr Choi and your boys set for you to recovery, you were finally allowed to rest with the two people you’ve itched to hold since you’d woken.

“I”

“We”

You both started before staring at each other, faint smiles on all your faces as you bite back a laugh.

“Go ahead doll” Bucky smiled, pushing you to continue

“I’m sorry, for scaring you, for making this all into one huge mess,” You said looking at them

“Hey, gorgeous, stop it. You did no such thing, we’re old men, we’d worry about you any day” Steve started

“And please we should be the ones apologising” Bucky ended gruffly.

“We should’ve noticed honey, we should’ve seen you struggling but we didn’t, and you, you unravelled in front of us doll, right in our arms” Bucky choices out, blinking back reddened tears.

Both of them looked so distraught. Eyebags depended until the concave shadows dropped down their faces, their body twitching slightly, their cheeks sunken in just a little, just a little too much you’d thought. Your boys were your anchors, your broody men who only ever held a sweet tone in their voice for you, and they had been so close to breaking. So close because of you.

You blocked back tears at Bucky’s admission, the look he had was a strange one, matching Steve’s yet something you’d never seen before until it hit you.

Terror.

He was terrified at the thought of losing you, they both were. The guilt they’ve attached themselves to made you huff, they were forever putting themselves on the line, laying down their bodies before anyone even stepped up. Placing blame and faults on themselves, rather than just life itself. You wouldn’t do that, couldn’t let themselves grow weak with a guilt that wasn’t there’s.

You swallow painfully, the brick lodged in your throat making it a difficult task, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to stop crying, you’re tired of that, crying.

“No, no, Bucky, Steve please don’t, it’s not your fault, It never was”

“The worst thing I did was blame myself, and I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, I won’t do the same to you, let you feel the same. I should’ve told you, not just for the sake of the team but for the sake of us” You whispered that last part looking down.

In truth, you didn’t know if your partial relationship would be able to handle this, the panicked thought of Bucky and Steve leaving you, crushing your soul. It had just begun, blossoming in that stage of new feelings and emotions, the three of you were trying to navigate the depths of your relationship, and whilst the establishment of this bond between the three of you had happened a few months ago, the beginnings had been cemented long before, they loved you, long before.

“Sugar, if you think me and Bucky are going to leave your side now, you’ve lost your mind”

“Your ours, okay baby? And nothing is going to stop us from proving that, from claiming that” he replied, eyes going dark with a rogue Steve always had in him.

You nodded wordlessly, the words bringing an indescribable relief to your worries, feeling the love both Steve and Bucky had for you run deep, forever marking you to them, forever marking them on you.

- —

The rest of the week went on with both Steve and Bucky removing any and all distractions and responsibilities of being an Avenger. Fury had stuck true to his word, silencing any demands or questions of their presence amongst SHIELD With their phones on silent and their smartwatches torn off, they spent all day tending to your needs. You felt truly spoilt, as they doted on your every want and desire, not quite used to this behaviour at first, unsure wants that we’re questions instead of demands. They wanted you to demand things, not ask for them, and they drilled this to you by the second day, growing tired of your hesitation.

One afternoon in their room, snuggling into their hard but soft bodies, you were scribbling the start of a book idea you wanted your friend to continue, eyes fleeting across the notebook as you wrote down the word vomit that you knew she’d turn into a mesmerising storyline.

You were sandwiched between them, the sticky summer heat pushing through the linen curtains they’d drawn across the open living room windows, with your back resting on Steve’s huge chest, and your thighs sprawled over Bucky, you sighed in content within the presence of your lovers. You felt truly, for the first time, relaxed, at ease, rested. You hoped this would only go on till the last of your days but even you had responsibilities, and a long hard road of recovery to walk.

Sitting in the calm silence, you feel Bucky and Steve motion behind you, recognising the silent language you both had, you turned around to face Steve behind you.

With a quirked eyebrow Steve let out a laugh, they couldn’t hide anything from you even if they wanted to, and both their eyes crinkled at that. You were made for them.

“We want to talk about something” Steve started before you quickly snorted

“Figured that much”

Both men laughed, Steve’s chest shaking behind you, Bucky stomach moving under your thighs. Joy.

“We were thinking, how about we talk about retiring? After you go through your treatment in Wakanda, and we complete a few last necessary missions” Steve was hinting at HYDRA, a man who never left a job unfinished.

Your eyes quirked at the question, retirement.

You there had given your lives to the world, put yourselves in danger over and over to the betterment of mankind. Being an Avenger was undoubtedly a fulfilling job, the faces and families of people you’d save thanking you, their wails of gratitude enough momentum to continue putting yourself on the line for centuries and millennia.

But with those thankful faces, there came a whole wrath of destruction and collateral that came with fighting aliens opening up in New York. The devastation of the casualties had kept you up at night, stolen you breathe one afternoon when a father had tried to attack you, screaming his daughter’s name, screaming you had done this, you had killed her. It was later found out that she had fallen through a gaping hole in the apartment building caused by the fight, lost before he could utter a word, lost before he could even blink, you had cried then. Any reparations or apologies ignored and thrown out, he wanted you to know, to have the knowledge that his daughter was gone, and it was your fault, let the guilt eat away at you until it eroded you inside out.

Steve had said it’s the reality of the job, you’d lose lots of people, but you’d also save half the world. It was a hard bullet to bite, and you’d thought what would be the case if it was Bucky or Steve or Sam? What would you have done? Save them or humanity? You only ever answered it in the depths of moonlight, whispering their names, every single time.

Retirement still, though, was serious, it had a finality to it that scared you, meant you’d end your fighting days to..just live. A strange concept to you truly, no matter how laughable it was to others, you had never truly lived. Always at war, always a fight you jumped headfirst in, always violence. Being an avenger took up a lot of space in your mind and life, never truly having a rest, always something to complete, something to do, something to plan.

You couldn’t comprehend life just as it was, just coming home to sit, eat, to sleep, to love, to leave for trips and errands and to come home to do it all again. Your days would be filled with just you and them, you’d finally, all of you, put yourself first. Not the world, not humanity, not a useless war, not anything but the uttered syllables of your names.

You knew they’d be okay with anything, just content in being here, with you if it was what you wanted, and if that didn’t push you to blurt out the only answer that made sense, you didn’t know what would .

“Yes” you said, smiling, face warm and body hot with their heat

“Yes, doll?” Bucky whispered his face breaking into a splitting smile

“Really gorgeous?, with us” Steve questioned with a tremble, making sure he’d hear it right. He knew he did, he just wanted you to say it again.

“Yes, let’s retire, after taking down HYDRA, together, have a home, build a home, let us just live” You said softly, confidently, beautifully.

Immediately Steve turned you around, teeth grinning smile on his face as he grabbed you, a breathe you heard from the both of them was let out. They had worried about your answer for a long time.

Pulling you and Bucky into a back-breaking hug he softly kissed all of you, eyes springing with tears at the reality that their only wish had come true. The so far away possibility now within arms reach.

You cried too, the salty tears marking down your face to splash across Bucky lap, happy tears, you thought as the three of you released every anxiety, worry and stress about the future within the hazy saccharine happiness of your embrace.

“God doll, you don’t know how bad I wanted you to say that” Bucky whispered once Steve let reluctantly let go of his death grip.

“We already thought of where we wanna go, somewhere with trees, mountains, a lake, somewhere where nothing can reach for us, take us back into their hold, tear us from the happiness we deserve” Steve began, tracing circles across you naked thigh, eliciting sting goosebumps that travelled all the way to the tips of your fingers. Nodding you lean back, bumbling excitement from the simple future of domesticated bliss.

“We wanna be around the team though, Sam’s thinking about going back to Louisiana to do some work there, and even Tony’s thinking bout starting a family with Pepper”

You nod enthusiastically, “They’re family, our only ones, we have to stay close even if we’re no longer fighting by their side”

“They’re gonna have to wait though, I want at least a couple months with just my girl, a cabin and the scent of pine trees” Bucky sighed happily, eyes glazed over.

Giggling you turn towards Steve, running a hand through the mess of his golden hair, tucking slightly

“Who knew the man was so needy” you giggled, Steve chuckling at you pointed look towards Bucky glazed expression.

“Maybe even a cat” you hear him mumble behind you

“We’re going to take it slow, there’s no immediacy, don’t make this push you to rush anything, especially your time in Wakanda, we’ll be there with you too,” Steve says, seriousness in his tone.

“How long have you both been thinking about this?” You asked incredulously

“The day you walked in” he replied before you could even finish the sentence, eyes wide and a shrug in his shoulders as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Bucky and I always wanted to settle down, live next to a lake with a two-storey, we didn’t know how much until you showed up,” he said sheepishly, scratching his neck

“There was always a part of us that was missing, a piece unfinished, and when you walked in with Fury that day, it’s like I finally knew. I looked at Bucky and he had that same look on his face; pure wonderment, realisation, acceptance, all in the span of you taking a seat. You were it for us gorgeous, from that moment until the end of time” Steve followed, seamlessly letting out the huge secret he had.

You grinned, you had never been so desired and wanted so bad, and it filled you with an excitement you only imagined you would’ve had at 16.

“Well, I’d say you both better make up for lost time” You grinned, catching the attention of Bucky, his soft smile turning into a deep smirk as his eyes trailed over your soft thighs.

“At least when we retire the team won’t have to wear earplugs,” Bucky whispered, chuckling at your bulged eyes, shock at his wild, dirty remark.

You smacked his shoulder before he grabbed your hand flipping you over so that he gripped your wrists above you, his large frame towering over you until all you can see is him and Steve at your peripheral, laughing at your struggle, eyes growing dark.

Bucky leaned down, whispering all the things both he and Steve had planned for you now, later and forever.

Yeah, you’d be alright with spending the last of your days with the two men, you were sure of it.

- —

tagged @spookyparadisesheep, @vicmc624​

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x black!ofc #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky x fluff #james bucky barnes #bucky barns x y/n #fluff #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x fluff #steve rogers x angst #steve rogers x black!reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #avengers x reader #major tw #filth #angst #bucky barnes x angst #angst x reader #steven grant rogers #james buchanan barnes #stucky x reader #domestic!steve rogers x reader #domestic!bucky barnes x reader #domestic!steve rogers x black!reader

[favoniuscodex]

first anniversary headcanons [ albedo, childe, diluc ]

prompt: you’re celebrating your first anniversary with them. what’s in store? characters: albedo, childe, & diluc reader: gn!reader warnings: none word count: ~2.1k words

a/n: the last of tonight’s fic spam... hopefully </3 these got a little long, so pt 2 will be diluc and kaeya and pt 3 will be xiao and zhongli ! (alphabetical order hehe)

albedo

albedo tests the waters before your anniversary appears. he isn’t too well-versed in the nuances of romance, but even he is aware enough of the significance of the date that marks a year spent together. amongst alchemic notes and dates of important meetings lies one of the few dates marked in red ink on his calendar: your anniversary, outlined in a heart. you knew of your boyfriend’s tendency to bury himself in work and, rather than awaiting disaster, you had taken the initiative to put the date on the calendar.

albedo smiles softly to himself whenever he sees your familiar handwriting in the midst of all of his. the gentle reminder gives him something to look forward to -- and something to plan. alchemic success is guaranteed if enough calculations and work are put into it and albedo thinks of your anniversary the exact same way. he isn’t the type for surprises and instead approaches you about what you would like to do to celebrate such a momentous occasion. 

which is how, of course, the two of you end up perched on the roof of the knights of favonius headquarters. you snack happily on appetizers you had picked up from cat’s tail earlier in the day while albedo sets up two art easels and their respective canvases. such an idea had been albedo’s suggestion: paint the city of mondstadt together from a high vantage point. if the two of you did it right, your canvases would align to make a full portrait of the cityscape, as viewed from the roof of the knights’ headquarters.

as albedo supplies the art supplies, you supply the refreshments, having picked up a bottle of wine, light snacks and, of course, albedo’s favorite: sugary pastries from a local bakery. your contribution had been a surprise, but you hadn’t failed to notice the way albedo’s expression had softened at the gesture. the two of you talk about everything and nothing as you paint, with topics ranging from how the two of you would spend next year’s windblume festival together all the way to how albedo’s alchemy could bring your soon-to-be-conjoined painting together.

as the two of you finish up, the difference in art styles between the two of you is striking. albedo smiles at the sight, adoring how the two different pieces come together to make one whole, but his eyes widen slightly as he turns to face you.

“come here,” your lover beckons and you happily listen, bounding over to your boyfriend enthusiastically. he lets out a soft laugh at your enthusiasm, to which you send him a wide smile in return.

“what is it?” you ask in a soft voice, standing close to him. albedo’s eyes fixate on a certain spot on your face, but before you can ask what is wrong, he lifts up a hand and brushes the pad of his thumb across your face in a quick swipe. as he pulls his hand back, his thumb is tainted with blue paint. you let out a bashful giggle.

“you had paint on your face,” albedo deadpans and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“you have something on your face too!” you insist and albedo’s eyes widen once more.

“where?” he asks, lifting his clean hand up to feel fruitlessly at his cheek. as he glances down at his fingertips, you decide to strike, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. his face flushes in response, but familiar blue eyes narrow as he glances back at you.

“actually, i believe that you might have missed it,” albedo says. with little hesitation, the alchemist leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. you giggle quietly at the gesture and you feel albedo smile into the kiss, yet he doesn’t pull away, instead electing to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you closer.

childe

childe has always had a penchant for dramatics. he always wants to be in the limelight, whether it is on the battlefield or within your heart. despite your approaching anniversary, you still sensed that childe felt insecure in your relationship, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t sweep you off your feet at all times, you would leave. therefore, you had let it slide when you brought up your anniversary and he had shrugged it off.

you knew him far too well for that. childe never shrugged off such things. but, every time you tried to make plans, childe would just knowingly smirk at you and tell you to keep your day available and that the two of you would figure it out when the day arrived. you hadn’t believed him for a second, but you had played along anyways.

on the day of your anniversary, childe knocks on the door to your apartment in liyue, a bouquet of glaze lilies in hand, accompanied by a wide-toothed grin on his face. he’s dressed in a perfectly fitting suit, with his tie matching the color of the outfit that a scared-looking fatui agent had nervously dropped off for you earlier in the day. childe’s eyes rake over you as he takes in the custom fit outfit on you, before his ocean blue eyes finally snap back to yours and a devilish grin appears on his face.

“you look hot,” childe declares, as if such a statement is merely a fact of life. to childe, the sky is blue, water is wet, and you are completely irresistible.

“thanks,” you return dryly, but mirth shines in your eyes. “i would hope that i do.”

after you situate the flowers in your apartment, childe takes your arm in his and immediately begins to ramble about the previous day’s escapades, which involved both threatening a band of treasure hoarders and training fatui recruits. you smile and listen to your lover excitedly talk about such things, appreciating how he gestures wildly with his free arm, but you see right through his charade. such conversation is merely an attempt to distract you from asking him details about your night.

but, much to your pleasant surprise, childe did not hatch a half-baked plan. instead, the harbinger had rented out the entirety of xinyue kiosk for the two of you. you weren’t sure how much such a thing cost, especially due to the high demand of the restaurant’s services, but the nervous look in childe’s eyes as he awaits your approval stops such questions from exiting your lips. instead, you smile brightly at him and praise him for his choice in restaurant. he rewards your kind words with a quick peck to your lips.

rather than being the typically energetic, rowdy man you had fallen in love with, childe is reserved and polite to a near fault for the first half of your meal. he pulls out your chair for you, he suggests what on the menu to try, and he even goes as far as to use chopsticks properly. while he often did try, chopsticks were the only potential weapon the harbinger had yet to master, often dropping them on accident. however, he holds the chopsticks in between his fingers with an eerie stillness and that’s when your heart both seizes up and melts. 

childe had practiced for your anniversary.

before you can stop it, a soft laugh escapes your lips, interrupting the story he was sharing with you. you reach across the table and place your hand atop childe’s free one and squeeze it gently. his eyebrows raise at your sudden interruption, but it only serves to make you giggle once more.

“what?” childe asks, perplexed.

“i love you, you know that, right?” you say, playing absentmindedly with his fingers as you stare into the blue irises you had come to adore. at your words, childe’s shoulders visibly relax and he laughs. it’s no longer one of forced formalities, but rather the signature, cocky one that was typical of him. your smile only widens at the sound.

“i love you more,” he insists and you playfully consider if such a statement to be possible before shaking your head.

“nope! i love you more!” you insist and childe’s eyes narrow, glinting at the hint of a challenge.

“oh? do you want to bet on that?”

diluc

you’re completely thrown for a loop when diluc wakes up and leaves for work on your anniversary without acknowledging the date. you watch in a half-asleep haze as he changes into his typical outfit and black jacket from the comfort of the bed. you await any indication from him that today is different from the rest, but no reassurance is ever provided. instead, he gives you a quick kiss, tells you he loves you, and heads out of your bedroom for the day, leaving you to lie in bed, perplexed. the two of you had even talked about possible anniversary plans, too.

had he forgotten? sure, diluc was a busy man, singlehandedly dominating mondstadt’s entire wine industry, but you had thought he would at least remember this. as you eat breakfast in silence alone, you stew in your thoughts. was it ungrateful to be mad about such a thing when diluc already did so much for you? hell, you even had the ability to have shorter work hours because of all of his effort and all that he provided you, but the lack of something to do only left you ruminating in your own feelings.

when he finally returns, your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes, despite the fact that he is home earlier than usual. diluc wraps you up in a familiar embrace and you want nothing more than to burst out in tears and cry to him about how you feel forgotten, but diluc’s words interrupt you before you can do such a thing.

“adelinde informed me that one of the maids broke the dining room window,” diluc says. “would you like to go see how much damage there is with me?”

it’s an odd proposition and you want nothing more than to yell at him about how he forgot your anniversary, but you nod and take his hand anyways, for it was diluc asking such a thing and you were utterly whipped and absolutely in love with him. curse these emotions, you grumble to yourself as he guides you to the dining room of dawn winery. as you enter through the double doors, all of your anger at diluc subsides at the sight in front of you.

the dining room has been decorated with several red floral bouquets, ranging from the pinkish-reds of liyuean silk flowers to the deep crimson of traditional red roses. furthermore, string lights and candles illuminate the room in a soft, pale yellow glow, adding to the intimacy of the centerpiece of it all: a cloth-covered table for two, fully prepared for the two of you to eat from.

diluc glances over at you, but manages to contain his nervousness, instead shooting you a cool expression.

“happy anniversary, darling,” he declares and you turn to him, swatting him on the arm lightly. the gesture lacks any real force behind it and diluc only laughs at the motion.

“i thought you forgot!” you exclaim and diluc smiles at you. you glance away, muttering to yourself. “jerk.” the word lacks any malice behind it and diluc only lets out another soft laugh as he clutches your hand more tightly within his.

“do you like it?” he asks, gesturing with his free hand to the scene in front of you.

“i love it,” you respond immediately, gaze fixating on the flowers once more. “who set it up?”

“me.” diluc confesses. “i did not work today. i simply came in here and spent the day setting everything up.”

at such a confession, your heart aches with guilt. archons, he had spent the day preparing and you had the audacity to think he forgot? deciding to alleviate your guilt by giving him something in return, you choose to respond to his statement by pulling him in for a kiss. diluc stiffens in surprise as your lips meet his, but he quickly relaxes into it, placing a hand on the side of your face as you try to convey your gratitude for setting up the venue.

when the two of you finally part your passionate kiss, a light string of saliva forms between the two of you, quickly breaking as you pull away. diluc’s cheeks are flushed scarlet with heat and he stares at you, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the kiss. you decide your debt is paid, albeit temporarily, and take your hand in his once more, guiding him to the table.

