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onlyswan · 6 months

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summary: in which you drive jungkook mad but you make his heart beat.

idol!jungkook x f!reader, est. relationship / fluff, suggestive, a pinch of angst / word count: 5k

content/warnings: tried sumn different so this is mainly from jungkook’s pov :D !! drummer!oc ur so cool & i’m stealing u from ur bf 🏃— mention of a 10 yr age gap between jk & a guy who likes oc (he’s hella pissed off) ; mentions of (car) s^x ; allusion to a bl^wj^b ; jk just got home from tour & oc is tipsy, needy, & dramatic as hell T_T ; oc /briefly/ touches jk while he’s driving & he /nearly/ loses his shit & crashes the car (he doesn’t) (i’m kidding) + to the anon who wanted to jk’s cheek scar to get a kissy here u go 🥺

> in which masterlist!

note: oc is so shot glass of tears coded especially in this… i’m glad i’m posting this after golden came out just so i could say it 🥰 this takes place after this drabble sooo the end of oct 2018 <3 if u’ve read the prev drabble too, this was when jk said those exact words in the past 🥺 wrote this in the middle of hell week so i was half out of my mind :'] as always feedback & reblogs rrr always appreciated !! 🥺

—

jungkook loves the sound of rain— the gentle knocks on every surface of the earth has always been a lullaby even during daylight.

tonight is a different story, however. it is defeaning, terrifying even. he can barely see what is infront of him, spare the occasional headlights blazing across the slippery roads. his umbrella is being stolen away by the harsh gusts of wind and the mud stains on his sneakers are well-hidden by the plain black.

and yes, he is tired; and yes, this is hard, but that is the end of it.

you’re exactly where you told him you’d wait, far behind the edge of the roof where the rainwater falls from and splashes on the ground. you stand out in his blue oversized shirt, one that he purposely left behind in your closet so he could have something else to wear when he sleeps over.

you’re too busy typing on your phone to see him crossing the parking lot; he feels his very own vibrate in the pocket of his sweatpants. however, his giddy smile fades when a man exits through the entrance door and approaches you with a red umbrella. his strides become slightly hurried then, as he watches you politely decline it with that heart-fluttering smile of yours everybody adores.

“oh no, really, i’m fine. you might need it later! my boyfriend is already coming to pick me up anyway.”

jungkook acts cool. he tucks his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants, tries to make himself appear bigger because he realizes that he would be inches shorter than the man if not for the platforms of his shoes.

“____, baby!”

upon hearing your name coming from the lips of your lover, your face lights up even brighter.

“jungkook!”

you greet him with an embrace, jumping into his arms before he can properly set down his umbrella on the ground.

“yah, yah-yah! be careful!” he chuckles as he wraps his arms around your waist to catch you, peering down to check how high your boots are for you to be running and jumping around freely.

“hey, i’m going back inside- there’s more customers coming in. make it home safe, alright?”

the stranger tries to catch your attention, and jungkook’s protectiveness swiftly kicks in when he lays a hand on you and slides it down to your lower back. your boyfriend turns you away from the unprompted touch by pulling your body closer to his side, and he is unable to control how his eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

he wasn’t planning on giving much thought to the presence of a man around you. he knows better than that. but he has never heard about this one, which raises the question of who the fuck is he to freely touch you like that?

“oh- alright! thank you, jun!”

“you better take care of ____, man. it’s dangerous around here during this time.”

he receives a rather heavy and condescending pat on the shoulder, and so, with his annoyance bubbling worse, he wears a passive aggressive smile on his face.

“yeah, of course i am,”

jun’s nostrils flare as he witnesses you sneakily slide your hands underneath jungkook’s hoodie in search of warmth.

“i’m here now, so there’s no need to worry about my girlfriend anymore.”

he nods, then forces himself to smile. “that’s good, then.”

“yeah, thanks. we’re leaving.”

“oh, okay. have a nice night!”

“you too,”

he turns on his heel and returns inside the busy establishment— but not before jungkook made sure that he saw the bruises on his knuckles that he got from his boxing sessions.

his jaw clenches as he glares at the door.

is he being petty? sure, to hell with that. he doesn’t care. he’s always been one to trust his gut, and he has a bad feeling.

he is met by a love-drunk smile when his undivided attention is at last given to you, in the form of fond eyes and affectionate strokes of your hair.