“i love you,” diluc states as you tug him gently. you turn to grin at him.

“i love you too.”

#genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #albedo x reader #diluc x reader #childe #albedo #diluc

[bearriebelliejam]

"Hit One Where One Lives"

Summary ↳ Atsumu has had feelings for you since the day you've met, and he's always had trouble controlling his urges.

Words ↳ 1,566

Tags ↳ 18+, NSFW, characters above legal age, descriptions of NSFW fantasies, no actual fucking, atsumu is horny, mentions of high school days, angst but only like a couple sentences

A/N ↳ ahh I'm so sorry this is short and got cut off, but if you guys like it and want more please lmk!!

hit one where one lives

hit (one) where (one) lives

To affect one on a personal or intimate level.

People by nature only care about an issue if it hits them where they live.

Atsumu Miya was good at a lot of things.

Setting, spiking, serving, receiving, and bargaining for discounts on fatty tuna.

But one thing that Atsumu could never, ever bring himself to perfect was the art of conveying his feelings properly. It was something Osamu had confronted him about during their early high school years, recognizing his twin’s coping mechanism to protect him from his own self-destructive thoughts. A strained smile and bottles of bright yellow hair dye could only do so much for the rather eccentric Miya twin, something his brother had warned him would lead to burnout by his early 20’s. Atsumu, at the time, would only laugh it off, claiming that his inquisitive behavior was more stalkerish than affectionate.

This was until Atsumu had cost Inarazaki their spot in the nationals during his first year. He had never considered himself to be someone with butter fingers, in fact, he prided himself in his setting skill. Too much sometimes. Atsumu’s scalp felt raw from how his fingers dug into his hair, pulling at the obnoxiously dyed strands as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. It felt juvenile. He was in high school now, he had no reason to be mourning over such a stupid mistake.

Atsumu flinched lightly when the cool condensation of a plastic water bottle hit his calf, feeling the Air Conditioning in the now almost empty stadium blowing against the wet spot on his leg. Maybe he was dreaming, he thought, looking into the slightly glossy eyes that bore back into his. Yep, definitely dreaming. Little did he know those eyes would be the focus of his J/O sessions for the rest of his life.

His breath caught in his throat as your rosy cheeks swelled with your smile, although empathetic. It was too much of a foreign feeling to him. You were just doing your job, being the one and the only manager of a team as arduous as Inaraziki- in the same grade as him, no less- meaning that you had to sniff out each and every demanding member. Atsumu didn’t think he could ever forget how you sat next to him that day, softly rubbing the area between his shoulder blades and whispering soft words of encouragement as you helped him pop the lid on his bottle. You admitted to him about how even though you barely knew shit about volleyball, you could tell from the way his teammates and captain regarded him after the match that it wasn’t his fault. That night, after walking you home and waving you off down your driveway, Atsumu felt a foreign feeling rising in his chest.

This feeling would only continue to grow over the next four years.

Whether it be the way you had to clutch your knees every time he made you laugh too hard, the way you’d sneak a pudding to him during the mornings where your classes lined up, or the way that you’d both pull some sort of immature prank on his disgruntled brother. It was safe to say that you two were super close. But not in the way that Atsumu wanted you to be. Alongside every little detail that made you a great friend, there were way too many details that made you desirable. That time during the summer when it got so hot that you stripped yourself of your short sleeve for a tank top that accentuated every one of your curves still keeps him up at night. Not to mention the form-fitting elastic shorts that hugged your ass so right that even the newbies on the team couldn’t help themselves from trying to sneak a peak.

This would continue up until graduation, where Atsumu opened the door to your very teary-eyed and very emotional-looking self. Your eyes were brimming with tears, and he didn’t think those delectable swollen cheeks of yours could puff out any more than they already were. With shaky hands, you lifted the slightly crumpled piece of paper up to your chest. The thick black letters of ‘MSBY’ must have grown fists and hit him in the gut because before he knew it, he was lifting you a foot off the ground with an enthusiastic spin.

--

Fluffy white cotton surrounded Atsumu’s vision as he dried his hair from the shower, letting out a long sigh of relief at the feeling of his muscles relaxing after such a long practice session. It was the off-season, and the MSBY Black Jackals were taking the time off doing what they always did. Play volleyball. Obviously not to the extent as they would during the actual season, but every moment spent not doing something productive was a second basically submitting victory to the other team. That’s how Bokuto put it at least, before ultimately spraining his wrist from going too hard on the dumbbells. Safe to say both Coach and Akaashi were not happy.

“Hey, Omi-om, you should totally let me borrow that body spray you got.” Atsumu didn’t typically wear any sort of cologne, but the way you had him bend down to your level to smell his shirt collar after Kiyoomi’s scent wafted onto him was the result of a long sleepless night for him.

“Get your own, Miya.” Kiyoomi scoffed, rolling his eyes as he threw on his MSBY brand sweater. Atsumu pouted, quickly forgetting about every single one of his surroundings as he saw his phone light up with your contact name, your photo staring back at him expectantly. He had taken the photo when you had dragged him to the mall with you once, having slid a 20-yen coin into the slot of a mechanical bull riding machine. He had found it amusing at first, the way you had desperately grasped at the horns of the animal as it began to speed up, but his laughter was caught short. His eyes had trailed down your back that was arched suggestively off the saddle, hips moving with the steady bucking of the machine-

“Shit-” Snapping himself out of his erotic memory, he quickly clicked the green ‘answer call’ button. “Hello?” “Atsumu, are you almost done getting ready yet?” Your voice alone was enough to ease the tension building inside of him, shoulders relaxing as he let out a low chuckle.

“Why, missing my pretty face?” He could at least acknowledge that he only flirted with you to try and ease the urges growing inside him, he wasn’t that stupid. It was also partially because of the way the tips of your ears would redden at his sly comments, but you would always brush it off as being part of his play-boy-like personality. If only you knew how much he wanted to change that.

“I’m missing that your pretty face isn’t hurrying the hell up and getting in my goddamn car.” The teasing lilt to your voice did nothing to prevent the way his chest swelled when you called him pretty, a stupid, joyous smile spreading on his lips.

“Alright, alright, hold your horses. I’ll be right out.” You blew a raspberry into your phone, Atsumu giving one of his own before hanging up and grabbing his gym bag.

Nudging open the locker room door with his side, Atsumu had to force his dick from twitching in his shorts as he witnessed the sight in front of him. You were bent over the reception desk of the college gym, talking to the lady behind the desk as you fiddled with the heel of your stiletto. His eyes traced the way the fabric of your skirt hugged down your thighs. You really had no idea what you were doing to him. Discreetly making his way up behind you he shot the desk lady a wink with a finger over his lips, receiving a gulp and small nod from her before turning back to you.

“And that’s when I told Coach, we need to stop letting Bokuto near the equipment when he’s having one of his emo-” A dramatic squeal ended up finishing your little rant as Atsumu’s muscled arms hooked under your shoulders and yanked you off the floor. In the midst of your flailing, you caught a glimpse of bleached blonde hair in your peripherals. “Atsumu Miya set me down this instant!” Although your face was contorted in frustration, the laughter that slipped between your words disclosed your amusement.

The specific position that Atsumu had you in reminded him of one of the fantasies he had of you once. Your breath hot against his cheek as he plowed into you from behind, strong hands caressing the bulge that appeared in your stomach whenever he bottomed out. He would feel the sweaty slap of your ass against his pelvis with every harsh thrust, cries escaping your lips at the feeling.

“Atsumu?” You looked over your shoulder at the athlete in confusion. Realizing that he had spaced out, Atsumu mentally slapped himself as he smirked and set you down. “Sorry, sweetheart, got lost in thought.” He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to act casual, which was not missed by the reception lady as she grabbed her jacket and left the office, clearly sick of the flirting. A familiar smile spread across your cheeks, ears tinting in the way that made his cock twitch in his shorts, this time failing to conceal it. “Your place tonight, right?”

“You know it.” You giggled. This was going to be a long night for him.

dm/send an ask to be added to my @ list!! currently empty <3

#bearriebelliefics #atsumu miya smut #miya atsumu smut #atsumu #miya #atsumu smut #osamu #osamu smut #miya twins #miya twins smut #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu smut #haikyuu smut fic #inarizaki #inarizaki haikyuu #inarizaki smut #kita #aran #suna #my adhd was so bad while writing this

[featherymalignancy]

How About a Hug, Hm? REMIX

So a few days ago I got this ask about my Elriel one-shot “How About A Hug?” because I messed up the formatting and I you basically have to to read it as a reblog. I also was really unsatisfied with the end result.

So, I did the most Feathery™️ thing every and REWROTE THE WHOLE GODDAMN THING.

Please enjoy, and know that I will go back and tag people/clean up formatting tomorrow. Right now I just need to post and 😴

——————————————————

Elain Archeron was running late.

Granted, it was only by seven minutes, which—in many social circles—was still considered well within the accepted boundaries of punctuality.

The problem was that a) being late made Elain anxious, and b) there was absolutely nothing polite about Nesta Archeron when she was made to wait, even by her own kin.

Yet another reason it had been critical that Elain arrive on time: Nesta was already likely to be somewhat hacked off when she saw what Elain was wearing tonight, and Elain had hoped to avoid any further dramatics on her elder sister’s part.

She spent half the cab ride downtown trying to convince herself that it was fine that she’d borrowed something out of Nesta’s closet (even if it had been without permission) and that she hadn’t had a choice; she simply didn’t own anything appropriate for dinner at a four-star restaurant. However, by the time the cab slithered under Trump Tower’s unsavory shadow and into Hell’s Kitchen, she’d given up pretending.

The truth was she had half a dozen cocktail dresses that would have been perfectly suitable for dinner in the West Village, even if the place they were going was one of the nicest sushi restaurants in the city. No, Elain had raided Nesta’s closet for a far more embarrassing reason: she’d been in search of a dress she hoped might finally win her Azriel’s attention.

She wasn’t proud of the absurd crush she had on the guy, but it really couldn’t be helped. He was gorgeous, and smart, and darkly funny when he wanted to be, and she’d been secretly mooning over him since they’d met through Feyre’s fiancée three years ago. God, what she wouldn’t give to have him return even a fraction of her feelings.

Apparently not her dignity, Elain thought with a glance down at her neckline.

The worst part was that Azriel seemed oblivious to her interest in him. He was always polite to her, always made a point to talk to her when he caught her hiding out on the balcony during one of Feyre and Rhys’s crazy parties or sit next to her at their big family dinners, but he’d never once given her any indication that he was in any way that he reciprocated her feelings, which should have been reason enough for Elain to pack it in and stop harassing him.

And that was to say nothing of Mor.

Mor was the friend who’d first introduced Feyre and Rhys, and from what Elain could gather, she and Azriel had a long and complicated history. It didn’t seem to matter that Mor had been dating the same girl for over a year now. When she was in the room, Az’s eyes were always on her. Not that Elain blamed him—Mor was gorgeous in a way girls like her could only dream of being. Still, there was no denying the sting of watching the guy you were interested in pine over someone else.

Given all this, Elain wasn’t really sure why she’d gone to such lengths to dress up for this dinner. Mor would surely be there wearing something incredible and couture, thereby rendering everyone else invisible to Azriel. Still, Elain was a hopeless optimist, and she’d stubbornly sold herself on the idea that if she found the perfect dress, she could finally convince Azriel that she was a woman worthy of affection, rather than Nesta’s bookish, boring little sister.

She had to admit, there was nothing bookish about her tonight. The dress was tighter on her that it was her waifish sister, and dear god it deserved a Medal of Honor for the way it managed to keep her boobs looking so perky even without a bra. She didn’t suppose Nesta would be too happy about that bit, either, so she could only hope her sister was in a good mood by the time Elain arrived.

Just then Elain’s phone buzzed, and she looked down at it and groaned. It was from Nesta.

Where the 🤬 are you?

Running late, Elain quickly typed back. Is everyone waiting?

She watched the gray ellipsis pulse at Nesta responded.

Feyre and Rhys aren’t even fucking here yet. But hurry up, Cash is already driving me insane.

Elain rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure who Nesta thought she was fooling when she and Elain shared a bedroom wall. Nesta and Cassian, Rhys’s other best friend, ended up banging almost every time they saw each other, which—since Rhys and Feyre had gotten engaged four months ago—was fairly frequently. In fact, Cash was at their apartment making Nesta scream so often that Elain had been forced to invest in earplugs and a sound machine. From Elain’s perspective, it seemed rather pointless of Nesta to pretend she wasn’t completely hot of a guy she called “Daddy” in bed.

Elain shuddered at the thought, hoping that Nesta would end up going to Cash and Az’s loft in Williamsburg tonight instead. Though, she realized glumly, they only ever seemed to go there when Azriel was out, and the only person who seemed able to keep Azriel out later than Cash was Mor. That meant Elain’s options were either to pop an Ambien and hope for the best, or stay out and watch Az make moon eyes at Mor all night. Neither one was particularly appearing.

Elain ignored Nesta’s text as the car pulled up outside the restaurant and she wiggled out, smoothing the back of her tight dress before giving her curls what she hoped was an artful tousle before slipping inside.

Elain’s heart felt into her stomach as she took in the elegant but understated interior of the famed Sushi Nakazawa. Given the prices, she’d assumed the place would be all black granite and swanky chandeliers—the kind of place cleavage like hers wouldn’t seem out of place. Instead the place was elegantly spare and distressingly well-lit. God, she was such a prize idiot.

Unfortunately, she was also out of time, because a quick survey of the interior found that her group was already gathered at the bar, Mor, Feyre, and Rhys having showed up in the interim between Nesta’s text and Elain’s arrival.

Elain’s eyes went to Mor first, who stunned in a cardinal red lace and net sheath. It clung to her frame like it had been made for her, and despite a latent jealous she couldn’t quite contain, she was relieved to find that she at least wouldn’t look overdressed.

Elain’s stomach only wended in a tighter knot when Mor’s eyes fell on her and lit up, a reminder that not only was Mor prettier, she was also an infinitely better person than Elain.

“There she is!” Mor beamed, coming forward and hugging Elain. “I love that dress, Ellie!”

Elain braced herself for Nesta’s inevitably remark, but it was actually Cash who reacted first.

He’d opened his mouth to comment seemingly before he’d actually looked at Elain, because the second he realized what exactly she was wearing, his eyes they snapped the ceiling, as if looking at her chest directly might turn him to stone.

“Whoa, El, all dressed up tonight!”

Nesta, wholly unmoved by his attempted chivalry, elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don’t be vulgar Cassian!” She snarled before narrowing her eyes. “And that’s mine!”

Cash smirked, seeming more at ease now that Nesta was his target.

“I knew I’d seen that bef—ow! Goddamnit woman, what was that for?”

He scowled down at the dangerous stiletto Nesta had just jammed into his toe box.

“Sorry,” she cast over her shoulder, not deigning to look at him. “Did I accidentally step on your foot?”

“I’m an adult,” Elain interjected, cheeks burning as she faced her sister down. “Stop acting like I’ve fourteen and stuffing my bra.”

“They’re just boobs, Nes,” Rhys added, arm slung over Feyre’s shoulder. “Relax.”

“Watch it,” Nesta warned him, but Feyre only laughed.

“I agree!” She said, turning to smile at Elain. “And I think they look amazing.”

“If I’d have known they were going to be such a topic of conversation,” Elain mumbled, grateful Azriel wasn’t here to witness this circus. “I would have worn something else.”

“No, I’m with Feyre,” Mor said, wicked grin forming. “Breasts that nice deserve to be shown off.”

Elain wasn’t so humble that she didn’t feel herself preening a bit at that comment, even if she was still flustered by the prolonged attention. Either way, she was grateful when Cash interrupted with a somewhat sheepish laugh.

“Teenage me would be furious if he heard me say this, but can we please stop talking about boobs?”

“Elain’s boobs or just any boobs?” Feyre said with a smirk.

However, before Elain could admonish her for it, Feyre was crushing her into a hug.

“Hey you,” she said, wrapping her arms and Elain’s neck and whispering in her ear, “let me and Rhys know if you wanna stay at our place tonight; Cash already grabbed Nesta’s ass twice when she thought we weren’t looking.”

Feyre indicated the mirror behind the bar with her eyes as they pulled away, and sure enough, Elain watched Cash’s hand as it drew lazy, dangerous circles just above the swell of Nesta’s well-formed behind.

Elain groaned, hugging Rhys now as well. God , her sister was such a hypocrite sometimes.

Ignoring a lingering twinge of annoyance, Elain forced herself to glance in false realization before casually asking, “So where’s the Birthday Boy?”

“He was on his phone out back,” Rhys said, before raising a hand in greeting to someone over Elain’s shoulder. “There he is.”

Elain tried not to look to eager as she turned and drank in all six feet four inches of perfection that was Azriel Macar. He was dressed all in black, from his prada boots to the soft, expensive t-shirt fitted enough to show off his toned physique. Elain honestly had to fight not to swoon as he ran an effortless hand through his glossy sable hair, the longer pomaded pieces on top stand up for a second before falling into an artful tousle.

“Hey Ellie,” he said, gaze on her and gone so quickly that he never even had time to notice her much-discussed cleavage. Instead, his eyes flicked to Mor and held for a long, meaningful beat before he turned back to Elain and added politely, “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure,” she chirped, trying to ignore the fact that he was coming closer, and that in another second she’d be able to smell that divine Givenchy cologne he always wore. “Of course!“

She bent her head, pretending to be fixing the clasp on her bracelet as his scent hit her and she had to bite back a groan. Sweet Jesus, he smelled good. When she looked up again, everyone else was shuffling to their table and Azriel was lingering, a soft smile threatening to the reveal the absolutely devastating dimples in both his cheeks.

“Do I get a hug?” He asked. “It is my birthday after all.”

He extended his arms, and she gave a nervous laugh, accepting the gesture by stringing her arms around his neck.

“Of course,” she repeated stupidly, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he embraced her. “Happy Birthday.”

At this he squeezed her a little tighter and she fought off genuine giddiness.

It was a friendly gesture, she warned herself, and it ended the minute Mor called, “Az, come sit by me.”

Elain cleared her throat as he pulled away, turning to where Mor was still beckoning. However, before Elain could get too flustered, he turned back to her.

“Shall we?” he said, indicating Elain go ahead of him. To her delight, they reached the table to find that the only two seats left were next to each other. She tried not to give her eagerness too much leash as he pulled out her chair for her before sinking into the one between she and Mor. Mor leaned over to give him a soft peck on the cheek, and he flushed.

“Where’s Emmy tonight?” Feyre asked as Mor tried to wipe the lipstick from Az’s copper skin and he battered her away, like child trying to fend off an over-bearing mother.

“She’s sick, poor little thing,” Mor said, giving a tiny pout. “She hasn’t been able to get out of bed in days.”

Elain didn’t bother to her disappointment. Emerie had been one of Nesta’s best since they’d met in college almost ten years ago, and she not only was she like family to the Archerons, she also happened to be the only person in the group who knew about Elain’s crush. Elain had sworn her to secrecy at the time, and though it would have been reasonable to assume that once Emmy knew, Mor would know, Elain appreciated that she could trust Emerie to keep her secret.

Elain felt Emerie’s absence keenly and Nesta and Cash began bantering back and forth at lightning speed. Emerie was a master at slowing the tempo of Nesta’s quick wit, making it easier for Elain in particular to feel she could keep up.

More selfishly, Elain also missed Emerie’s ability to keep Mor distracted. When Emmy was around, she was all Mor could focus on. However, in her absence Mor’s attention had reverted almost completely to Az, a fact he didn’t seemed to mind a single bit, if his growing smiles were any indication.