“who was that?”

“eh, new bartender,” you shrug with disinterest. “hm, i think he’s 31…? he’s nice but he keeps talking about wrestling.”

he raises an eyebrow at the mention of his age, while your lips form a sad pout.

what the hell? he thought he would be 25 at most.

“the tv has been in the same channel for the past two weeks because of him. it’s all i’ve been seeing! i don’t like it-” you whine in distress, quite frankly, a little traumatized.

an endeared smile is coaxed out of him at your adorableness, how your speech is a little slurred and how you’re looking at him like you’re begging him to do something about it.

“makes me nervous,”

his dominant hand closes into a fist.

if he only he had known. should’ve fucking punched the guy, give him a taste of what he seems to be a huge fan of.

“let’s watch something calming when we get home, how about that?”

you nod your head, eyes that twinkle with eagerness fluttering shut when he leans in for a much awaited kiss. how sweet, he feels a little more alive than before. he can smell it, even taste it— the peach margarita you started sipping on before the band’s first set. concocted by jun, he presumes. he pulls away with a small smile, licking his lips for the traces of you that clung to him.

out of the blue, you burst into a fit of giggles, weak knees buckling as your weight crashes on him.

“i missed you!”

“babe, are you seriously drunk?” he chuckles, holding you with a secure grip around your torso.

“maaaybe tipsy…? i was pretending not to be.” you stand on your tip-toes to nuzzle your face against his neck, mumbling sheepishly. “only trust you.”

—

“i should’ve accepted the umbrella.” you grunt childishly, body going limp on jungkook’s back, except for the arm holding up the umbrella that shields the both of you from the pouring rain.

“yah!” he scolds you, clearly not pleased with the words that just came from your mouth. “what does that mean?”

“i’m embarrassed! they’re probably feeling bad for you.”

the last sentence comes out as a whisper, pertaining to the side glances you’ve been attracting from strangers as you make your way to your boyfriend’s car.

unfortunately, he had to park somewhere far because the restobar’s parking lot was already full.

you jokingly complained about staining your white boots with dirt and mud, but you instantly regretted it when he bent down, signalling you to ride on his back without an ounce of hesitation.

“our shoulders always get wet when we share an umbrella,” he said. “if i carry you, wouldn’t it be better?”

“embarrassing? some would even say romantic!”

something peculiar happens then— when your lips ghost over his left cheek, planting an affectionate kiss there that lasts for seconds. you pull away with a smacking sound, giggly and bubbly, might be his favorite version of you.

“i love you,” you hum, grasping the umbrella upright before it could tip over.

he doesn’t know if you did it on purpose or not, kissing him precisely where his scar is, but his heart jumps in his chest when he feels it begin to throb.

as if the wound from his childhood has come alive. as if, once again, he is bleeding as he glares at his older brother, and he still wants to play games on the computer oblivious to the fact that it would leave a permanent scar, a brand new landmark on his body.

you mistake his silence for something else.

you frown, warm breath tickling his neck as you quietly ask. “are you still mad at me?”

he sighs, vision landing on the ground as his walking pace slows down. “no? i was wrong. i shouldn’t have questioned your decision in the first place… why would i be mad?”

you started playing the drums for your friend’s band two months ago, just as soon as he left for tour. you volunteered after witnessing how distraught they were when their drummer vanished without a trace. he learned that it used to be a hobby of yours from childhood until early teenage years, playing the drums, but it was robbed from you when your father took his instruments with him when he abandoned your home for another.

he was pleasantly surprised when he learned about it, recounted all the times your hands and fingers were drumming on any sort of surface and his head naturally bopped to the beat, but then again, you never brought it up.

isn’t ____ so cool? he would proudly say when he flaunts you to his friends, even the protocol team, who have never seen him so happy.

three times a week, from nine in the evening until midnight, your phone was propped up on an empty table infront of the stage, and him, on the other side of the globe, excitedly watched you from backstage while he was getting ready for their own show. some other times, he was in his hotel room, or the private jet. his patience has been tested by crappy wifi, nosy and noisy people, and his earphones that stopped working while you looked insanely attractive grooving to ‘why’d you only call me when you’re high?’ as you effortlessly played the drums. he showered you with compliments as you did for him. you’re working hard so he must do the same.

he arrived home from tour the other day, spent the rest of its hours sleeping. yesterday, he waited for you at school and then at work like a lost puppy, slept on your bed (if he’s being honest, the two of you didn’t do much sleeping) then woke up at 9am for work.

and he tried his best, he really did, to get out of the company early enough to catch you playing a song or two. after all, it was your last day at the job.

much as you enjoyed reconnecting with an old flame— loved the overflowing tips that came from those who were amazed by your talent (well, there were also those who were just trying to get into your pants), the moment that the old drummer got down on his knees begging to be taken back by his best friends, just like how you became a part of the band, you voluntarily stepped down.

jungkook didn’t agree with this decision. he didn’t understand why you’d sacrifice something that makes you happy for a person who fucked up and wasted what they had. you went back and forth over it on the phone until you cried, told him that it wasn’t easy for you, and he couldn’t hold you in his arms or kiss your face. he could only apologize, and it even felt insincere doing it through a screen.

maybe he’s only relieved that you no longer need to be around a man an entire decade older than he is, who is obviously interested in you and serves you alcohol drinks. no, that doesn’t sit right with him. he needs jun, or whatever the fuck his true name is, to stay very far away from his baby.

“i’m just sad that i never got to watch you perform in person.”

you rest your cheek on his shoulder, heavy eyelids slowly blinking as the headlights of a black van blindsides you.

what the fuck. too bright.

“me too…”

—

“i’m bored,” you release a dramatic sigh, stealing a glimpse of jungkook at the driver’s seat, just to see if you caught his attention like you intended.

his eyes are trained on the dashboard, however, focused on the navigation guide displayed on his phone. he isn’t very familiar with this part of the city. it took him more than an hour to arrive at the address you sent him, including the time he spent in the middle of traffic.

“forty-eight minutes, then we can do whatever you want.”

“whatever i want?”

he slows down the car, briefly turning his head to find you expectantly looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“of course,” he laughs, taking one hand off the wheel to squish your cheeks together. “just tell me what it is, baby.”

he doesn’t catch the sad look that flashes across your face after you lose his touch.

“then i’ll tell you when i figure out what i want,” you say quietly.

“i thought you already had something in mind?”

“nope,” you answer with yet another sigh.

you choose to stare out the window in silence, body completely slumping into your seat in defeat.

jungkook’s senses are sharp, or he likes to believe so. “are you okay?”

“i’m okay,”

“you sure?”

“hmm,” you hum curtly, and then you close your eyes, so he decides not to press further despite wanting to.

he meets a red traffic light not long after that. and so, he hurriedly grabs the black fleece blanket in the backseat. he envelopes you in it, crossing the distance between you to softly press his lips onto yours for a goodnight kiss. he feels you respond, albeit lazily, and he smirks cockily when you lift yourself up to chase him for one more, please— desperately, to get your fill of goodnight kisses from the many nights that you missed it.

the time seems to tick excruciatingly slow now that you’re quiet. a minute is multiplied by a hundred. the steady rhythm of your breathing keeps him sane throughout dark avenues and encounters with reckless drivers of the midnight scene.

he missed you. he missed you so much, and he knows that you’re tired from university, and tutoring high school students in english, and playing the drums for more than two hours… but he selfishly wishes that you’re awake right now so he can make up for the two months that you were apart.

be careful of what you wish for, they said.

jungkook should know better by now.

“i can’t sleep,” he hears you whisper in a dulcet tone that indirectly tells him you’re in need of some love… but he isn’t given the chance to act upon that request because you’re already all over what it is that you need.

he swallows thickly, glancing down at your hand that has somehow found its way to his inner thigh— zeroing in on your red nails, can feel them faintly grazing his skin.

you’re so pretty. everywhere.

even when naked and bare.

no, especially. it’s all he can think about.

he can draw you from memory.

“____,” he utters your name through gritted teeth, heart beginning to race a thousand miles per second in his chest.

the effect of your teasing touch is instantaneous, slowly inching closer and closer to where his growing erection is. his eyes remain focused on the road, but he fears that he’ll start thinking with his dick soon if you carry on with this act a few seconds longer.