Still, he seemed to be going out of his way to make sure Elain didn’t get lost in the chaos of conversation surging around them, even if he never looked at her for more than a moment or two before his eyes flicked back to Mor, studying her dark brown eyes and crimson lips.

After they placed their drink orders and the waiter came over to begin explaining the omakase menu, Elain wondered if she had time to dodge under the table to throw on some lipstick of her own. Assuring herself everyone was suitably distracted she bent down, hastily uncapping the tube before looking up just in time to see Nesta brush a very deliberate hand between Cassian’s splayed quads.

Elain jerked back, banging her head on the table.

“Fuck!” she swore quietly, straightening and rubbing her head.

Nesta shot her an alarmed look across the table and Elain flushed.

“All you alright?” Azriel asked, and she tried not to bleat in excited panic as his fingers brushed the back of her head. “What happened?”

“I—dropped something,” she fumbled, cursing her sister for being such a salacious wench.

Wasn’t it enough that she and Cash were already going to keep her up all night? Did she really have to make Elain look silly in front of Azriel, too?

“Does it hurt?” Azriel said, still studying her head before letting his eyes go to the server. “Do you need ice?”

“No, no,” Elain said hurriedly, trying to regain her composure. “I’m fine.”

“Did you at least find whatever you were looking for?” Mor asked, and Elain’s flush deepened.

“And then some,” she grumbled to herself, and Cassian gave a quiet but unmistakable laugh before letting out a surprised exhale. Elain had a fairly good idea what Nesta was squeezing to shut him up.

“Should we order, then?” Mor asked, hand falling onto Azriel’s arm. “Any particular requests, Birthday Boy?”

“He’s thirty now,” Rhys pointed out. “I think that makes him a Birthday Man .”

“Birthday Old Man,” Cassian amended. “Don’t worry champ, I’ve already put some viagra in your bathroom.”

“You’re not supposed to share your prescriptions, Cash,” Azriel said with mirth, eyes sparkling even as his face remained neutral. “And besides, I would feel dead back if you needed one tonight and couldn’t find them.”

“Checkmate,” Mor purred as Cash flipped her off.

Beside Azriel, Elain was fighting not to blush again. Cash’s comment, however sophomoric and lewd, had her imagining what Azriel was like in bed. She wondered for a moment if Mor knew before dismissing the thought and the twinge it induced.

“Let’s put this poor souls out of his misery and order,” Feyre said, smiling at the server where he still waited patiently. “Maybe if Cash’s mouth is full, he’ll stop talking.”

Cassian grinned, and, after placing their requests for the chef’s tasting menu, they all settled into an easy conversation. Cash and Rhys regaled them with stories of Azriel at various ages, from the gawky child he’d been when they’d first met him to the shy teenager who’d been terrified of girls.

“Let him be,” Mor said, touching her friend’s shoulder. “He was sweet in high school!”

Rhys laughed.

“It took him a year to pluck up the courage to say three words to you,” he pointed out.

“And they were ‘here’s a pen’ in response to you asking him the time. Nice work, Shakespeare,” Cash said, attempting to muss Azriel’s perfectly styled hair before being batted away.

“I can’t imagine Az ever being awkward,” Elain blurted. “I bet girls thought he was mysterious and cool.“

“See?” Azriel said, gesturing to Elain. “This is why I sat over here.”

“Oh please ,” Rhys said, bubbling his lips. “Ellie’s just being polite. If you two had known each other in high school, we all know how to would’ve gone: you’d have had an obscene crush on her and your dreams of true love would have been dashed after she politely signed your yearbook ‘have a good summer, Adrian’, leaving you heartbroken and alone.”

Azriel gave Elain a soft smile, and her heart burst open as thousands of butterflies flitted out of it.

“I hate to say it, but he’s probably right,” he told her. “I assume high school Elain was very popular.”

“She was,” Feyre said. “Eight different guys asked her to prom.”

“I’m not surprised,” Az said, and Elain made a great show out of drinking out of her masu to avoid having to answer.

She was relieved when the food began arriving to distract everyone, if only to save her the temptation of telling Azriel that there was no universe in which she wouldn’t have been into him, high schoolers or no.

Instead discussion turned to the Feyre and Rhys’s wedding as they ate, and as final plates were being cleared, Cash took the opportunity to once again mocked Azriel for the fact the latter had lost the rock-paper-scissors competition to be Rhys’s best man.

“I lost on purpose,” he told Elain quietly, taking a sip of the Yamasaki Single Malt he’d ordered after dinner.

“Why?” she laughed, following his gaze across the table to where Cash and Nesta were now bickering about whether Rhys’s stag night in Vegas would be better than Feyre’s hen do in Napa.

“Because Rhys told me that you’d convinced Feyre to pick Nesta as her maid of honor, and no offense, but your sister terrifies me. I’d much rather be with you.”

She laughed, biting her lip. It felt so terribly like they were flirting, but she couldn’t decide if it was her imagination or not.

“She terrifies everyone,” Elain said. “And I have a feeling this won’t our last trip down the aisle together.”

Azriel only quirked a bemused brow at this, which had Elain flushing scarlet.

“Not like that! She laughed, fumbling to pretend the idea of them being together was absurd rather than her heart’s desire. "I meant for Cash and Nesta’s wedding. Don’t tell me those two aren’t going to end up together.”

“We’ll have to work out a custody agreement when they finally get over themselves and start dating properly,” he agreed. “I’m spending a fortune on earplugs.”

She laughed, and he seemed warmed by the gesture, because he flashed a modest—albeit dimpled—smile being turning back to the larger conversation.

After dinner they’d gone a cocktail bar, then an Irish pub, and finally—much to Azriel’s chagrin—a karaoke bar. Rhys and Cash spend the majority of the evening trying to wrestle Azriel on stage while Mor and Feyre sang duets to Beyoncé and Spice Girls.

Elain was content enough to sit back and simply observe the scene as it unfolded around her. It was hard to contain her giddy, dreadful anticipation when Mor left around one to check on Emerie and Azriel—besides bidding her farewell with a soft kiss on the cheek—didn’t move a muscle.

Less than an hour later, Cash and Nesta both disappeared about an hour after without so much as a goodbye. Elain groaned, hoping they’d be asleep by the time she got home.

She’d have to rally if she wanted to manage it; they would be at it for hours yet.

By three the place was clearing out, and besides them, only a few tables of marathon drinkers and a girl on stage performing a beautiful rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” remained.

“We’re gonna go,” Rhys said, arm slung around a rather drunk, giggling Feyre. “Ellie, do you want to come with us?”

Elain glanced at Azriel, who’s glass still had two fingers of whiskey in it. If she wanted a chance to be alone with him, this was it.

“I think I’ve got one more in me,” she said, smiling.

“If you mean drink, I’m in,” Azriel said.

“Oh c’mon, brother,” Rhys goaded. “Just one song. I wouldn’t even film it….much.”

“Do Beyoncé!” Feyre chimed in, and Azriel shook his head.

“You know I’d play in traffic before I ever sang karaoke,” Azriel said mildly, making Feyre laugh. "Thanks for coming.”

He rose, embracing Rhys and pressing a kiss on Feyre’s head.

“C’mon, my little drunkard,” Rhys told her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s have sex when we get home,” Feyre said, her attempted whisper fully audible. Rhys pretended smack his forehead with his palm and a mimed, “ Oh brother ”, to Azriel and Elain before coax a still-singing Feyre outside.

Azriel chuckled before draining the last of his drink and rising. Elain pretended not to notice the way his well-tailored jeans fit his lean legs and…other parts of his anatomy as he adjusted his belt buckle and glanced down at her.

“Bud Light?” he asked, and she nodded, bobbing to her feet as well.

If she wanted a way to get closer to him that was more elegant than her increasing urge to crawl across the table and into his lap, this was certainly it.

“I’ll come with you.”

He flashed her a modest smile before indicating she lead the way. He ordered and waved off Elain’s attempt to pay before leaning on the bar to avoid towering over her. The gesture brought them nearly eye-to-eye, and Elain had to actively fight not to let hers roll back in pleasure at the bergamot and amyris wood notes in his sinful cologne. Up close Elain could see how much green he had in his hazel irises, and she wanted to tip into them and swim until she drowned.

“Did you have fun?” she said, desperate to get the conversation flowing again, and he smiled, making her stomach flop.

“I did, yeah,” he said, glancing around the bar in bemusement, as if still wondering how he’d ended up there. “Thank you for coming.”

Elain shrugged, grinning.

“You say that like you didn’t think I’d show,” she said, resting a cheek in her hand. She knew by now her expression was not her less than a swoon, though she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Hadn’t been this been her plan all along? Finally get Az’s attention long enough to tell him how she felt? Now was the best chance she’d probably ever get.

“No, I figured would,” Az said, interrupting her reverie. “Or hoped you would, whatever.”

Was that—

Did that mean what she thought it did?

Normally she would have chalked it up to wishful thinking, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck, dimples appearing as he huffed what almost sound like a sheepish laugh, had hope igniting in her chest.

“What does that mean?” she pressed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

For the first time all night, he didn’t look away. Instead, his eyes skated back and forth across her face, as if she were a riddle he only had seconds to memorize. She watched, transfixed, as he wet his plush lower lip with his tongue before biting it almost self-consciously.

“It means I’m glad you came,” he admitted. “And that you didn’t go home with your sister and Rhys.”

It wasn’t the confirmation she’d been hoping for, and the ambiguity of the statement had her conviction waning. That could just as easily have been mean platonically, and if she pushed him and ruined things between them by making it awkward—

“Of course I’d be here for your birthday,” she said, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “That’s what friends are for.”

She couldn’t help the way her voice got stuck on the word, not when her throat suddenly began to clog with tears.

She had to get out of here, right now. Before she started crying and made things worse. She made to retract her hand but Azriel grabbed it, grip gentle but intent.

“El, don’t go,” he said, and she was surprised at the frank discontent in his normally-impassive expression.

She waited for him to explain himself before instead he let out another strained laugh, grip on her wrist easing. However, he didn’t let go entirely, choosing to intertwine their fingers instead.

Holding hands.

She and Az were holding hands.

And he—

She glanced back up to find he was studying her again, his face a mixture of terror and delight. When she gave his hand a soft squeeze, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus, I am bad at this,” he said, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but she thought his gaze flicked down to her lips as he continued to study her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Bad at what?” She asked, though she’d begun to suspect she knew exactly what, even if it seemed too good to be true.

“At least my timeline is improving,” he breathed instead. “And I haven’t offered you a pen you didn’t ask for yet.”

Hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation, she let her finger trail down to trace the circular buckle of his Gucci before glancing back up at him and purring, “Do you have a pen?”

He smirked before raising his right wrist and glancing at his watch face over her shoulder.

“It’s….3:17 am,” he said, smile spreading as she gave a low sound of approval and flicked her gaze to his lips.

“Smooth,” she said, and tried not to lose her mind as he let his raised hand fall to the back of her neck and bent to kiss her.

He had almost girlishly full lips, and they opened for her as they settled into the kiss. Immediately his hand tangled in her hair so he could alter her head position slightly and get a proper taste of her. She groaned into his mouth he pulled at her lower lip with his teeth. He tasted like oranges and the expensive Japanese whiskey he’d been drinking all night, and pleasure tightened in her low belly as his tongue brushed hers. Her brought his free hand up to cradle her face, and in response she pushed closer to run her hands underneath of his shirt and down the silken skin of his back.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a heated half-laugh, nose brushing her cheek as he bowed into her touch. “You’re killing me, woman.”

She only smirked, feeling more confident now that she had before. She could hardly believe this was happening, but she was too excited about it to fully care.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and he bit his lip, as if restraining himself from kissing her again.

“Like to another bar?” he asked, dazed as he continued to stare at her lips.

“Like to my bed,” she said boldly. “Or yours, depending on where Cassian and Nesta ended up.”

He didn’t speak immediately, just studied her, and she panicked.

“I mean, only if you—I’m sorry, should I not have—?“

He only kissed her again in response, more gently this time.

“Please stop apologizing,” he said, kissing her jaw now before seeming to realize something and pulling back, brows synced.

“I—Jesus, do you seriously not know?”

She felt a bit sheepish at his incredulous tone and fought not to stiffen.

“Know what?”

He laughed softly, though their was a edge of self-deprecation in it that kept the gesture from seeming conscending.

“I really am the worst at this.”

“At what?”

“El, I’ll crazy about you. I have been crazy about you since we met.”

“You have?” she blurted, horror fading into genuine—if elated—confusion.

He laughed.

“Did you think it was coincidence that you and I are always sitting next to each other at dinner? That I always find you at Rhys’s dumb parties?”

“I—“ she began, still trying to decide if this was a dream or not. “What about Mor, though?”

“Mor?” he repeated, confused now, too. “What about her?”

“I thought you and she—“

He leaned in to brush his nose against hers, and she blushed at the innocent affection in the gesture.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I did have a thing for her in high school, but I got over it after she and Cash slept together at prom. We’re just friends, I swear.”

“But she’s always touching you, and every time I see you together you can’t stop looking at her.”

At this he laughed, his smile so genuine and open she almost didn’t recognize him.

“She’s always been touchy-feely,” he said. “She grew up in Madrid, and people are just more affectionate there, I guess. And I only watch her when you’re around because she called me out for having an absurd crush on you, and I was afraid she was going to get drunk and blow my cover by telling you.”

Elain shook her head, still not quite believing what she was hearing. Reading her expression, he bent to kiss her softly.

“What guy wouldn’t be crazy about you?” he breathed. “You’re incredible.”

This seemed to break the spell, and she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him down for another steamy kiss.

“Text Cash,” she said a little breathlessly when they broke away. “I don’t want an audience.”

She couldn’t felt but feeling smug when he almost dropped his phone at those words. It felt good to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by all this.

“Cash and Nesta are at the lof—“ Az began after a minute, but Elain cut him off with a kiss.

H rose, pulling her against him as his tongue brushed the roof of her mouth.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said as she kissed his neck and tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, earning a low groan. “You’ve been drinking.”

She grabbed his chin so he would look at her.

“Not that much,” she said, and it was true. “And besides, I wanted this way before tonight.“

“Good,” he breathed, pressing a hand to her low back to bring her close to him. “Because so have I.”

Though they spent the majority of the ride up town and the elevator up to her apartment making out, something seemed to shift as Elain’s door clicked shut behind him, as if the gravity of what they were about to do had finally caught up to them.

Reluctantly Az peeled his lips from where they’d been glued to her neck as he took a small step back, as if to give her space.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, feeling embarrassed for how much she still wanted him even now that he seemed to have come to his senses.

“Maybe we should—” he broke off, looking somewhat guilty. “Hold off.”

She nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay again.

“Are you worried this could mess things up in the group? Because I understand—“

“No,” he said hurriedly, coming forward again, as if he could no longer stand to be away. “Not at all. I just—you’re special, El. You deserve to be taken out and spoiled.”

“Az, you just took us to a $1,800 dinner! Or did you think I didn’t see you pulling our server aside?”

Azriel opened his mouth, and she covered it with a finger.

“You don’t need to earn my affection. It’s yours already, free of charge.”

“I’ve just been—I waited so long to make my move and I’m terrified of fucking it up,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Why, are you bad at sex?”

Azriel laughed, seemed to relax at her teasing.

“I’ve never had any complaints,” he breathed again her lips, kissing her deeply again.

She gently bit his lower lip in response.

“Then I’d say you’ve gotten nothing to worry about,” she said, kissing him a third time.

She moaned softly when drove his fingers into her hair, hips canting towards her as he pressed her more fully into the door.

She could feel his body’s reaction to her pressing between her thighs, and she moaned again.

“Fuck,” he breathed onto her skin. “You are so gorgeous.”

“So are you,” she said, running her hands up the back of his t-shirt and feeling the mosaic of muscles flexing underneath. “Take this off.”

He laughed and pulled the offending garment over his head, making her groan in delight.

“God, this body ,” she breathed, running a hand down his chest and enjoying his shiver at her delicate touch.

He responded by spinning her away from him and gently dragging down the zipper of her dress until he could slip a hand inside of it.

“I knew you couldn’t have a bra on underneath this thing,” he said, voice a touch smug as he cupped both bare breasts and her breath caught in her throat..

“I’m surprised you even noticed,” she said, voice somewhat. “I wore this dress for you, and you didn’t even look at it once the entire evening.”

She laughed, the sound into a soft moan as he twisted one nipple in experimentation. When she sighed and let her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Of course I noticed the dress,” he corrected. “You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. I just knew that if I let myself look, I might not be able to stop looking.”

“You shouldn’t say that until you’ve seen them without the sorcery of underwire,” she said.

With that he spun her to face him, catching her gaze to ensure he had her permission before tugging down the top of the dress so her breasts fell free.

“Gorgeous,” he said, easing to his knees so he could replace his fingers with his mouth. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“If I known this was going to be your reaction, I would have worn a bodycon dress in front of you ages ago,” she said, threading her hands through his hair as he dragged his teeth and tongue along her nipple.

“You don’t need some tight dress to be sexy,” he said, resting his chin her her sternum so he could gaze up at her. “I’d take you in your overalls and pigtail braids any day.”

“Is this some Pippy Longstocking fetish we should all know about?”

He grinned, rising to his feet and giving one of her curls a playful tug.

“Because as devastating as you are playing dress up in your sister’s clothes, I prefer you as you.”

“You can’t say that when I’m naked,” she said with a smile, touching his cheek.

“Why not?”

“Because I may start crying and ruin the mood.”

He cocked his head to the side, tracing her lips with a finger.

“I wouldn’t mind a few tears from you in bed. But only if it’s from you sobbing in pleasure.”

His words sent blood pooling south, the intensity cause a dull throbbing.

“Why do I feel like you could do it, too?” She asked, reaching down to free his belt as he heeled out of his boots.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, taking her hand and guiding it between his legs. “Forget this,” he said, squeezing gently so she could feel how hard he was. “I could go down on your all night and be the happiest guy on Earth.”

Emerie had said as much once, at a drunken girls’ night.

Azriel strikes me as the type of guy who loves eating girls out. It’s why gay women find him so easy to befriend; we recognize kindred spirit.

Elain vowed to never tell the others she’d been right.

“Will you let me?” He asked, gently nudging her dressing off her hips until it came free and pooled at her feet.

“Is this a trick question?” She said, voice going hoarse as he slipping a hand into her underwear.

“Some people don’t like it.”

“I’m not one of them,” she said, he smiled, coaxing her legs around his waist so he could carry her.

“Thank God,” he replayed. “That would break my heart. Which way?”

She pointed him in the right direction before giving into temptation and kissing him again, looking to way she could feel like body reacting to hers as he held her close. Only when they reached her room—which was decidedly messier than she’d have liked considering Azriel Macar was now in it—did he set her down.

He wasted no time into coaxing her onto the bed, taking only a moment to admire the silky black thong she wore before dragging into down her thighs and discarding it.

“Spread your legs for me, El,” he said, brushing kisses to her knee as she slowly did as he commanded.

The light from the nearby street lamp made the room a lot less dark than Elain was used to during sex, and for a moment she though to be embarrassed or postpone. Then she glanced down to admire the contrast of Azriel’s inky black hair framed against the pale skin of her thighs, and she forgot what it even meant to be self-conscious as he finally put him mouth on her.

She swore at the first brush of his tongue, which was both deliberate and extremely delicate. She threaded a hand through his hair at his second stroke, the touch more intentional this time.

“Azriel,” she breathed.

She watched the muscles in his beautiful back shift at this, as if hearing her moan his name had untethered something in him. When he put his mouth back on her, it was clear he was no longer attempted to tease her. Instead he felt right to where she needed him most, refusing to relent until she tipped over the edge.

Even then he didn’t seem satisfied, it and it was only after he made her come a second time did he pull back, licking his lips before bending to kiss her.

“Take your pants off,” she demanded. "Right now.”

She felt him grinning against her neck as he peeled off of her, slowly working the buttons of his pants before sliding them down his trim hips. He wore black boxer briefs underneath, and he honestly looked like an Armani model. She bit her lip, eying the sizable swell of him through the cotton.

“Those too,” she breathed, greedily drinking in his well-defined adonis belt and the bare trace of hair above the band.

He did as she commanded, and she nearly melted. Naked he was a God, all rippling muscles and smooth unblemished skin, save for the chest piece tattoo that extended onto his shoulders and halfway down his arms. She let her eyes sink lower. Even half-hard he was big, and her belly clenched.

Wasting no time, she urged him to take her place on the bed before kneeling at his feet and putting her mouth on it.

“Shit,” he hissed, driving a hand into his hand then down his face. “Ellie, you’re kiling me.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, and he growled in approval, seeming to decide something before breaking her grip on him and hauling her to her feet. He kissed her again, and she could feel his cock as it practically pulsed between them.

She still wasn’t sure she could believe it was for her, that somehow he wanted her as much as she did him, and had for almost as long.

“Condoms,” he breathed against her mouth. “I need to be inside of you.”

She froze.

“I don’t have any,” she said, dismayed.

How could she be so stupid? Why didn’t they stop on the way home? The closest bodega was six blocks, and she knew everyone who worked there. The last thing she needed was all of them knowing—

Azriel pressed a swift kiss to her lips before tangling from her.

“Where are you going?”

“To grab a condom.”

“Naked?

He flashed her a slight grimace, “Let’s agree you won’t ask where I get it from.”

“Oh Moses,” Elain said, face flushing scarlet as she listened to Nesta’s door creaking open.

Azriel was back in less than a minute, tossing an entire box onto the nightstand as he pulled open one of the foils with his teeth, using his free hand to push his damp hair, long enough to brush his cheekbones now that it wasn’t styled, out of his eyes.

“You found those distressingly fast,” Elain said, unsure if she was amused or mortified at the situation.

“Cash is predictable with his hiding spots,” Az said, eyes hooded as he stroked himself several times before rolling the condom onto his length.

“And why did you take the whole box?”

Azriel laughed softly.

“Because I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Without another word Az sank to his knees again, one hand lazily stroking himself to maintain his erection as he went down on her again.

This time it only last three seconds or so before he pulled back, resting one knee beside her hip to steady himself before pulling her onto his shaft in a single wet stroke. Using her left bent leg as leverage, he adjusted his angle, smirking at her low, guttural moan of pleasure.

“Good to know your g-spot is as sensitive as the rest of you,” he breathed, and she laughed and tugged him into an ambitious rhythm.

Soon the only sound was their shared breathing, and the sliding on their bodies against one another. She came first, and he followed even before the dizzying waves of pleasure ceased. He pumped lazily in and out of her for another half dozen stroke before gently extracting from her and peeling off the condom.

She curled against him, cheek pressed to chest as her hands continued to explore. Her fingers caressed his swelling pectorals and each of his abdominal muscles before lazily venturing back between his legs. He gave a hiss of pleasure as she began to work his silken shaft in earnest, and in minutes he was fully ready again.

He groaned when she snatched one of the condoms and rolled it onto him before swinging a leg over and sinking astride him.

Her third orgasm hit her only a short time later, and she sighed when he bucked up into her before going languid under her ministrations.

She leaned down to kiss him as he ran a soothing hand down her back.

“Jesus,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers and swirling his hips, still inside her despite his orgasm. “That was incredible.”

She purred her contentment, feeling something even more alluring than desire swell in her chest as he discarded the second condom and tugged her into his arms, tangling their legs. He still smelled like cologne, but it had mixed with her perfume, and sweat, and the scent was intoxicating. She wanted to bath in it—in him—until she died from bliss. She listened to his breathing even out, and as she was drifting off to bed, he felt his breath ruffle her hair.

“Do you like pancakes?” he murmured. “I want to make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Really?” she said, looking at him over a shoulder and melting at the warmth in his smile, less guarded now than it had been even hours before.

“I want to make breakfast for you every morning,” he breathed. “I have since I met you.”

She smiled, nestling closer to him.

“I’d love that, but I should probably be the one making you breakfast. It is your birthday, after all. You have to let me give you something other than a bj and a few orgasms for your birthday, even if it is your dirty 30.”

Az choked on a laugh.

“Say you‘ll dinner with me, then. No family or nosy friends around, just us.”

“I think the word you’re looking for it ‘date’,” she said, laughing as his cheeks flushed before realizing something. “Or is the idea just too formal for the situation? I know we did things a bit backwards...”

“We did,” he agreed, stroking her cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I want to spoil you any less. So yes a date, if you’ll still have me.”

“I will,” she said, meeting his hazel eyes before gently kissing him. “With pleasure.”

He smiled against her mouth.

“Then that’s the only birthday gift I want or need from you.”

She smiled, feeling happy to the point of bursting when he kissed her ear and closed his eyes again.

"Happy Birthday, Az.”

His hum of contentment vibrated through her back.

“The happiest,” he breathed.

#featherywrites #elriel smut #elain x azriel #acotar modern one shot #four word prompts

[sneezefiction]

untouchable | vii

Atsumu x Reader

desc: in which an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea that he’s famous.

warnings: slight language, anxiety

wc: 3.2k

part 6 ⚬ part 7 ⚬ part 8 (coming soon)

untouchable m.list

—

“Here ya go.”

Osamu sets down a small cup of water, letting it clink against the bar’s granite surface. There’s no ice in it, but you can tell by the condensation on the glass that it’s cold. Osamu tosses a plastic straw toward you and it lands conveniently right next to your cup.

Throwing him a quick smile, you reach to take a sip but pause when you hear the click and gentle hiss of a drink can.

You’d know that sound anywhere.

It’s a reminder of street vending machines and roadside shops. Of summer walks on hot pebbled pathways and after-class escapades with old high-school friends. 

But, just to be sure, you glance over to study the object in the hands of the man next to you.

Yes, you confirm, Miya Atsumu has indeed brought a can of green tea into his brother’s restaurant. And, yes, you are quite amused.

You choke down the rising laughter in your chest, though you can’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. This is the dorkiest thing you think you’ve ever seen on a not-date before.

 “Where the hell were you hiding that?” You tilt your head, leaning toward him to get a closer look at the drink.

“You’ll see.” Completely unfazed, he reaches for his coat, which hangs on the back of the chair, and digs into the pocket…

And, if what you’re seeing is true, he’s just fished out a second can. The paper covering the aluminum has a pink, floral print and reads, “Matcha-” but his thumb covers the rest of the lettering.

“What? Did you want one?” Atsumu tilts his head and places the can next to your water glass.

You stare at it, curious about two things. 

The first thing being his massive fucking pockets. They must be something of a void for him to fit two whole cans in the same pouch. Well, it’s more like you assume they were contained in a single pocket. Otherwise, you would’ve noticed a sloshing, aluminum object bumping up against your side as you two walked arm-in-arm.

The second thing that struck you is that he actually thought to bring two. Did he plan on drinking both? Was it originally for his brother? Or did he intend to offer you one right from the start? 

You do happen to like this brand of tea.

Atsumu leans back into his chair, tossing an arm over the back of the seat. “My friend tells me it’s good for digestion,” he explains and takes a sip.

“My digestion is just fine, thanks. You can keep it.” 

Your eyes crease in mirth. He has some interesting friends, that’s for sure. And why does he care about digestion? He’s fit and muscular and... is he constipated or something?

Yeah, that’s not something you should ask about.

“I’m gonna try not to imagine what else you could be hiding in those pockets,” you say, twisting your face in concern and pinching your eyebrows together.

Atsumu grimaces, shifting in his seat. “Did ya have to say it like that?” 

“I think I have every right to say it like that. You could be a freak for all I know.”

“Um, I think it’s entirely possible that you’re the freak here.” He shoots right back at you through mock-judgmental eyes.

Your jaw drops in amused surprise. You shove his arm playfully, but his balance hardly wavers. He grins in response, golden eyes glimmering. Your hand lingers briefly as you mimic his smile, but you notice and drop it quickly.

“Gettin’ comfortable now aren’t we?”

A faint flush dances across your skin. Maybe you were being a little touchy… but flirting hasn’t been this fun in so long. Anyway, he was the one who had you walking arm-in-arm with him earlier.

That thought alone makes your heart jump.

You look away, grasping the straw in your glass and twirling it around. “You got all comfy first,” is all you can huff out.

“Well, yeah.” Atsumu places an elbow on the table and props his chin up with his hand, “I mean, this is a date isn’t it?” He takes another sip of his drink, acting as though what he said wasn’t headline news.

Huh?

So apparently this whole not-a-date but possibly-a-date situation had an obvious answer… to Atsumu that is. It still felt about as clear as rocket science to you though.

“Is it?” The words flow from your lips before you can stop them.

He blinks. “Hm.” 

You swallow, “Is this a date?” 

He gestures a hand at the two of you, “I mean... I thought it was.”

Well, yes. You’re both sitting across from each other. Neither of you knows the other well. Atsumu had taken you to his brother’s restaurant.

Everything that’s happened in the past hour screams, “date.”

And, yet, it’s all too strange.

Suddenly the wooden barstool is much less comfortable. You readjust, crossing your dangling legs. You can hear every uneven as it leaves your body - hopefully his ears aren’t too keen.

Did you really change the atmosphere with just a few words?

Should you have assumed that this was a date from the beginning? But you were protecting yourself… 

Thank God Osamu is in the back right now. You don’t think you could handle someone else (especially your date’s brother) hearing this conversation. The embarrassment would be way too real.

“But if you’re not okay with it bein’ a date, then that’s okay.” Atsumu is quick to speak, straightening up in his chair. “I probably forgot to clarify…” He searches your gaze for any change in reaction.

Yeah, he’s probably not adept at these sorts of situations. But neither are you.

There’s a noticeable tint to his cheeks. You’re sure it must burn because your own face has already burst into flames. Great, you’ve made him feel like he’s screwed up. 

Atsumu mumbles a quiet “shit” under his breath, which would’ve found funny if it weren’t for your own pounding heartbeat.

Dammit, how can you salvage this? You might as well be fanning a flame at this point. If you weren’t careful, you could burn this entire opportunity to the ground. 

“Ah, that’s not what I mean,” You respond, waving your hands out in front of you, “I just- I don’t know, you never said anything about it being a date over text, so I just assumed it wasn’t. Not that I would mind it being one...”

If you keep talking, the words will only get more muddled. You clamp your mouth shut so as to not say anything ridiculous.

Suddenly, the blank wall opposite the blonde is very interesting. Maybe if you survive the next 5 minutes you’ll suggest that ‘Samu add some art pieces to soften the stark white paint. It might also make avoiding eye-contact a little easier.

Despite not wanting to face him, you can’t exactly ignore the man sitting an arm’s length away from you. You glance back to him, bracing yourself for a face wrought with confusion.

But Atsumu looks… amused? Relieved? The lines of worry on his forehead have smoothed back out.

Well, whatever emotion he’s conveying, it’s better than the ones you saw earlier.

“Alright, then how about you tell me whether you want this to be a date or not?”

You bite your lip in thought. Partly because a male has just respectfully asked you if you’d like to go on a date (a date you’re already on.) That, in itself, is a rare sight indeed. 

But mostly because he actually wants to go on a date with you.

Did you really meet him only a month ago? Was he ever a stranger to you?

He’s a little too friendly for that. But friendly isn’t the right word. Atsumu is understanding. And simple… but in a good way. Things are smooth like velvet when you’re around him.

You, who’s been shit out of luck over the past few years. You, who had to frantically accept a less than ideal job after moving away from your entire support system. You, who tried to abate loneliness with blind dates and Tinder matches... but only ever ended up shoving breadsticks in a bag before escaping through the backdoor of a mediocre restaurant.

After all the tears and life changes and dating apps and heartbreak, you finally have a choice that you can make by yourself without any serious repercussions.

And it’s a simple yes or no question.

“I’m gonna say, yeah. This is a date.”

A grin that could light up the city of Tokyo spreads across his face. You don’t know why he’s so happy, but it’s making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He grabs his drink, taking another sip.

Even you can feel the earnest smile on your face reaching your eyes. 

“So, can I ask ya somethin’?”

You sit up in silent anticipation. “Uh… sure.”

Atsumu clears his throat, looks away from you and runs a hand through the waves of his hair. Given Atsumu’s display of nerves, someone watching from the outside might think that this man was either about to break up with you or propose marriage.

Thank God it couldn’t be either of those things. But your hands clasp at your thighs anxiously anyway.

“Why’d you want to see me again?”

You find yourself holding your breath, letting his question sink in. 

It’s a good question. An important question. Why exactly are you here? With him?

You’re usually better about setting your intentions before you dive into something new. Plotting out big decisions has saved your ass a multitude of times.

But this opportunity fell into your lap at the most peculiar of times.

In all honesty, you didn’t give his request too much thought. Hell, you didn’t even ask him if he’d give you time to think about your decision. 

Thinking back, you really should’ve been way more careful… but you’re already here.

You lean back into your chair and meet his gaze head-on. 

“Do you want an honest answer? Or would you rather me make something up?” You ask, a glimmer in your eye.

“Oh, yeah I love bein’ lied to, go right ahead.” He throws you a look through squinted eyes.

You laugh, “I’m assuming that’s sarcasm.”

“And you’d be right.” Atsumu’s chin sinks back into his hand, awaiting your honest answer.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, leaning back into your chair and relaxing your body.

It’s best to keep things brief - you’d hate to overwhelm him with your own life. And something tells you he has his own complicated shit to deal with. 

“I’ve had a rough few years here and my social life is about as interesting as a brick right now.” You glance over to him, “Plus you seemed a little weird. But fun.”

This is all true. But there’s so much more you’d like to say.

Stuff like, 

“You’re so easy to be around.”

“Your voice is comforting.”

“I’ve felt like shit but you’ve given me something good to think about.”

“I feel a little less lonely lately and I think it’s because of you.”

But you know that would be overstepping some major boundaries. You’d play it cool and keep your thoughts to yourself for now.

“A bit blunt, but I’ll take it.” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re pretty blunt yourself.” You fake a frown, but can’t suppress your smile for long.

“Okay, sure, I’m not the most tactful… but you should’ve seen me in high school.” He sighs, eyes growing fuzzy with memories. 

But he’s quick to snap back to the present.

You snort. “I bet you were a hoot.”

Osamu’s voice rings from the back, “He was a lot more than that.”

So he was listening in, your cheeks burn a little at the thought. 

“Oi, shaddup, ‘Samu.” He lifts his head, calling back with a playful growl in his voice.

“I have video evidence, don’t tempt me to share it,” Osamu warns, but he gets back to business.

Your eyebrows raise. Now that’d be fun to see.

He notices your curiosity but is quick to furrow his brows. “Oh, no, no. I want you to get to know me, but not that well,” Atsumu says, slightly perturbed. 

“Not yet, at least.” He adds, after a few seconds.

Your eyes soften. 

That makes sense. 

Although, you hadn’t even expected him to show you the videos. You’d just wanted to tease him a little since that seems to be something he’s very comfortable with. You like that it’s a “not yet” instead of a “never,” though.

But instead of continuing this part of the conversation, you divert to asking his question back to him.

“Well, I think it’s your turn to tell me why you asked me out.”

And you swear you must’ve just said something ridiculous because he looks hilariously surprised. Like a deer in headlights. A jammed highway of car-headlights with the brights on full blast.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess that he hadn’t even thought about it. That or he didn’t want to tell you.

Either way, you deserve to know at least this much. You wait with your hands placed patiently in your lap and a trained indifference in your eyes.

—

Okay, so maybe he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.

Atsumu knows he has a good reason for asking you out… he really does. 

But it wasn’t the kind of reason one could eloquently verbalize. I mean, shit, what does Atsumu do that is eloquent?

It was more of a gut feeling than anything else. 

But he’s sure if he told you that he wanted to date you based on “instinct” that you’d laugh and promptly flee the restaurant like a prison escapee jumping the walls holding them captive.

He pulls himself together because he’s sure you can sense his discomfort. He’s never been great at disguising his emotions - he’d only ever learned to mask them with nonchalance and angry outbursts… and that’s a no-go when it comes to the press. Atsumu had to drop those reactions like a hotcake.

“I…” he swallows but gives a wry smile, “Y’see… I live a bit of a complicated life.”

He scans your face like he’s searching for his next words within your eyes. But you’re must be a blank page because they don’t come to him.

“Okay, now, don’t go telling me you’re wanted for some sort of federal crime.” You tease him as your lips brush against your straw, lightening the atmosphere in the process.

Atsumu’s lips open to let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in. “Ah, ya got me. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.” He responds dryly.

“That’s so sad. And I really thought this was going well, too.” You hum and take a sip of water.

He clears his throat, loosening his shoulder with a stretch. For someone who’s lived most of his adult life in the limelight, he hasn’t had to talk about it much. People either know he’s famous or they don’t.

You’re so kind. You listen well. There’s something about you that he’s magnetized by. Something that continuously draws him back in.

So if you were to learn about his life and see him differently? It would be a door slamming into his face, sealing his fate to be a really fucking lonesome bachelor. Which is a funny concept until you are the lonely bachelor.

So what exactly is he supposed to tell you?

Out of habit, his hand reaches for his hair… but he freezes before he can run his fingers through it.

Because the words are coming to him like a lone flower petal drifting to the ground. Soft and solemn.

He asked you out because his chest hasn’t ached like this in so long.

The warmth you’ve brought him in such a short time flares inside of him; why should those flames to die down anytime soon?

Because when’s the last time he spoke with somebody new and felt so normal? He’d never craved simple conversation back in high school. Even in his early 20’s, he’d just been searching for quick flings and easy getaways - those were easy to manage and feelings almost never got involved.

But being with you is like honey to hot, bitter tea. Like chowing down on a hot meal when he’s hungry.

No, it’s not easy to explain, but your presence is somehow satiating to his soul. Osamu even said that he’s been “less of a dick” since he started talking with you, so that must count for something.

You don’t need to know all of that. That’d be really weird. But if you were already being honest with him (even if you hadn’t spilled your entire life’s story) then he can be honest with you. 

But with this groundbreaking realization comes the hard part. Saying it out loud. And while he’s sometimes smooth in terms of flirting, he’s absolute shit at explaining himself.

The words come out slow and awkward. “I’ve been havin’ a hard time with… people.” 

Okay, that’s not at all what he meant to say. 

There are a million things you could’ve gleaned from that useless sentence. ‘I have a hard time with people?’ I mean, if that didn’t sound like a red flag, then what does?

“Oh, really?” Your eyes are wide and thoughtful and he swears he sees a glint of amusement flash through them. 

Shit, this would be harder than he thought. 

“Well, dating in particular, but that’s because my life is out of wack.” He presses on, but it only comes out worse.

Maybe he should’ve taken that communications class back in high school. It would’ve saved his ass in his interviews and, more importantly, here.

You nod along, folding your arms. “Mhmm.”

It’s both unfair and such a relief that you’re finding his verbal blunders funny. 

“Okay, gimme a minute, this is comin’ out all wrong.”

“Take your time,” you smile and your eyes crinkle. “I’ll be here all night.” 

But is it possible to soften what he’s about to say? To give you something to chew on rather than a bunch of information to choke on?