“shit, not now, baby- please- not while i’m driving.”

your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, poorly concealing a self-satisfied smirk, and you pretend not to hear a single word from his plea.

a minx, that’s what you are, always causing trouble and blurring lines in his eyes.

“____, i’m not joking around. don’t make me mad-”

his warning is cut short by-

“fuck… fuck,” he curses, filter flying out the window once he feels you tracing the outline of his hard-on, the feather-light touch of your fingers smoothly gliding across the fabric of his sweatpants, and he completely loses it when your soft palm caresses his cock, so gentle that it feels almost innocent.

okay, so he couldn’t feel it because you weren’t skin-to-skin, but he knows that your hands are soft, can feel his imagination running wilder because he has memorized the way they feel on most parts of his body.

you’re so incredibly nasty and evil for this— squeezing him lightly, taking advantage of how sensitive he’s gotten, making him tremble as pleasure shoots up his spine. his breath stutters in his lungs and he unconsciously pushes harder on the gas.

and although it means fighting every fiber of his being that painfully yearns for more, he seizes your wrist in an iron grip, placing your hand over the gearstick while his sits heavy on top of yours.

“____! behave! you’re going to get us killed!”

he watches you jut out your bottom lip through the rearview mirror, eyes hazy with lust staring down at where your hand used to be, and then his handsome face. he is evidently flushed, honey skin dusted with a rosy pink. all the way to the tips of his ears, down to his neck.

while he’s driving? really?

doesn’t this only happen in wet dreams?

you are not real.

“then pull over,” you plead. “please?”

he releases a shaky breath. you’re always so needy with alcohol in your system, drove him into total insanity while he couldn’t be here to give you what you wanted.

“no, you need to learn how to be patient… told you we can do whatever you want when we get home, right?”

wrong move.

the silence returns, and just when he thought that you went back to your journey to slumber, the sound of your sniffles fill the car.

jungkook’s heart breaks into a million pieces.

also, he wants to slam his head against the steering wheel.

you make it so fucking hard to resist you; you always get what you want. it becomes much harder when he is the subject of your desire and he loves being loved.

“haven’t i been patient enough…? i missed you so much.”

“and i missed you too!” he brings your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing them on your skin. “fuck, you have no idea how much… please, don’t cry.”

“then pull over,” you stubbornly insist, and he is so close to driving this car into a lamp post. “fuck me at the backseat.”

“can’t,” he mumbles, sounding almost pained, and he is. he wants you so bad, it hurts. “we’re going to have to do it without protection.”

“what do you mean?” you exclaim.

you rip your hand away from his, not wasting time in unlocking the glove compartment, and a sound of sheer disappointment escapes from your mouth as you collapse back on your seat.

“jungkook, i hate you!”

“well right now i hate myself too!” he cries out in frustration. “i didn’t have the time to buy more, okay?”

“and there’s not one in your wallet?”

“babe, are you serious?!”

“what?!”

somehow, his hands still expertly swivels the steering wheel as the car meets a curve.

but he feels dizzy. the ghost of your touch is still there, a promise of carnal pleasure unfulfilled.

“stop the car,” you say out of the blue, rather calmly, and that terrifies the shit out of him.

he swallows the lump in his throat, eyes switching between you and the road in panic. “huh?”

“i said stop the car, i’m stepping out.”

“babe, come on,” he moans, ruined and tormented. he reaches for your hand but you scoot further away from him, and he ignores the way his heart drops to his stomach as he kneads your exposed thigh instead. “please, don’t be like this. i just got home.”

“jungkook! if you don’t let me get off this car right now, i swear!”

the urgency embedded in your threatening voice leaves your boyfriend with no choice but to pull over to the side of the street as soon as he gets the chance.

he carries on to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“baby, stop being stu-”

he tries to reach for you, but he is rudely ignored as you hop off the car and slam the door shut on his face.

“…bborn…”

he blinks.

he inhales. he exhales.

and then he buries his face in his hands to scream… as quietly as possible.

“what the fuck was in that margarita?!”