Being candid with you is the only fair way to do this. If he isn’t straightforward with you, you could end up getting hurt. Even being with you here at his brother’s restaurant is a risk — he should’ve thought through that decision better too. Not that he visits his brother there in person much, but it’s still not a gamble he likes to make.

Anyway, what’s done is done. He’s just got to tell you.

Atsumu sits up, resting his clenched fists on his thighs and knitting his brows together.

“Listen, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”

You shift in your seat, mouth closed and eyes fixed on his. There’s a tension in your posture, but he tries not to let it deter him.

“But I’m...”

—

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #atsumu x reader #will tag those on the tag list soon! #sorry for any grammatical issues - i'm up late and i can't see well... rly need a beta reader tbh #but i think i weeded out most mistakes? #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #atsumu scenarios #atsumu imagines #miya twins #osamu miya #hq x reader #untouchable series

[jungkxook]

—demon-etized. (m)

⟶ pairing: namjoon x reader

⟶ analytics: youtuber!namjoon / ghost-hunters au / smut

⟶ words: 6,260

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ warnings: idiot ghost hunter bts, ghosts making namjoon horny ig?, slight exhibitionism, fondling, fingering, standing sex, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ description: in this episode of unsolved, namjoon and the boys risk their lives by spending overnight in an abandoned and supposedly haunted asylum in the hopes of finding some ghouls — but the boys are pretty certain the real reason for the spooky moaning isn’t allowed to go on youtube. ***warning: very scary!!!***

⟶ pinned comment: this is part of the not clickbait series!

“Well, this has been fun. Let’s go home now.”

You were starting to think this was a very stupid idea ━ but stupid would be an understatement. The looming asylum standing before you with nothing but the darkened midnight sky in the foreground acts as a foreboding omen that you’ve seen one too many times in pretty much any horror movie. The creepy abandoned estate offering itself up as a seemingly perfect and totally innocent means of adventure for a group of friends only to end in murder or a demon possession should have been enough to scare you all away. Fortunately, you’re not the only somewhat sane person (and you say that very loosely because you did, after all, agree to come with the boys), because you’re both startled yet thoroughly relieved to hear the worried statement coming from a very tense-looking Jimin.

It really was a stupid idea. Spending overnight (which, really, just translates to a few hours and a clickbait-y title for the video) in a supposedly haunted and derelict asylum from the early 1900s offered all sorts of problems that weren’t just supernatural. Squatters, creepy cult members, and risking getting whatever sorts of diseases are riddling the walls of the ancient dwelling were starting to get to you. But it was Namjoon’s idea to come here for his next video upload especially when considering the fact that for the entire month of October he and his group of YouTuber friends host a fan favourite ghost-hunting series titled Unsolved ━ and, whatever Namjoon usually suggests, the boys usually tag along with, no matter how daring or how stupid it may be.

“We literally just got here,” Hoseok retorts as he hops out of one of the two cars you and your friends had shared on the way here. It was a three hour drive from the city with the estate being much larger than you expected it to be, four main buildings sprawling out amongst empty fields. At least the stories of its creepy atmosphere are all the same. Was it the cool autumn breeze sending chills down your spine or something else entirely? The moment you stepped foot out of the car and gazed upon the asylum, it was almost as if you could feel something watching you. But that was definitely just you imagining things. “Don’t be a pussy, Jimin. What’s the worst a ghost is gonna do to you? Rattle some chains? Ooooh, spooky.”

“Okay, first of all,” Jimin rounds on the older boy almost immediately, “vaginas are the strongest muscles in female anatomy, so I’m not being a pussy. Let’s get it right, okay? I’m being a little bitch, and I embrace it. Second of all, if a ghost does rattle some chains near me, I will definitely be booking it back to the car and leaving all of you stranded here.”

From beside you, Yoongi snorts amusedly. He’s the resident non-believer amongst your group of friends so you always wonder why he even bothers to come to these things. He says it’s to help filming, but you think he’s banking on maybe one day seeing a ghost even despite all that charade of hostility. Even now, he’s already filming for the vlog, getting shots of the building but also mostly just Jimin and Hoseok’s banter in the background. “If a ghost does anything tonight, I’ll be genuinely surprised.”

“Something is going to happen tonight. I can feel it,” Jungkook says confidently. He’d been huddled over the opened side door of one of the cars with Namjoon and Jin, sifting through their high-tech equipment that you’re certain they just bought off of Amazon or something. “This place is one of the most haunted places near us. Have you even heard the stories? Apparently there are two most popular ghost sightings. One is some girl━”

“Is she hot?” Taehyung asks.

“She’s dead,” Jungkook deadpans. “Also, pretty sure she was eleven when she died from tuberculosis. Anyway, she’s more of a benevolent ghost. They say you can hear her laughing sometimes. There’s a lot of activity in one of the kids’ rooms. And the other sighting is less friendly. They just call it a shadow man because it’s hard to see its face, but you can always see an outline of a person walking by in one of their treatment buildings. There’s even been physical attacks, with one person saying they got scratched by an invisible force.”

Jimin visibly winces. “Sounds very much like a demon than a ghost to me.”

“Sick!” Hoseok exclaims. You’re worried to find that the group’s morale (aside from yours and Jimin’s) isn’t any less vivacious than when Jungkook started his story. “This is gonna be awesome.”

But you can’t help but to roll your eyes, your feigned boredom really just a weak attempt at hiding your own fright. “Oh, shut up. That’s such bullshit.”

“Is it?” Jungkook quirks a brow, challenging you.  

“Well, whatever happens, we’re gonna catch it.” This confident statement comes from Namjoon. After he hands out the pieces of tech to the rest of his friends, he glances upward at the asylum with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s find us some ghosties.”

As the group begins to follow Namjoon towards the nearest building, Taehyung can be heard wolfishly quipping aloud, “Time to rock and roll, ghoul boys! And, er, girl.”

“Don’t call us that,” Yoongi grumbles.

It’s comforting to hear the rest of the group erupt into fits of entertained laughter, but any banter is quick to subside as you walk up to the building. You’re relieved when Jimin decides to hang back with you and doesn’t seem to protest when you start to cling to his arm as you’re all ushered through the main entrance of the building and into utter darkness only broken apart by the dim glow of your flashlights. If you weren’t already so frightened, maybe some of it would be comical, like the way the front doors creak open so very slowly in suspense.

Under Jimin’s breath, you can hear him mumbling in chagrin, “We should have gotten holy water.”

As your eyes adjust to the darkness within, you’re able to make out that the inside is just as horrifying as it was on the outside. Dust and debris hang heavy in the air and on the ground, and almost every inch of any surface within the building is covered in graffiti works of art. 

“Oh, fuck that,” Jin scoffs. “We only just stepped foot into here and this place is already giving me goosebumps.”

“Aw, sweet, bro! Check this out!” Hoseok says abruptly, startling almost all of you. He’s standing a bit further off down one hall, beckoning the rest of the group to follow. As you approach him, you can make out what sort of graffiti marking on the ground has suddenly grabbed his attention. “Who wants to lay on the pentagram with me?”

“No one,” You retort.

“I will!” Jungkook says at once, much to your dismay.

Yoongi lets out an audible strained sigh. “If any of you fucks get possessed and kill me, I’m never gonna forgive any of you. Just letting you know ahead of time.”

“Yeah, what are you gonna do?” Hoseok asks. “Come back and haunt us?”

“No, I’ll be dead. Ghosts aren’t real,” Yoongi says. “But I will still be very angry.”

“Noted.”

Before Jungkook or Hoseok can haggle Yoongi into filming them laying on the pentagram drawing and potentially offering their souls up to whatever demon lays waiting beneath it for their souls, the group is moving on. You explore the first bottom half of the building together in a tense silence before making your way up the dilapidated stairs to one of the treatment rooms that Jungkook makes certain to point out is where the infamous shadow figure is often seen. Taehyung decides to suggest, “Should we try the spirit box?”

You almost groan aloud. You fucking hate that thing, for obvious reasons. 

Whether or not you believe in it, the loud gurgling noise is always unsettling and you’re already on edge. Still, you sit back with Jimin as the rest of the boys nod in agreement and fiddle with the piece of tech until it’s been turned on. You’re immediately met with a cacophony of crackling radio static so deafening that your instinctual reaction is to cover your ears. You refrain miraculously, but you still cower in one corner with Jimin as the boys listen intently to the noise.

“Is anyone here?” Namjoon calls out to no one in particular. “If you are, can you give us a sign? Move a chair or say something or push Yoongi━”

“What the━?” Yoongi gawks. “Why me?”

“‘Cause you said you don’t believe in them.”

Yoongi clamps his mouth shut, and nods in a way that admits Namjoon has a point. At that moment, there’s a pique in the static, a jumble of inaudible words that almost sounds humanlike.

“What was that?” Hoseok asks. “Sounded like… It almost sounded like it said ‘leave.’”

“Leave?” Jimin squeaks. “Think we should take that as a sign, guys.”

“Nah, I definitely heard Steve, not leave,” Yoongi says.

Jungkook frowns. “Who the hell is Steve?”

“Maybe that’s his name,” Yoongi suggests nonchalantly. “Be nice.”

After a handful of minutes of even more strained silence, the boys are only able to discern certain words that you’re positive don’t have anything to do with the asylum or ghosts. At long last, they shut the machine off and the room is once more plunged into a formidable silence so dense that you almost miss the spirit box. But almost as soon as the piece of tech has been silenced, does Jimin cry out in pure anguish. “What the fuck was that?”

The boys instantly round on their startled friend who is now cowering behind you. The colour has all but drained from his face, eyes wide in a frenzied panic.

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin looks hysterical as he shoves a pointed finger in the direction of the wall opposite the room in the corridor. “I swear on my life I just saw something move out of the corner of my eye over there. Like a-a person o-or something. Looked like a shadow. I don’t know! I thought it was one of you guys━”

“Stop it, Jimin.” Your voice treads on apprehension as you look over at the alarmed boy. “You’re scaring me.”

“Yeah, ease up, Jimin,” Namjoon says, though he seems more entertained than anything. “I’d prefer if you didn’t throw my girlfriend headfirst towards a demon or ghost or whatever it is you saw.”

“Joon.” His name rolls off your tongue in a scolding moan as you rub wearily at your eyes. His words do little to help console you, and you’re certain it fairs even worse for poor Jimin.

“I’m sorry. I just━” Jimin pulls you tighter in front of him. “I swear I saw something. Holy shit.”

Jungkook’s the first one outside the room, his own camera in his hands as he goes to investigate. As the rest of the boys file outside in the corridor, you drag Jimin along with you, favouring not to be alone in any part of the building. You can hardly see anything, let alone a shadow. 

Jungkook turns back around at long last, a devious grin on his face as he finds Jimin’s wandering crazed stare. “Maybe it was the shadow man. Told you he exists.”

“I don’t care what it was. My heart almost fell out of my ass,” Jimin gasps. He clutches at his chest over his heart, for added emphasis. “Let’s get out of here.”

You aren’t quite sure if the boys believe him, but you do notice how quick they are to move on from the room and corridor. A palpable tension hangs heavy in the air that makes you realize perhaps the boys are starting to lose their cool under pressure. 

As you reconvene below on the main floor of the building, Namjoon pipes up. “Let’s split up. See if we can find anything on our own.”

“Okay, Scooby Doo,” Jin snorts. “You do know that this is how every horror movie begins, right? There’s power in numbers.”

“Yeah. Which is what we’ll all be saying when this video reaches trending on YouTube with a million views,” Namjoon says, matter-of-fact. “Which we can only do if we get some interesting content. So, let’s split up into pairs of two. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

“We could just fake it,” Jimin suggests desperately. “Like every big YouTuber does. The magic of editing, guys.” But no one seems to be listening anymore as the group begins to splinter off. Yoongi and Jungkook decide to venture back upstairs in pursuit of the elusive and supposed shadow man, while Hoseok and Taehyung wander outside. Lost and dumbfounded, Jimin gawks around at his retreating friends, calling out in one last effort, “Anyone? …No? Okay, cool.”

He nearly lets out a yelp when Jin clasps a hand on the boy’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. “You’ll be okay, Jimin. C’mon, let’s go.”

Finally alone with Namjoon, he offers up his outstretched hand to you. You take it at once, gripping his palm a little tighter than necessary as he pulls you towards him. 

“You doing okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” You lie, even though you know he can see right through it. 

You’re content to find that he at least keeps your hand in his even as he tugs you along with him to explore the rest of the asylum. You decide to leave the building you’re both in and wander to another one where you stumble upon Hoseok and Taehyung on the main floor briefly. Then, making your way upstairs, you find nothing out of the ordinary but empty rooms that you suspect were once upon a time sleeping quarters for the patients. It’s less frightening than the other buildings, though still a little unnerving the longer you stay to explore. You climb the stairs until you’re on the third landing and inspect almost every room to find nothing. 

At some point, you let out a wavering sigh. Namjoon is busy waving around an EMF reader in a room. It’s empty aside from a dusty cot and a broken wardrobe, amongst a few other oddities covered in a thick layer of cobwebs and dirt. You could have sworn you’ve heard footsteps in almost every room you’ve entered that wasn’t either yours or Namjoons, and the strange sensation that you’re being followed hasn’t been able to shake from you. “Joon? Can we go back now? I’m starting to get a little spooked.”

Namjoon comes to a halt at once, turning around to face you. He gives your palm a comforting squeeze. “Hey, you’re okay. There’s nothing to be scared of. I don’t mean to sound like Yoongi but I highly doubt we have to worry about any ghosts.”

“Well, what do you think Jimin saw?”

“Who knows?” Namjoon shrugs. “It was probably just his imagination. Your mind plays tricks on you in the dark, doesn’t it? Here, let’s talk about something else to distract you.”

“Like?”

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as Namjoon considers another thought. You don’t even realize the smug smirk unfurling on his face until it’s too late. “Well… I had an idea earlier. Just a passing thought, really, but I bet it’d be fun anyway.”

“What was it?”

“We could probably have a quickie in one of these rooms and the boys would never know any different.”

You nearly choke at this, sputtering for air as you reach out to flick Namjoon’s shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” You admit sheepishly. He places his hands on your hips then, pulling you delicately towards him in a manner that makes it hard to focus now. “But I don’t know how I feel about ghosts watching us. Also, the couple that has sex in any horror movie usually ends up dying first.”

Namjoon shakes his head at you, albeit a little amused at your worrisome thoughts. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. At least not while I’m here.”

“Coming from the man who tripped going up the stairs at your dorm the other day,” You point out tauntingly. The distant reminder and the sound of his abrupt laughter is enough to momentarily soothe your hammering heart. 

Namjoon gasps, feigning a look of mock hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean!”

“Means I love you very much but I don’t know how well you’d fair against ghosts or demons.”

“Ahh, I see how it is.” 

He sounds mildly offended and pokes his fingers at your sides but, in the ensuing scuffle to flee from his grasp, the both of you trip and fumble until you’re pressed up against the nearest wall, the sound of your snickers like music to his ears. He comes colliding against your front, hands digging into your hips. He leans forward to kiss your lips slowly, feeling you smile against him. A delightful chuckle bubbles at your mouth and he parts from you in the next moment wiggling his brows suggestively while a teasing smirk stretches at his face so wide, his dimples start to poke through.

“Wanna?” he asks. 

It’s a simple question, weighing heavy with dirty implications ━ and honestly? You’re kind of into it. Or maybe that’s just because he returns to kissing at your lips, only this time at the corners of your mouth, then the underside of your jaw. Tantalizing motions that seem to make your head spin violently. Your head lolls back against the wall behind you as he droops his head to your neck, lips meeting with the soft flesh of your throat to suck a delicate blossoming hickey there.

“Okay,” You rasp, “so maybe we can spare some time for this.”

“Ah, so now you’re interested.” His voice is huskier now, muffled by the way he busies himself by nipping at the same spot on your throat. He hears your breath hitch, feels the way you part your legs just slightly enough to have him sink further against you. He marvels at your decision in the morning to throw on a skirt and a pair of thick wool tights. At the time, you had said it was because the weather wasn’t too brisk outside just yet; now, he was thanking you silently for unknowingly picking just the right outfit for the occasion. 

“Namjoon…” Your voice is strained now, a mix between a plea and a whine and he grunts against your neck.

It takes Namjoon a moment to rack his brain, realizing that he finds it hard to even form a proper sentence anymore. “Don’t even need to feel my dick in you. Just wanna get you off, baby. Can I?”

You’re already practically drooling. “Think the boys will notice if we’re gone a little longer?” 

“Who cares?” Namjoon quips. “Jimin’ll probably think we got possessed and lost in the demon world or something.”

You giggle, though your voice splinters off into a soft moan as he continues to nip and suck at your neck. His hand falls to your thighs then, fingers brushing upward faintly until he meets the short hem of your skirt before disappearing beneath it. His hand comes to grasp at the delicate curve of your ass, his palm hot and firm against your soft flesh. 

He groans into your neck. “Been dying all night to touch you.”

“Then don’t stop.”

If the way his hardening cock now forms against your inner thigh any inclination, you don’t think he has plans on doing so. Instead, you watch as he lifts his free hand to your mouth, fingers tapping at your lips in a wordless motion. “Open up.”

You do as you’re told, lips parting just enough to wrap around his two fingers. He gazes at you with hooded eyes as you suck at his digits, tongue laving against the sturdy form in your mouth until his fingers are coated thick with your saliva. His other hand, still attached to the rump of your ass, moves like water over your skin to your thigh once more, nudging you aside just enough, pinching delicately at the skin there; he pulls his fingers from your mouth then, then lets the same hand venture under your skirt in a similar fashion. He wastes no time in pushing aside the material of your panties, pressing his digits at your core, watchful eyes staying fixated on yours if only to watch your every expression. His dampened fingers slide over your folds, spreading them open, running across them, admiring the way your stickiness already forms between your legs. 

“Joon…” You cling to him tighter, both to steady yourself against the sudden ministrations and to shield yourself more from view, though you’re certain there’s a slim chance the boys will come across you and Namjoon like this. You hope.

Namjoon’s fingers slip past your folds then, slow and steady as he feels the tight constricting walls of your cunt. You throb around him, thinking only of his cock, imagining the girth of it fitting snug deep within you. The similar stretch of your walls, the fluid motion of his length burrowing in and out of you, wrecking you into shambles. Now, Namjoon wriggles his fingers upward, scratching at a spot within you that has you writhing against him, the slick wetness of your arousal sufficiently coating his fingers. His thumb finds your clit then, running small circles against the small bundle of nerves.

“So wet,” Namjoon moans, resting his forehead against yours. He notes the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, and pulls his free hand out from under your skirt to tap his fingers against your chin. “Gonna moan for me, baby? Let the boys hear you? Maybe wake the dead?”

“You’re such a brat,” You simper through a shuddering breath, and if you weren’t so consumed by him then maybe you would have laughed at the joke he manages to squeeze in at the last moment. But he’s not wrong. What’s the point in keeping silent in an abandoned building that you’re positive only you and your friends are currently occupying? How much longer do you expect to keep quiet, when the way he’s making you feel begins to slowly burn at your insides? 

He curls his fingers deep in you, and your jaw unhinges in a silent gap. You wonder how long you can last, face burning with every passing second as he fingers you closer and closer to your high. Your hips jut outward to meet his hand with every motion, grinding against his knuckles in a desperate need to get off. You’re shameless about it too, fingers gripping his shirt tightly, brows scrunched together in hardened dedication. 

“Such a pretty little mess,” Namjoon hums. “Want you to cum on my hand, baby girl.”

“Fuck, Namjoon━” You whimper now, head lulling back as he twists his fingers further in you. 

But, as soon as you do so, the echoing sound of footsteps has your eyes darting to the darkened corridor. You make out the sound of oblivious chatter, and the familiar voices of Taehyung and Hoseok echoing from somewhere down below. They must be two floors down, though you can hear them screaming at nothing in particular, except for a string of profanities that meet your ears.

“Jesus, fuck!” That definitely sounds like Taehyung, voice shrill with worry. 

“Chill!” There’s Hoseok, but you think he was also screaming moments ago with Taehyung. “It’s just a spider.”

“I don’t care! Get it off of me!”

“Bunch of dumbasses,” Namjoon shakes his head rigidly, a fleeting grin forming on his face that is quick to fade as he curls his fingers upwards further into you. And, while your attention is somewhat fixated on the boys, you find yourself treading a fine line of not giving a fuck as Namjoon’s fingers stay buried deep within your cunt. Still, Namjoon can sense the slight urgency in your demeanor when your hands wind around his neck to tug at his hair, as if to gesture to the strangers that he already knows are nearby. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs reassuringly, voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing so good, love.”

He slows his fingers almost to a halt as you burrow your face in the crook of his neck. Your walls continue to clench around his fingers, and he adds a third finger to stretch you out just enough in a teasing leisure manner. He does it on purpose too, this much you know for certain, as he pinches playfully at your waist. It’s lewd, the idea of him fingering you out in public like this but the emboldened adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t want him to stop. By now, your high overwhelms everything else, causing you to writhe against Namjoon as he cradles you to him. You cum moments later, your orgasm overcoming you before you can sense it, trembling beneath his hands as he continues to finger you through it. Warm, wet arousal leaks from your core, coats his fingers all over as a punctuating whimper of his name tumbles from your lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he says gently. “Let everyone hear how dirty you are. Let it all out.”

Your thighs shake, squeezing shut around his hand, and all he can do is rub soothing circles into your hips with his free hand. He waits for your breath to steady, as the coil in your belly loosens, instead taking the time to admire you to your fullest, drunken hooded eyes glazed over in that perfect expression he loves.

“Want your cock in me now, Joon,” You whine breathlessly. The whining persistence in your voice excites Namjoon, only amplified tenfold by the way you begin nipping and sucking at his neck. 

“Now?” he asks.

“Now.”

Almost instantly, there’s a noticeable shift in his expression, a shit-eating smirk tugging at his mouth. You smother the rest of it before it can become too smug, folding your lips over his. Still, he hums through your eager kissing, “Yeah? Gonna let me fuck you like this, love? Take you raw against this wall, right here, right now?”

“Yes, please,” You mewl. Growing restless, you beg silently, “Namjoon.”

“Better make it quick then, hm?” 

You can only nod, still in a daze from the orgasm that still courses through your veins. Namjoon’s quick to oblige, pulling his hands from your heat and wiping your slick wetness off on his thigh. Clumsy hands between the both of you fumble to undo the button of his jeans, hastily undoing them just enough to free his straining cock from within. He wedges himself between your legs, hiking your skirt farther up your thighs, and he hurries to free his length from its confinements, wild locks spilling out onto his forehead and into your own line of sight. You push his hair up and away from his face, though your fingers grip suddenly at the roots of his locks when he grips your thigh and hoists it up to his hip, and then pushes himself into you at once, the tip of his warm cock easily coaxed by your already wet walls. He moans into your neck but muffles it halfheartedly by kissing along your throat.

“Easy there, boy,” You snicker, though your own words are a weak drunken slur, drowning out into a muffled whimper as he thrusts himself into you all the way. His hips meet yours roughly, grinding against you as your walls stretch around his throbbing cock.

“I’m needy,” he whines. “Just wanna feel you around me.”

He wastes no time in moving again, pulling his hips back only to thrust into you, adopting a steady fluid pace in such a way that has your head lolling back against the wall, and your mouth popping open in a silent moan as you shift beneath him. The wall of the building behind you is rough and jagged but you don’t feel it, not with the way he continues to thrust into you. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, stretching you apart in such a way that has him pummeling his length into your core just right. 

“Fuck,” he grunts into your neck. Impatient hands move to yank your shirt up to your chest, pulling your bra down just enough for your breasts to pop out. He moves to leave a wet trail of kisses to your breasts, catching one of your nipples between his teeth and sucking harshly at it. The new sensation has your own walls clenching around him, and he almost comes undone then. Against your chest, you can hear him murmur breathlessly, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Mmm,” You tug harshly at the roots of his hair. An unabashedly loud moan nearly tumbles from your lips before you can bite it back. Elsewhere, you can hear the sound of faint footsteps once more in the far distance, Taehyung and Hoseok much closer this time (quite possibly on the same floor as you, but the opposite end), but you don’t seem to care much anymore about the potentiality of being caught. “Fuck, Namjoon━”

“You like being fucked like this?” he rasps. “Out in public, for anyone to see?”

You feebly muster a nod, lips parting in a silent moan safe for the sound of your hot panting in his ear. Hurried yet deep shuddering strokes, he fucks into you again and again until your head is spinning. Every thrust sends a jolt up your spine and, still riddled by your first high, your body is quick to turn into shambles beneath him. Your hands flail outward to grasp onto every inch of his body, hands slithering beneath the material of his shirt, fingernails to dig crescent shapes into his torso, then snaking downward to grasp at his bum, pulling him in closer each time he rolls his hips into yours.

“Joon…” Your voice is an exhausted moan when it meets his ear. He almost doesn’t hear it, instead too caught up in the way your panting breaths mingle with the crude wetness of his cock delving past your folds each time. Somewhere, once more, in the distance even closer this time is the sound of footsteps once more. The thought of someone walking in one you like this━Namjoon wedged between your thighs, drilling his leaking cock into your wet cunt and tearing you to utter shambles━does something chaotically good to you. “Not gonna last.”

“Me neither,” he gasps. “Don’t care. Just wanna cum. Just wanna feel you cum around me.”

His thrusts begin to tread into sloppy territory, fervently itching to get both of you off. You reach your second high first, tumbling towards it with open arms. You can’t contain yourself, the tempting moan dancing upon the tip of your tongue, burning in your throat as your orgasm twists at your belly. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna━” 

But your voice splinters off into a delicious sounding whimper. Wary of being caught by your wandering friends when you’re both so close to being undone (because, really, the idea of someone else hearing you whimper because of how good his cock is exhilarates him), Namjoon’s hand clamps over your lips and you welcome it graciously, favouring the idea of his fingers poking into your mouth so that you have something to distract your moaning. It still comes, broken and inaudible, smothered by Namjoon’s hand, as your tongue lavs around his digits. 

Now, you’re truly a sight to behold, making Namjoon’s length twitch amongst your walls. Exhausted, fucked out eyes gawk at him, too weak to carry on, instead jutting your hips forward to meet his with each thrust. 

“Shit,” he whines. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N━”

He comes moments later, frantic slaps of his own hips having him spilling his seed sloppily into your already wet cunt. The abrupt sensation as your own walls clenching so impossibly tight around him, he feels as if he can’t move, though it’s not as if he immediately plans to. Instead, after a few more rocky thrusts into you to ride out both of your highs, he collapses against your chest and you smooth your fingers delicately through his hair. 

It’s a miracle when you both manage to finally pry themselves off of one another. As Namjoon hurries to tuck himself back into his jeans, you fidget with your bra and shirt, and then the hem of your skirt, tugging it as low as it can go. His cum is still warm and sticky between your legs, slowly beginning to run down your inner thighs. 

You catch him looking at some point and ask curiously, “What?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “Just wondering how you still manage to look so beautiful even after having my cum fucked in you.”

You roll your eyes as you reach out to ruffle his messy hair in an attempt to tame the damage you’ve caused. He smiles wide at the effort anyway. 

“Decent?” he asks.

“Good enough,” You say. “Now, let’s find the boys before anyone notices we were gone for too long.”

And this, he doesn’t disagree with.

Later, when you and Namjoon have regrouped with the rest of the boys back by the cars parked outside the asylum, everyone looks a little more on edge than when you left them. Except for maybe you and Namjoon. You wonder if the boys notice, judging by the way you and Namjoon keep giggling amongst yourselves.

“So,” Jungkook says, “did you guys find anything?”

“Nothing,” Jin admits. “Just freaked out Jimin a little bit more.”

The boy in question can be seen scowling to himself, arms folded over his chest. “All I gotta say is screw this place.”

Hoseok looks indifferent as he reviews a recording on the camera in his hands. When he speaks, his voice is a casual drawl. “Dunno. Thought we heard some suspiciously loud moaning from one part of that building that I’m almost positive Namjoon and Y/N were exploring.”

At this, Taehyung bursts out into wolfish laughter, only prompted further by your sudden horrified expression that you try to play off nonchalantly and fail miserably at doing. So they had heard you two after all? “Ha! They sure were exploring something.”

While the rest of the boys look either intrigued or rightfully confused, Namjoon shakes his head defiantly. “Nah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Resisting the urge to hide behind your hands, you bite your tongue and try to sift through your brain for something else to discuss. Over the childish giggling sounding from Taehyung and Hoseok, you ask, “Well, did you guys find anything? Thought we heard you exploring the third floor.”

“Third floor?” Hoseok echoes, dumbfounded. “We didn’t get that far.”

“But I could have sworn I heard you guys.”

Hoseok’s brows knit together. He exchanges a look with Taehyung, then returns his stare to you. “You probably heard Tae screaming like a lunatic because a spider was on him. We were only in there long enough to try the spirit box out again, but that was on the second floor. Then the spider thing happened. Then, we left.”

Now, this is alarming. You gap at the boys as your mind tries to piece together the puzzles of this dilemma. Had you heard the boys, or perhaps something else entirely? Or maybe it was just your imagination. Namjoon did say your mind plays tricks on you ━ but the sound of footsteps had been so vivid. 

Even Namjoon looks stupefied, gawking at Hoseok. “Wait, you’re not joking, are you?”

“No,” Taehyung shakes his head. “We were filming the whole time. We can show you. Are you guys joking?”

“No,” You promise. “We were━ Erm━ We got distracted. We weren’t really paying much attention but━”

You’re fortunate when Yoongi decides to speak up, interrupting your embarrassed stammering. “So then what did you guys hear…?

A beat of silence passes amongst your group of friends. One-by-one, you each turn to look up at the haunting asylum still standing behind you, the night blurring its shape into one incomprehensible monstrosity. Okay, so maybe the ghost stories about this place are true. A shiver runs down your spine. 

Then━

“So does that mean the ghost is a Peeping Tom or━?” Jungkook asks. You wonder if you should be concerned by his serious tone.

The boys howl with laughter at the thought, though you’re still admittedly a little shaken up by the idea of a ghost watching you and Namjoon bone. Maybe you asked for it, what with deciding to have a quickie in a haunted asylum. 

“I don’t know, but can we please get out of here?” You press thinly. “Jimin was right. Screw this place.”

If the boys are as deeply unsettled by yours and Namjoon’s sudden revelation, you don’t know. You all manage to pack up your belongings and clamber in the cars in record timing, speeding away from the asylum unscathed. And if you really did just witness a ghost encounter, then you suppose it isn’t all that bad. 

At the very least, Namjoon’s video does make it to the trending page.

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⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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[ohmyasmodeus]

𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘮 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 ❖

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳 ; 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘵

✧   Sure, Lucifer is looking forward to appreciating art and the history behind each piece, but he finds himself much more excited to spend more time alone with you. History can be preserved, but every moment spent with you is simply irreplaceable; he ends up surprisingly spending more time gazing at you than admiring the artwork.

✧   You make him feel young again. In between displays, he sneaks kisses, mischievously pulling you away from the crowds just to hold you in his arms for a stolen moment. Lucifer adores the way you fall into his arms with soft laughter, and it makes him cradle your face between his gloved hands while he whispers about the way everyone looks at you like you’re a work of art.

“But do you?” You ask softly.

“I always do, ______.” Silhouetted by the gallery lights, he pulls you into a tender kiss full of emotion; a moment that no doubt belongs among the displays of beauty and immortality that surround you.

✧   Lucifer is the kind of person to actually read the little plaques beside the pieces that go into detail about the artist and the intentions behind their art. It takes a while for him to take it all in, but you don’t mind— it’s very cute to see him have to bend down and squint to read them.

✧   Your day hardly ends there. Even as he takes you home, he very much enjoys discussing your opinions on the works included in the gallery and the artists behind them. It’s Lucifer’s way of getting closer, trying to decipher how your mind works, how you view art pieces that are open to multiple interpretations. It’s his favourite part. He loves you and your brilliant mind.

♡ 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 ; 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 / 𝘢𝘳𝘵

✧   Your demon is the definition of a kinaesthetic learner. Mammon fits right in with the kids that run around the place, tugging on your hand as he begs you to come play these games with him! He never wants to do anything without you and you end up being basically dragged around the museum. But it’s okay because he’s cute!

✧   While surrounded by so many people, it’s even easier for him to get flustered about affection. His cheeks flush red whenever he thinks too hard about holding your hand, whether it’s to bring you somewhere, or just to hold your hand for the sake of it. The back of his fingers brush against yours, making you smile.

“Hm? What do you want to show me?” you ask as you take his hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

Mammon fidgets with his free hand before shoving it into his jacket pocket, looking away with a brilliant blush. His voice is quiet as he mumbles, “N-nothing, I just… wanted to hold your hand. Or whatever.”

✧   He’s much smarter than people like to give him credit for at times, and surprises you with bits of information he picks up that you couldn’t understand. At the same time, it’s hard to stop him from gushing about how cool it was to see that chunk of sodium explode when dropped in water and how he wants to watch that over and over again.

✧   Mammon runs wild in the gift shop, especially at those little archaeology or mining kits that let you dig through hunks of sand that claim to contain a piece of gold. Of course, there are a million things the both of you want to buy for yourselves, but so little money to do so with. He settles for something small in the end, because he wants to be able to buy something small for his brothers too.

♡ 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 ; 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

✧   From the beginning, Leviathan is absolutely fascinated. The calming atmosphere of the museum and being completely surrounded by his element makes Levi relax, even if he’d normally panic and try to hide from the people that walk along the exhibitions with you. But even then, you make sure to hold his hand just to reassure him a little more.

✧   Just like he rants about pretty much anything he has an interest in, Levi rants about the equipment on display and compares weapons or ships from different eras to each other, as if he’s talking about mere video game stats. It’s actually kind of hot to see him act like the Grand Admiral of hell’s navy is supposed to.

✧   Treat him like a Grand Admiral, actually. His brain totally short circuits when you lean into him and put a hand on his chest and gasp about how knowledgeable and strong he is.

“Oh captain, my captain!” you sing as you pepper his face in kisses, making him squirm in your arms. His face is beet red as he attempts to cover it with his hands.

“People are- they’re going to see us!” Levi whines.

You laugh and kiss him properly, arms wrapped around him tight. “That’s the point, baby! I like it when people know I’m yours.”

✧   He actually gets a little sad when he sees the bones of massive whales or the various preserved remains of sea life on display. They all feel like a part of him. At times, he feels like sea animals understand him much better than people do, and he has to give your hand a squeeze as the two of you through the section. At least he brightens up when you tell him that most of these specimens die a natural death or were cared for during their life.

♡ 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯 ; 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺

✧   His choice of museum goes without explanation. Humans are frail creatures that are essentially doomed to make the same mistakes again and again, despite a new era or millennia, but Satan still finds their history remarkable. He’s fascinated with seeing the butterfly effect ripple through time, sparking wars and conflicts. It makes him wonder about the universe’s decisions— especially the ones that brought you to him.

✧   Satan has always been more fond of reading the ancient texts on display or translating archaic inscriptions on bronze age charms, but when he’s with you, he finds himself more drawn to the elegant gowns and elaborately crafted jewellery on display. You always find his emerald eyes lingering on you, imagining what you would look like in something so grand. Your beauty stuns him in every way, especially with the way you smile at him while framed by the display’s lights.

✧   “I thought you wanted to learn,” you mumble with a quiet laugh into the kiss that Satan pulls you into. The two of you are wrapped in each other’s arms in the back of a crowded amphitheatre, making an attempt to watch a historical film.

In the darkness, Satan’s blush goes unseen, but you feel it in the heat of his face as you kiss him back eagerly. “I’ve learned enough about humans, ______. I want to focus on my favourite one now.”

You close your eyes, and so does he. History couldn’t matter less, not when it feels like the two of you are the only beings to exist, the only people that matter.

✧   Despite wanting to learn, Satan finds himself getting dragged into shenanigans with you as you voice historical figures with the goofiest accents and clown around with some of the interactive props. He laughs along and snaps a million pictures of you to keep, and he supposes that humans aren’t the only ones that make recurring mistakes. After all, he lets you loosen him up and lets you force your way into his heart time and time again, but he still can’t force himself to complain about it.

♡ 𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴 ; 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘯

✧   Beauty in its different forms has always mesmerised Asmodeus. Museums have never been his thing, but with a fashion museum, you might just be able to change his mind. He goes between gushing about the textures and layering of different pieces to gushing about you and how amazing you look today!

✧   Asmo is always on top of the latest trends, but there’s something that always brings him back to the ostentatious allure of baroque and rococo dresses. He loves reading about the rise of these styles, but he would rather pull you along into a waltz as the quiet ambient music plays around you, the both of you giggling and referring to each other as ‘lord’ and ‘lady’.

✧   Or ‘your majesty’ and ‘my consort’...

✧   You, as always, expect him to pull you away somewhere quiet to make out and be general public nuisances, but Asmodeus surprises you this time. He’s far too busy taking pictures of you together and of just you alone, his amber gaze so soft as he contemplates your beauty. He ends up leaning in serenely as the two of you find yourselves alone together in a gallery.

“You’re gorgeous,” Asmo mumbles with a smile, delicately tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “There’s just something so magnetic about you, I can’t look away…”

“I don’t have to say it back because you know you’re handsome and your ego is big enough... but there’s nothing that can compare to how lovely your soul is.” You chuckle softly, resting a hand affectionately on the side of his face. Asmo rests his forehead against yours, wrapping his arms around the back of his neck with a delighted giggle, delighted in knowing that you see him beyond his superficialities and flaws.

✧   He buys you a set of jewellery from the gift shop, and not one of the cheap ones either. He splurges on one of the most expensive professionally made vintage sets because he really wants to daydream about you dancing with him in those rococo dresses, the most gorgeous royal couple in the world…

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘻𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘣 ; 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘵

✧   Delighted by the more colourful and almost bizarre applications of mixed-media art (think Yayoi Kusama), Beelzebub enjoys contemporary art the most. He’s easily fascinated with the elaborately abstract displays, and quietly wraps his arm around your waist as the two of you gawk at stunning larger-than-life works that probably get him a little hungry.

✧   He’s a respectful visitor and likes to stay silent so he doesn’t disturb the quiet atmosphere for everyone else appreciating the art. It ends up in him having to lean down and murmur softly in your ear when he has something to tell you, his warm arms pulling you into an embrace that you never want to leave.

✧   Workshops! Please bring Beel to the workshops because they’re his favourite part of museums. No matter how hungry he gets while putting in so much effort, he’ll sit still and work hard to make you something you can treasure.

“Do you like it?” he asks with a smile as he presents you with a little figurine version of one of the sculptures featured in the exhibition, hand painted by him. It’s easy to notice how the colours he picked out match your features. “It’s yours.”

“I love it, Beel! Oh, it’s wearing my coat and everything!” you gasp. The elated smile he gives you is absolutely priceless, and you can’t help but tiptoe to kiss him in thanks for his hard work.

Beel lets out a soft laugh and nuzzles his cheek into yours. “I really liked the art, but it felt like something was missing… Maybe the exhibition would’ve been a lot more beautiful if you were an art piece on display too.”