—

jungkook steps out of the car worried sick about you. now wearing a black bucket hat, his head whips in different directions in search for the familiar shape of your body, your hair, your shirt that is his, anything.

his arm rests on top of the car door, the other on the roof, fingers drumming on it anxiously as he chews on his bottom lip.

there are mostly restaurants here, it seems. some are already closed, some are still lights on. not far away, he hears a karaoke place bursting with music and laughter. he looks up and he finds that the night sky remains barren of stars; there’s no guidance from the heavens that will lead him to you.

except for the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name.

he turns around, and he knows it’s going to sound extremely silly, but damn, you make his life feel like a movie— because you’re jogging towards him, and the universe begins moving in slow motion. perhaps it is to prevent him from falling on his knees in relief, because he genuinely thought that you already went home on your own like the stubborn brat that you are.

“____, where did you go?! you can’t just run off like that! seriously, that was not nice!”

“i forgot my wallet!” you squeal as you halt infront of him, slapping your forehead as a way to scold yourself. “i found a hotteok cart!”

his anger quickly dissipitates. he scans your face, mouth agape in bewilderment.

you, screaming at him to stop the car because there was a sighting of your favorite snack? makes sense.

he dishes out the wallet from his pocket. “wha- i thought you… you didn’t have money?”

you shake your head to answer his question.

“then how are you already eating?”

you take another bite from the hot hotteok you’re holding in a paper cup, and then you shrug.

“i was already eating when i realized it,” you point at yourself, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “so he let me run back here. does it look like this face would steal?”

“you’re impossible!” he bursts out laughing, the unique sound of his joy harmonizing with the mundane noises of the city.

he is thoroughly amused and in awe of your undeniable charm never failing to work its magic. if you just gave it a shot, you might be even better at him at his job.

you’re pliant as he captures your wrist, tugging you away with him so he can lock the car.

“i bought three, by the way.” you note as the two of you start walking, with you clinging to his side. “the last three then mister can go home.”

you put the hotteok near his mouth, and he pauses to take a big bite. “have you even had dinner?”

“just the four margaritas- they were yummy! or was it five?”

he clicks his tongue in disappointment, but he doesn’t get to say anything more about it because you’ve reached the hotteok cart, and he’s already handing the vendor the money.

“thank you!” he bows his head politely as he accepts the remaining two you mentioned earlier, handing them over to you.

“no, this is yours.” you speak with tenderness, giving back one of the cups to him. “then we’ll split the third one. it’s really good!”

the vendor secretly watches the interaction with a fond smile as he packs up to finally, finally end his long day working at the busy streets of seoul.

—

you’re sat together on the hood of jungkook’s car as you share a midnight snack. with caring hands, you rip the hotteok apart in perfect halves, offering the other to your lover. he accepts it in between his teeth.

“do you want drums as your christmas gift?”

“love,” you search for the words to say as you chew the food in your mouth. “i can barely fit in my apartment. where am i going to put a drum set…? not to mention that i can’t even cry without my neighbor hearing it.”

his shoulders drop in dejection, and you rub your boyfriend’s back in an attempt to comfort him.

“you must really want to see me play, don’t you?”

“i’m dying to,” he says in pure jungkook fashion, tone dramatic and thick with an accent that is entirely his. “i can’t believe there were regulars who saw you every night, while i, your boyfriend, didn’t even see you once…! even that fucking bartender… this- this can’t be right! do you think this makes sense? no, right?”

“aw, my baby,” you coo at him, jutting out your bottom lip as you tenderly cup his face.

“i don’t trust him, by the way,” he scoffs. “as much as possible, stay away from him when you visit, alright…? if i see him touching you one more time, i don’t know what i’ll end up doing to him.”

“i don’t like him either,” you giggle. “so that’s easy.”

he stares at your bloodshot eyes. damn it, you haven’t sobered up.

“____, i’m serious. he’s weird. i’m worried about you but i can’t always be here to protect you.”

you blink at him innocently. “i am too! serious!”

“you promise me?”

“i promise!”

he nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he gets lost in the sea of his own thoughts. “i should talk to your friends about this, too. is that okay?”

“if that will ease your mind,” you half-smile, heart fluttering in your chest because you feel so cherished.

comfortable silence follows suit.

the hotteok is still soft and warm and sweet. if your love had to be delivered to his doorstep, it would in the form of your favorite food.

he sighs to gain more of your sympathy, basking in the attention he’s receiving from you. he missed this. he missed you. he sounds like a broken record, but it’s true.