✧   Bringing him to a museum like that just might inspire him to create art by himself. After creating something for you, he feels hooked on it! You find him doodling a lot more on his homework and giving you the most endearing drawings of things you like, or his own hilarious renditions of what Lucifer looks like when he’s about to burst a blood vessel. Beel definitely has a hidden talent for caricatures.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳 ; 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺

✧   Humans? Belphegor has had enough of them for a lifetime and can’t be bothered with learning more about them, but natural history is something that captivates him. There’s a kind of innocent wonder in his eye as you lead him around the exhibitions, marvelling at the displayed remains of the massive creatures that came before, wondering how they evolved into the tiny little animals of today. (But it’s probably also morbid curiosity with the way he looks at preserved carcasses and skeletons.)

✧   But you’re an exception to him. He's tired of humans but never of you, even if he jokes about it at times. Even if he knows about most of the things on display, Belphie is still asking you to tell him about them because he just loves hearing your voice. Coupled with the soothing silence of the museum, it almost puts him to sleep.

✧   “Don’t fall asleep! You paid to watch this!” you whisper when Belphie rests his head on your shoulder. You want to pay attention to the dinosaurs beating the shit out of each other in the surprisingly well-rendered 3D documentary, but you can’t help but gaze at your boyfriend instead, and the way he looks in those dumb 3D glasses.

“I won’t,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. “You’re warm.”

“You’re a little leech, you know that?” Despite your snarky tone, you lift up the partition between the theatre’s seats to let Belphie snuggle into you. Just like a leech, he’s immediately all over you with his arms wrapped tight around your waist, chuckling as he buries his face in your neck.

✧   You wouldn’t expect it, but he’s also the kind to go wild in the gift shop, albeit in more subtle ways— like staring really hard at something or carrying something only to put it down for you to get the hint. He ends up getting the both of you a big plushy to cuddle and name on the way home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #swd lucifer #obey me lucifer #swd mammon #obey me mammon #swd leviathan #obey me leviathan #swd satan #obey me satan #swd asmodeus #obey me asmodeus #swd beelzebub #obey me beelzebub #swd belphegor #obey me belphegor #probably my last piece for a while; life has caught up and im burning out #mine #txt

[imnotwolverine]

Wolfie’s Fic Recs | Anguish and Angst

ANGUISH AND ANGST FICS - Ready for some tear jerkers? Not-so-sweet dreams are made of these fics, so get your tissues and comfort blanket ready. 

🖐 WARNING: NSFW + anxiety inducing content beneath the cut 🖐

Break-ups & Heartbreak

@emyearns probably knows exactly what my first breakup looked like, because.. *ugly cries*. Get your tissues ready for Ghost Of You. [Mike x reader]

August sees the one who got away in No More Tears by @littlefreya [August Walker x OFC] - And I love-love-love that this is written from August’s POV! ❤️

Wearing a man’s sweater gets a whole different meaning after reading this heartbreaking fic by @emyearns. Coffee and Ink [Walter x OFC] 

Ready for some songfic breakup sadness? #11 Captain Sy by @onlyhenrys [Syverson x reader]

--

Unrequited Love

Sy’s being a fool and he realises it too late. Soldier On by me. [Syverson x reader]

Henry’s a dick in this one. And you simply had Enough of always being there at the ready as his best friend. By @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x reader]

Would you walk out that door? This angsty prompt’s got you all kinds of frustrated. By @onlyhenrys

I wasn’t sure whether to place this here. But a child’s love is love too. Geralt secretly watches a family have a picnic and the kid is apparently not afraid of monsters. Highway to Hell by @wendimydarling [Geralt of Rivia] 

Let’s take a little bit of a breather with a mildly angsty, but mostly very fluffy fic of friends-taking-way-too-fucking-long-to-become-lovers. Stolen Kisses by @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x OFC]

This fic is probably the pinnacle of unrequited love; it’s got slow-burn, angst-turns-fluff-in-the-end and Henry being an utter fool in the love department. (Ps. I haven’t completely caught up with this fic, so NO SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS DAMNIT!)  Chances by @foodieforthoughts [Henry Cavill x OFC]

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Nightmares & PTSD

If you want angsty dreams followed by hot, craving smut; Stay and read this fic. By me [Henry Cavill x reader]

Waking up in a hospital bed with a strange man beside you. It’s a setup I wish was a full length fic, but alas..Short but mighty. Emotion challenge - Anxious by @onlyhenrys [Walter Marshall + reader]

Nightmares wake August, but you're there to guard him when the storms outside and in get too dark. Prompt with August by @onlyhenrys [August Walker x reader]

More nightmares are kept at bay in this gorgeous little fic by @littlefreya. Angel Can You Hold Me [August Walker x OFC]

More nightmare-having bulky dudes? Marshall’s life isn’t all roses and sunshine, even when he’s caught a pretty thing in his bed. Can’t You Stay A Little Longer by @onlyhenrys [Walter Marshall x reader]

The more cutting the hurt of your past, the harder it is to open up to new people. Henry has walked on eggshells, but now finally wants to know what’s up. And if words can’t form on lips, perhaps they can..on fingertips. Please Don’t Leave Me by @wendimydarling [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

It’s a Hard Knock Life

I can’t be the only LotR-nerd who got elf!Geralt vibes when watching the Witcher. So let me give you some impossible love, anguish and Middle Earth hardships in When In Dreams [elf!Geralt x human!OFC] 

You’re not sure whether Charles will return, so the last few hours with him are Sad indeed. By @onlyhenrys [Charles Brandon x reader]

We’re all having a hard knock life with the pandemic going on. So let Marshall give you some sweet care in Pandemic Anxieties by @promptandpros [Walter Marshall x reader]

Between the lines of smoking hot Superman sex, you’ll feel bad for him. Because as morning comes, life goes on. Alone. On the road. Where he hopes he’ll find yet another hot shower and a bed for the night. Convenience by @wendimydarling [Clark Kent x OFC]

Had a bad day? Henry will give you clear instructions on how to relax in: Your Voice by @peachyvulpixie [Henry Cavill x reader]

You play with the locket to your heart when Walter returns, gunpowder in the air. Despite your anniversary and all things good, you just know something’s up with him. Unnamed Marshall piece by @writernerd23 [Walter Marshall x reader]

Falling Again follows struggling AU!Henry dad as the bills keep piling and life just won’t feel the way it did when his wife was still around. By @deathonyourtongue​ [AU!Henry Cavill] 

--

Depression & Body Consciousness 

Depression is a bitch, but Henry isn’t. When Words Fail, he’s there. By @princess-of-riviaa [Henry Cavill x reader]

Failing to conceive is painful, terrible, heartbreaking. And unfortunately not even the big bear can’t make it better. Feeling Challenge: Sad by @meowpurrbooks [Henry Cavill x reader]

More conceiving sadness is there in Negative, by @oddduckthatgirl -- some Christmasses just truly suck. [Henry Cavill x reader]

The loss of your husband still crushes you and his best friend, Syverson, even a year after his passing. Get your tissues ready, because this is one big ol’ tearjerker; A Soldier’s Heart by @onlyhenrys [late husband x reader + Captain Syverson]

You feel like the new life within you is the last thing Napoleon wants in his life. A Mistake by @coloraturadiva [Napoleon Solo x reader]

Good love is accepting that change is part of life. And loving one-self is often the hardest, especially when those changes seem to pry you apart from Henry. Comfort by @promptandpros [Henry Cavill x reader]

An insecure woman meets a man in the club. But this man’s not like the others, not one bit. Unexpected by @nuggsmum​ [August Walker x OFC]

Sometimes even burrito blankets can’t give you comfort. Nor your favourite show, nor anything really. Depression truly is a bitch, especially when Henry’s away. Stuck In Your Head by @inlovewithhisblueeyes [Henry Cavill x reader]

Faye’s text messages in this fic still crack me up every time, though they sure make for a stark contrast to the burned latkes and big tear fest -- it’s a good thing Marshall is a big fluffy care bear. The Great Jewish Cook-off by @inlovewithhisblueeyes [Walter Marshall x reader]

--

Corruption & Death

Walking on woodland trails you find something naive to Corrupt. By @emyearns. [angel!Mike x reader]

August has died many deaths, but still he craves One More Time - just so he can be with her. By @thetaoofzoe [August Walker x OFC] 

Our great master of angst and death suffers, and makes the world suffer, once more. There Cannot Be Peace by @killjoy-assbutt-1112 [August Walker x reader]

Okay, so this one’s on AO3, but I’ve loved it ever since first reading it. Geralt hears of Jaskier’s death and realizes a thing or two as he tries to come to terms with it all. It’s Like I’ve Gone Off To The Coast by adhdbuck [Geralt + Jaskier] 

Napoleon finds himself in a hospital, not sure what to feel as he waits for doctors to give him news. The News. Any news. Grief by @promptandpros [Napoleon Solo x OFC]

The king of corruption is defiling an angel without wings in Black Tears, by @littlefreya [August Walker x OFC]

When death comes knocking, Geralt realises his annoying bard isn’t one he wants to lose. Did You Mean It by @thecomfortofoldstorries​ [Geralt x Jaskier]

Sometimes good things come to an end, but Henry just doesn’t want it. Not even when the doctors are losing hope. The Call: Irresistible You by @angrythingstarlight [Henry Cavill x OFC]

August Walker is the perfect kind of nightmare material. Especially in this terribly hot angsty smut piece by @hope-to-hell: Dream State [August Walker x reader]

This gorgeous impressionistic piece includes raspberry mousse, blood, scarred hands and August Walker. Into The Storm by @hope-to-hell [August Walker x OFC]

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Need a little lift-me-up after all these tear jerkers? Short Sweets is a fic rec list with a bunch of completely innocent and utterly lovely fics which will keep the bad dreams at bay ❤️

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If you have any good recommendations that fit in this list, please add in the comments or reblog! 

( Fan art by me 😊)

#Wolfie's Fic Recs #angst #henry cavill fanfiction #clark kent #Henry Cavill fandom #august walker #Walter Marshall #geralt of rivia #grief #anxiety #depression

[juneisafantasyaddict]

The difference between the amount of Darklina fan content (fics, art, social media engagement) vs the Malina content should be enough to tell LB that al her puritan preaching nonsense that’s totally devoid of nuance isn’t working.

The fact that there are so many fix its, so many post winter fete fics, so many “what if Alina had agency and chose to actually find out the truth instead of blindly believing Baghra’s lies,” and so many more scenarios, the fact that these exist should tell LB that maybe she didn’t tell the story she thought she did?

If most of your fandom is shipping your heroine with your supposed villain, maybe pause and see why instead of getting mad at your audience, saying ridiculous things on podcasts, and writing the fans into your book as a deranged cult?

The number of darklina fics on ao3 is like 4X more than the malina fics, and there’s a reason for it. I mean, one of the reasons is that antis would rather yell at darklinas than enjoy their meadow ship🤣🤣 but that’s not the only reason. I suspect the reason is that a lot of people just aren’t into this?

Also, it’s ridiculous for anyone to be surprised by the Darklina popularity. Like, if you’re shocked that people ship Alina with Aleksander, I just kinda assume that you’ve never been into YA or romance??? Like, when have we not shipped the kinda naive good girl with a dark side with the mysterious hot guy who helps her unlock her desires? Have you even read an airport romance novel? Literally no one wants to read about a bland af love interest. It doesn’t make for good books, and it sure as shit isn’t good on screen either. It’s boring.

It’s like people are forgetting that fantasy isn’t reality and you literally cannot punish people for thinking about stuff. This idea than liking a fantasy thing somehow reflects your morals is so fucking stupid, I want to laugh. Because really? I can’t fantasize about things I wouldn’t do in real life? I have to limit my imagination now to what is acceptable to random idiots on the internet who have no critical thinking skills or basic understanding of nuance??

This shit is how art has become increasingly meh. From literature, to film, to music, to paintings, anything. Everyone suddenly wants every piece of art of fit their super specific idea of what is “good” or “appropriate.” We used to only have to worry about religious organizations, conservatives, and oppressive governments trying to censor art, but now we have to worry about the “super woke” too, how very horse shoe of you guys btw.

Sigh, this wasn’t supposed to be a rant, and I really don’t want to dwell on it too much. But I’m going to say this, most antis I’ve come across are teenagers, which honestly is enough reason to just ignore them completely because lmao! I remember being a teenager, it was literally less than a decade ago. However, we’re increasingly giving teenagers way too much power to shape our society/culture and that’s fucking mental. People are literally scared to say things, write the stories they want to tell, make films they want, hell even make policies that make sense because they are afraid of being “called out” by 15 year olds on the internet. Wtf is this???? How are we not freaking out about this??

I’m not saying we shouldn’t listen to younger people, we should hear them. What we shouldn’t do is treat their fucking thoughts/whims as unchallengeable gospel. A lot of teenagers are intelligent thoughtful people, but they are still kids, and they fucking require guidance. I actually don’t care if this come off as condescending, I’m cool with that. What I’m not cool with is teenagers dictating what people can/can’t do/feel/think/fantasize about.

I’ve never seen a darklina fan pretend that Aleksander is a saint, we literally know he’s not and we like him anyway. Like, you literally are not owed an explanation because I like a fictional immortal shadow summoner and you don’t. No, I’m not explaining shit to you, if you’re pissed, don’t fucking read my posts then. Block me, don’t engage in darklina related conversations, literally go live your life away from me 🤣🤣🤣 But no, you antis would rather creep around our tags and preach as if that means anything. It doesn’t.

#fuck antis #I’m actually irritated #hate from antis is fuel for my darklina fire #darklina #the only gaslighting happening is the book trying to gaslight me to hate the darkling and love mal #mal is a toxic fuckboy and that’s canon

[sanstropfremir]

I’d love your thoughts on BTS and their current image and music if you have them and aren’t afraid of the mindless internet hoards.

Personally, I liked a lot of their older stuff, but haven’t liked anything since I think the Fake Love promotions 3+ years ago. They’d started losing their personality and soul before that album cycle, but it feels like the sanitization of their image and artistry really kicked into hyperdrive after that. Now most of what they do seems like a sterile money grab driven by the Hybe hive mind which is a shame.

ok alrighty (cracks knuckles) let's get into it.

now that i've fully given myself a headache watching the majority of the bts videography, here are three points i'm going to cover:

performative character and the lack thereof

interesting aesthetics and the lack thereof, and

the inevitable cracking of perfection

ready, set, let's begin.

1.

idol music is very clearly definited by spectacle based aesthetics. and it's had that structure for its entire existence. so i gotta hand it to hybe for this one, because they managed to revolutionize being utterly fucking average. the triumph of bts is that they're just some guys and they look like just some guys. hybe found a niche in the system and then gamed that system to the tune of one of the largest musical acts in the world. they're not marketing bts as a romantic parasocial relationship, they're marketing them as your friends. and that is just as insidious to lonely kids as a run of the mill romantic fantasy. but that's not what i'm here to talk about today.

there's a pattern i find very interesting with bts mvs and that is that i don't remember anything about them. specifically, i don't remember the stuff that's happening IN the video; not the styling, not the setpieces, if i didn't know the members i doubt i would remember them either. what i DO remember, is how expensive the production is, and specific shots. i couldn't tell you what a single member was wearing, but i sure as hell remember that first upward angle shot of jungkook and the rusted park ride in spring day. or every single time they do that birdseye shot of jin in like every video. honestly as far as i'm aware jin has only ever worn a loose fitting beige longsleeve shirt.

it took bts a long time to establish any kind of consistent visual character. and the character they did establish.... i don't know if you can call a family-friendly-style clean aesthetic 'character'. they debuted as a hip hop group to little (comparative) success, and then made a switch to doing an early version of where they're currently at right now. if you've seen any of the mvs, you know that this is a pretty significant visual change. i don't think it is inherently a bad change, since the visual branding for hiphop based groups always tips over into iffy terrritory, but it is dramatic enough and early enough that it doesn't strike me as a natural evolution. concept switch ups are common, but they usually work because the members have established a bit of character for themselves, used their performance abilities and presence to fit into a niche in the group. the idol mould is perfect for showcasing the performers; that's its function. the groups that are the most fun to watch are the ones with stage presence, the ones who know how to perform, who can act all the parts they need to play. and bts? 4/7 actual performers on a good day. in my personal opinion it's 2/7.

i'm gonna expand on what i said about jimin here (this is technically the first part of this series), because it does apply to the rest of the group on the whole:

and i think here is where we see the main crux of the difference between taemin and jimin as performers: taemin has both an artistic and an idol persona. we know and understand him to do solo work that has a separate artistic meaning to just him being an idol. even though this performance was pre-move, i would still say this applies, because he's hot off press your number, where he's acting in a story based mv. jimin on the other hand just has his idol persona. he's not known for creating the same kind of storytelling that taemin is.

bts has been very insistent on the image of the group as a single unit. despite having the size of fanbase and the revenue that would make any official solo debut a massive success, none of them have done any substantial solo work. this isn't artistically a problem, and i think it's very admirable of them to be so dedicated to the image and the legacy of the group, when that can be an uncommon trait in the industry. i do however, think it starts to become an issue when we want to discuss what the artistic visions and images of groups are. shinee taemin and solo taemin have two distinct artistic representations, and taemin himself will attest to that. it's the same with all the shinee members that have solo careers, and the same with other groups. jackson, bambam, yugyeom, and jaebeom's solo work is all very different from got7. yixing's solo work is very different from exo's. even the subunits within exo all have their own character (cbx and sc). kpop groups all ostensibly are trained under the same system, so why the disparity with bts? mostly, it's their brand of "authenticity." it's impossible to perform authentically, by the nature of performance as a medium it is unnatural, and tragically, not everyone is naturally interesting, or suited to performing: that's why the performing arts even exist in the first place. it required painstaking training to be good at performing; it is a complex set of skills and those skills are not learnt by "being authentic." being an idol is not just the singing, dancing, rapping; that's only half the work. you need to be able to act to be a compelling performer. pulling your true self and emotions out on stage every night is a fast track to burnout and psychological issues, there's plenty of evidence. the only member of bts of whom i can say for some certainty has a persona and a stage presence is jhope/hoseok, a) because he's kept up a very specific brand in the solo work that he has done, and b) he has actual dance training, not just kpop dance training. the rest of them may have the kpop dance and the kpop vocal training, but what they do not have is the ability to market themselves as compelling performers on stage. taehyung is the only other member i would hesitantly give a semblance of persona and ability to, but i think he stumbled onto that mostly by accident. and if all the pieces don't each have a distinctive colour, how can the whole machine be visually interesting?

2.

bts may never have been able to establish an aesthetic brand, but what they did establish is an intellectual one. if you talk to a fan, the schtick they give is that "it's about the lyrics." as noble as having an intellectual or cerebral message is, what does that look like? how do you portray intellectual on stage, on film? what about intellectual is interesting to watch? cerebral, by it's literal nature as a descriptor, is very difficult to communicate in visual language because it is internal. to successfully communicate cerebrality and intellect in a short form medium like music videos requires a deft hand with metaphor that can elude even an experienced designer. and honestly? i don't know whether to applaud hybe's visual team for being the most successful subtle contemporary designers i've every seen, or to decry them as worst kpop designers i've ever seen. maybe both. regardless, i don't think they're able to cross the gap.

there are exactly four mvs where i actually remember the content of the mv and not the frame it sits in, and those are dna, idol, the singularity comeback trailer with taehyung, and war of hormone. and of an eight year career......that's not very many. these four mvs have at least an inkling of interesting spectacle and character, but even then, it's still a stretch. there is absolutely nothing to write home about in the styling for dna, other than it's well colour matched. I don't even know if I should include singularity because it involves none of the other members. idol is probably their most interesting mv because it actually has alternative styling and varies (at least a little bit) from the standard hybe boom crane shot-that-shows-off-how-we-can-afford-big-studio-spaces-and-locations. the company and the group would be loathe to admit it, but war of hormone is a well designed and interesting mv for the time it was made, with a well crafted gimmick and some actual showing of character from the members. it was the start of a potential that they squashed quite quickly because it wasn't picking up in the hiphop-group-saturated market of 2014. but the rest of their mvs? remarkably uninspired styling. like it's truly impressive how boring the styling is. and like i've said, that is the triumph in their aesthetics: they all look like normal dudes (if you had professional skin + makeup techs looking after them for the last 8 years).

all of this is a carefully crafted image that's tailored to hooking an audience, especially an international one. the mvs are boring in the relative scale of kpop, but they're just different enough from a western pop mv to catch attention. and once you do sink a hook, there's a direct clickfunnel of content that bills itself on these men being "authentic" and "self-producing," which is a huge draw to international fans, because people are racist and believe that the kpop industry is a factory that produces idols like clones, where none of them know how to do anything other than sing and dance and all the music is just handed to them by companies. and they have SO much content that there's no way a new fan can get to it all in a timely manner, so they'll never have to engage with any other kpop artists' work if they don't actively seek it out. but that's another essay for another time.

3.

that brings us to current day, in which at least the last five bts releases have been in the same aesthetic vein of positive, sanitized, and pristine. i said it in one of my txt responses and i will say it again here: money scrubs the humanity from the aesthetic of living. minimalism is for rich white people. hybe and bts may have pivoted their style and brand directly into the lane of mass appeal, but when you pair that with the amount of money funding them, there's a cognitive dissonance between the message and the aesthetics in which it's portrayed. some people do like the clean cut looks, and i won't say that they don't work, but as you've likely gleaned from this response, it isn't my style and if you've been around and reading my writing for longer you'll know that my tastes runs much closer to the messy and the weird, so very little about any of bts' visuals have appeal to me. i do find the contradiction of applying the appeal of radical relatability with the aesthetics of expansive (and expensive) minimalism interesting; it's an extremely fine line that hybe is walking and eventually they are going to tip over, the porcelain mask will not hold forever. maintaining the all ages aesthetic is going to be difficult now that all of them are grown ass men. with other groups of this member age and generation there's very obviously been a shift to a more adult tone, and not necessarily explicitly. got7, mx, nu'est, btob, shinee, 2pm, and groups that have older members like a.c.e and sf9 have all made slow shifts in tone that are undeniably aimed at a maturing audience: they know their core fanbases are aging with them and they (the fans) are not as interested in the 'boy' in boy group. and most of them have telltale visual styles, enough so that i can distinguish a specific group's mv. the last year and change of mx mvs have a very distinctive character; got7 too, since easily as far back as if you do. i can always tell an a.c.e mv by its impeccable fashion and formic styling, and although shinee has always had a more experimental aesthetic edge, their sound and voices are unmistakable.

honestly, i can't predict what bts is going to do in the future, but i personally don't believe they can keep up their clean aesthetic indefinitely without some fallout. part of the fun of following bands is watching them grow musically, and the last couple of years of bts haven't felt like growth. there are fans that have already started realizing it, and there's likely to be more soon.

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the third part is here, which is a short followup about some of bts' industry influence.

#this is long one dear readers #a very long one #strap in #i've sat on this for probably a week now in the hopes my brain can make some interesting connections but honestly? #not a lot about bts is interesting in comparision to the rest of the kpop industry #personally i am of the opinion that lyrics do not matter in idol music and i am not interested in them in the slightest #and bts videos ARE extremely bland visually #unless you like looking at expensive production. whatever floats your boat i guess #they make a lot of sense as an entry kpop group but once you get actually into the industry there is SO much happening #which i talk about in the third part a little bit #this is way too long i am so sorry anon and everyone else who has been asking about this topic #im not entirely sure it's coherent at this point but whatever. its out there now #i wanted this to be under 1k and that emphatically did not happen #it is double that. why am i like this #875 #kpop questions #kpop analysis #group analysis #text #answers

[sage-nebula]

Neku & Hanekoma surrogate father-son headcanons

— Neku is an only child, born to parents who, honestly, should have never been parents. It wasn’t that his birth was an accident, exactly . . . but more that his parents had him because they figured that having a child was the Next Step they were Supposed To Take. You know, go to school, get a good job, get married, have kids. Fortunately for any future potential siblings, Neku’s parents realized early on that this whole parenting thing really wasn’t for them and that they, in fact, hated being parents, and as such they never had any other children after Neku was born. Unfortunately for Neku, they did still have him and, due to stigma surrounding adoption (both in terms of adopting kids and giving your own kids up) in Japan, they kept him instead of adopting him out to parents who would actually love him.

— As a result, Neku’s relationship with his parents is . . . not great, to say the least. His parents never failed to provide the basic needs he needed to survive—things like food, shelter, clothes, etc. But they also weren’t keen on giving him anything beyond that, feeling that it was at best a hassle to do so and at worst an aggravation. So although Neku never went hungry, was never homeless, and was never without clothes that fit, he was also left to feed himself with the food that was in the house, and rely on himself for all of his emotional needs. In a way, he brought himself up. This contributes to how much of an absolute mess he is at the start of The World Ends With You, in that it wasn’t just the death of his friend that sent him into that complete lockdown of not letting anyone else in, but also that he’d taken care of his own business for so long growing up that he figured this really was the best way to go about it, that he hadn’t needed anyone else for a long time and wouldn’t need them, either, if trying to rely on them only brought him pain. He was forced into self-sufficiency due to parental neglect and, as a result, that trauma shaped how he developed and grew as a person.

— On top of his parents not really wanting to be parents and do the things that parents do, the fact that Neku’s interests and attitude were radically different from their own / became “difficult” following the death of his friend meant that Neku and his parents were often at odds. Neku’s parents didn’t understand things like Neku’s style or interests, and didn’t appreciate (to say the least) his sarcastic tongue and snarky attitude. Neku, in turn, didn’t appreciate them belittling and demeaning his interests, talking down on his idol (they aren’t fans of graffiti and think that CAT is a vandal who should be arrested), and only paying attention to him when they had something critical to say. Needless to say, as Neku entered his teen years the tension between them became thick enough that a knife would have a hard time cutting through it and fighting became the norm. This was exacerbated by the fact that although his parents were glad when Neku wasn’t home, they also felt they had to punish him when he broke curfew, resulting in even more hostility and anger on both sides of the conflict.

— Prior to the first game, whenever Neku left home after a fight with his parents (or stayed out later than he was supposed to), he would often go to the mural in Udagawa in order to have some time alone to cool off. After the first game (but before his three year imprisonment in Shinjuku), he found himself going to Wildkat instead. This wasn’t intentional, at least not at first; his feet often just carried him there before he realized what was happening, and the first few times he ended up there at obscenely late hours (such as around midnight), he felt embarrassed and bad about it and apologized to Hanekoma for waking him up. But Hanekoma never minded; he let Neku in to have a cup of coffee or hot chocolate or whatever else, and to talk about whatever was eating him up inside. Not that Neku liked talking about it, but . . . whatever little he was willing to divulge, he always felt safe divulging to Hanekoma.

— For his part, Hanekoma generally wasn’t one to involve himself in domestic spats. What happened between parents and their children was their business, not his. But Neku was a special case. Neku was someone who had just recently been through three weeks of Hell. Neku was someone who had, though he probably didn’t realize just how much, contributed to saving Shibuya. And Neku was a kid who, Hanekoma would admit to himself, he could see a little of himself in. Not totally—there were a lot of differences beween them, too—but something in the tenor of Neku’s Soul was similar to Hanekoma’s own. There was a lot of potential there; Neku had a lot of potential to be someone even greater than he already was, and Hanekoma would hate to see that squandered by a miserable home life. So if Neku needed some solace in Wildkat in the middle of the night after yet another fight with his parents, Hanekoma was willing to give it to him. And if Neku needed someplace to crash, well, Hanekoma had a perfectly good couch upstairs. It was no big deal, really. Wildkat’s door was always open to him, no questions asked.

— So for the couple months Neku had between the long Game and Coco murdering him again (and Joshua locking him in Shinjuku for three years instead of, you know, just reviving him and putting him back in the RG where Shiba and the others couldn’t get their hands on him), this became something of a routine for them. It didn’t happen every night, but at least a few nights a week Neku found himself at Wildkat long after hours, oftentimes crashing on Hanekoma’s couch when he was too tired or it was too late for him to go home. His parents, of course, hated this; Neku wouldn’t tell them where he was (they hated CAT, and would undoubtedly call the police on him for his “street vandalism” if they knew who he was, and there was no way Neku was about to sell him out), but they hated that he was staying out all night and let him have it whenever they saw him the next day. Of course, this often led to Neku bolting that night, too . . . so it was a bad cycle that kept repeating. Hanekoma did think, sometimes, that maybe he should encourage some reconciliation here, and he did try a little; he tried playing a light devil’s adovcate whenever Neku opened up about his problems, suggesting that maybe his parents weren’t trying to upset him, but that maybe they were just doing what parents did. But Neku never wanted to hear it, and Hanekoma wasn’t going to push. The last thing he needed to do, he felt, was push Neku away from one of the few places he felt safe.

— Over time, Neku felt more and more comfortable sharing what was going on with Hanekoma—in fragments, of course, bits and pieces, but bits and pieces that became bigger and a bit more detailed as time went on. And they talked about other things, too. Tin Pin Slammer, how things were going in the café, new music that had just come out and indie artists that were just about to make their presence known on the big stage, and just about anything else under the sun. Hanekoma never belittled or disparaged Neku’s interests, and in fact often had insight and knowledge into things that Neku hadn’t known before. Neku’s late night visits to Wildkat were a respite from a tumultuous home life, but also Neku greatly enjoyed getting to talk to and spend time with his idol (who was becoming less of an idol, and more of a person to him, someone reliable and safe whom he could go to if he ever needed anything, someone who could actually look out for him for the first time in his life, like his parents never did). And on Hanekoma’s end, well, he genuinely liked spending this time with Neku and would be lying if he said he didn’t. Sure, when they first met, Neku was more prickly than an over-thorned cactus and it was abundantly clear why Joshua had chosen Neku to be his proxy, i.e. the representation of the worst of Shibuya. But Neku had grown so much, and was still growing, and well, Hanekoma liked that he got to watch that growth happen right in front of his eyes. Neku was a good kid. Hanekoma liked having him around.

— The week before Neku was murdered, Hanekoma offered him a part-time job at Wildkat, so he could start saving money so he could move out of his parents’ place after he graduated high school. (Of course, Hanekoma was willing to just give him the couch upstairs, but Neku was too proud to just take that without doing anything in return.) It would have to be kept on the down low, of course, because high school students weren’t supposed to have part-time jobs unless they had a waiver signed that let them do so based on economic need, but it wasn’t as if Wildkat was exactly on most people’s radar anyway. Neku would start training the following week, and hopefully be full-fledged, post-training employee by the end of the month. Or at least he would have been, had he lived that long.

— Three days before he was murdered, on a night when Neku once again found himself in Wildkat after hours, Hanekoma took Neku with him to tag a previously undisturbed portion of the Udagawa mural. Neku was, of course, nervous as hell; this was not only his first time tagging a wall, but he was tagging a wall with CAT. He had no idea what he was doing, he was bound to screw it up, and what would CAT think of him then? How could he ever look Hanekoma in the eye after that? Having to decide whether he could shoot Joshua to save his own life had felt like less pressure than this.

— But Hanekoma activated some of the hidden sigils in his previously marked graffiti to release calming vibes to help Neku relax, and after he started them off, Neku was able to add his own flair to the new patch of mural Hanekoma was creating. Though they added quite a bit of art to the wall, the last piece they added was an artistic rendition of Neku’s own headphones, with angel wings spread out behind them. With Neku’s Imagination subconsciously put into the paint, the tag would inspire those who saw it to use their individual talents to seek out and expand their horizons. Of course, Neku wasn’t aware of this; he couldn’t read the Imagination imprinted in art the way Hanekoma could, and wasn’t even aware that he was adding it. But he had, and although Hanekoma was proud enough of Neku for taking that step and putting his artwork out into the world, he was even prouder that Neku’s art would inspire those to chase the same journey he had, and ultimately take similar steps into making the world a bigger, brighter, more passionate and dynamic place than it was before.

— Unfortunately, Neku was killed a mere three days later.

— This history, the time they spent together between the long Game and his second death, is the reason why Neku told Coco that there was “no one he trusted more” when she questioned why he was going to see Hanekoma about what was going on. Neku didn’t trust Hanekoma only because of the help he provided during the long Game, but also because of all Hanekoma had done for him since then. The late night talks, the place to crash, the promise of an upcoming part-time gig, the advice, the wall tagging. Hanekoma was there for Neku in a way that Neku’s parents never were, and though Neku would rather die than verbalize this to Hanekoma (because he would die, of embarrassment, if he did), it still meant the world to him. Hanekoma provided him solace and sanctuary when he needed it most. He wasn’t just a “sort of guardian” for Players playing the Game, but was also a guardian for Neku in the RG. There was no one Neku trusted more. If anyone could (and would) help him, it was Hanekoma.

— Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Coco from shooting Neku point-blank right in front of the mural they tagged together. 

— Naturally, Hanekoma didn’t want to take this lying down, but also his ability to help Neku was rather limited. As Producer, he had many powers, but returning Players to the RG was not one of them. So he did what he could do; after Shinjuku’s Inversion, he went to discuss the matter with the Composer. He asked, point blank, what Neku’s fate would be, now that he had been killed by Coco and cast back into the UG again. And Joshua, after a moment of thought, shrugged and looked away. “He served his purpose . . . but I don’t need him anymore.”

— To say that wasn’t the answer Hanekoma wanted to hear was an understatement. Of course, he knew that Joshua wasn’t being entirely truthful; not only was it rare for Joshua to be direct with his thoughts and feelings (especially if those thoughts and feelings suggested that he cared about someone else on some level), but Hanekoma was savvy enough to be able to tell when someone wasn’t being entirely truthful with him. Call it an extra facet of his extrasensory perception. He knew that Joshua was not going to leave Neku at the mercy of those who would seek to erase him from Shibuya altogether. However, he also knew that what Joshua was saying was that he had no intentions of returning Neku to the RG either. And in Hanekoma’s opinion, that . . . wasn’t exactly great, to say the least. Neku had been through a lot already, and he had so much more life to live, so much more potential to realize. And while time spent in the remains of Shinjuku would allow his extransensory perception to grow exponentially (thereby giving him the firepower needed to fight back against those who would seek to erase him), it would also cut him off from all the connections he had made, and being locked in isolation like that would not only shoulder him with even more psychological and emotional trauma, but would also significantly hamper his emotional growth and development. It wasn’t good for him, and it wasn’t right. He deserved to live his life. And so while Joshua wouldn’t do something about it, at least not yet . . . Hanekoma decided that he had to try. He couldn’t return Neku to the RG, but he could at least get him out of Shinjuku. He could do that much.

— . . . or at least, he could have, had the Higher Plane not detected him attempting to interfere with the remnants of Shinjuku. Not only was this out of bounds, but this discovery led to the discovery of everything else he had done during the long Game, and he was summoned back to the Atrium of Judgment to stand trial (and then sentenced to imprisonment in the Chamber of the Fallen for his crimes). He was allowed a psychic link to Shibuya so that he could still perform his duties as Producer, writing reports on everything that unfolded in the city, but he wasn’t able to interfere. He couldn’t help Neku escape Shinjuku, or offer him any aid—even just a listening ear—once he got back to Shibuya. All he could do was watch.

— Well . . . mostly.

— After his return to the RG after his three year imprisonment in Shinjuku and the Game in Shibuya that followed, Neku . . . he could have gone back to stay with his folks. He could have. He knew that there had been a funeral for him, that his folks had moved on from his death, but none of that had taken place anymore due to Joshua’s merging of the timelines (or whatever it was that he had done). But Neku . . . didn’t want to go back to his parents’ house. His plan had been to save up money in his final years of high school so that he could get a place of his own (or at least pay rent to Hanekoma by working at Wildkat), but that plan was ruined due to the timeline Joshua had selected not coming with a stockpile of savings for him to use to get his own place. Even so, returning back to his folks wasn’t something he felt comfortable with. They didn’t remember his death, or recognize his absence; they were as distant and cool toward him as ever. But between his own goals being shattered at his feet and everything he had been through, the idea of living with two people who tolerated him at best and whom he actively fought with at worst just . . . didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t want to do it. As churlish as it sounded, he just didn’t want to.

— So his first night back, he walked the familiar streets back to Wildkat, which was just as closed as it had been during the Game. This was not surprising to Neku. He had told Beat that he doubted they’d run into Hanekoma on CAT Street not because he knew what happened to Hanekoma (he didn’t), but because he figured that if Hanekoma was around to help, he would have helped Neku escape Shinjuku way sooner than he had. Hanekoma would have never abandoned or left him hanging without good reason. He just wasn’t that kind of person. But although Wildkat was closed, and there was no hope of a familiar face and a comforting cup of coffee waiting for him if he knocked on the door . . . well . . .

— Neku’s powers had, as Joshua had banked on, grown expontentially in Shinjuku, enough so that he could now use them to some degree in the RG. With enough focus, he was able to use his telekinesis to unlock Wildkat’s door and let himself inside, closing and locking it behind him. It was empty, and a bit dusty; but when he climbed the stairs and unlocked the door leading into the apartment, he found everything pretty much as he remembered it, right down to some of his old textbooks still sitting on the kitchen table.

— He didn’t cry, but his throat choked up.

— That night, Neku crashed on the couch in the living room just as he always did. But the next morning he awoke to find himself in Hanekoma’s old bed, a note and two sets of keys on the nightstand beside him.

‘Phones, Take care of the place while I’m gone. — H. Sanae’

— Neku didn’t know why Hanekoma left him a note instead of waking him up to talk in person. He didn’t know whether he felt more confused or upset about that fact, either. But he did know that he trusted Hanekoma, more than anyone. And if Hanekoma was going to give him the keys to Wildkat and ask him to look after the place while he was gone . . . wherever he was, then Neku would do it. No questions asked. 

— It had, after all, already felt like home to him for a while now.

#the world ends with you #neo the world ends with you #twewy #ntwewy #neo twewy #sakuraba neku #hanekoma sanae #neko to koneko #fic fix #kind of #you will pry Hanekoma being Neku's surrogate dad out of my cold dead hands #just a very very brief overview of my view of these two and their relationship #which is so precious to me i cry #for the record: Hanekoma IS still in angel jail #BUT Joshua visited after the events of Neo & Hanekoma gave him the note and the keys to take to Neku #and Joshua moved Neku from the couch to the bed #and left the note and keys etc etc #''Considering you didn't lift a finger to help Shibuya this is the least you can do'' Hanekoma said #''Excuse you I gave Neku moral support'' Joshua said #''After locking him in literal Hell for 3 years so he'd be strong enough to fight this battle for you'' #''Details details'' #anyway #but no really I don't see any other reason why Joshua wouldn't just return Neku to the RG like #he could have easily locked COCO in Shinjuku and returned Neku to the RG #and Neku a.) couldn't have spilled his secret to any Reapers then #and b.) wouldn't have been in danger #but Neku got SO MUCH MORE powerful during his three years in Shinjuku #even MORESO than he already was (which is saying smth) #and I feel like Joshua knew there was a high probability of that happening #which is why he chose to lock Neku in Shinjuku instead of just reviving him. that's the ulterior motive Neku was talking about