“come ooon, don’t be sad! i’ll make it up to you! but it’s a surprise!”

“surprise?” he eyes you with suspicion. “what surprise?”

“just trust me, alright?”

you poke his cheek where his dimples are, and you witness them pop out as he copies your contagious smile.

“can i make a guess?”

“nope!”

you fit the remaining piece of your hotteok in your mouth, jumping off the hood of the car. you stand before him as you wipe your hands clean with a small paper napkin.

“don’t you dare. if you guess it right then my plans will be ruined!”

—

you’re back on the passenger seat to travel the remaining twenty-seven minutes to your apartment.

jungkook melts into the tenderness of your touch as he drives. you’re tracing the toned muscles of his arms; stroking his hair, his face, and the smell of the sticky brown sugar from the hotteok still lingers on your skin.

“when are you going to start getting tattoos?” you wonder out loud as he intertwines your fingers together on top of his thigh. “i think you’d look so pretty.”

“i’m planning on it.”

his heart skips a beat at the thought of you remembering that he wants his skin artfully inked as you absentmindedly distracted yourself with it.

he licks his lips, smiling as he looks over at you. “you really think so? pretty?”

“hm, hot, too,” you stick your tongue out playfully, and he snorts out a laugh. “but as long as you’re happy, then nothing else matters.”

“of course- wait, yah! you still need to eat dinner.” he reminds you once he recognizes the path you’re taking.

a grocery store is not more than a kilometer away, if his memory serves him right.

“what do you want? i don’t mind cooking.”

“for you to fuck me, that’s what i want. you won’t mind that, too?”

oh my fucking god.

he wishes you were passed out drunk instead so he wouldn’t have to suffer this battle between self-control and his insatiable appetite for you.

“baby, aren’t you still sore from this morning?”

“a little,” he notices you squeezing your thighs together from his peripheral, and along with it, the bruises on your knees from when you worshipped his body last night. “but i want you.”

your giggles in reaction to him frustratedly running his fingers through his hair seems to only fuel the dirty thoughts in his head. he uncomfortably shifts in his seat to adjust himself.

“can you just bring it up when we get near your house? you’re killing me over here!”

“but why? i’m having fun.” you bring your tangled hands over to your side, peppering the back of his hand with innocent kisses. “i love you. you’re so cute.”

“are you… are you seriously calling me cute after what you just asked me to fuck you?”

his disbelief is challenged by your amusement.

“why not? being one dimensional? boring. being different things all at once? sexy.”

jungkook doesn’t need to see you play the drums to know that you are the only one capable of making his heart beat like this. to feel it pounding, it turns out there’s another way besides performing, he can just be alone with you. a different type of addictive exhilaration. he isn’t at the top of the world; he free falls as it revolves around you.

you always know the right words to say, because right now, he is preening. he’s wearing a big smile, the kind that looks like he’s laughing, but he’s not— almost. the kind that reaches his eyes, shapes them into little crescent moons.

how did he get so lucky?

rehearsals in the morning be damned, he will be fucking you good all night.

you make a noise of confusion when the car swerves into the trees at the side of the road.

“what are we doing here?”

jungkook only spares you a glance. “get in the backseat, baby.”

—

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

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook one shot #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #bts imagine #bts fanfic

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mermaid-trash · 11 months

Text

Lingerie Shopping with Genshin Men

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Ayato (separate) x reader

Warnings: not explicit but suggestive asf, 18+ only, afab!reader implied

Diluc feels himself blushing the moment you say you want to look in that store, and the flaming pink on his cheeks only gets deeper with every passing second you spend in there. He averts his gaze when you hold up garments and gives his opinions in as few words as possible, but then you take him to the fitting room to start trying on sets. His whole face is flushed as red as his hair by now, but he cannot tear his eyes away from you for a single second as you model lingerie sets of sheer fabrics and lace in a whole rainbow of colours, each more well-crafted and flattering on your body than the last. He doesn't say much, but the adoration behind those deep ruby eyes tells you exactly how much he likes seeing these sets on you. When you finally try on a crimson red satin set, adorned with lace and a delicate bow, Diluc has finally had enough - get dressed, you're buying all of the sets you've tried on so that he can admire them properly from the comfort of your shared bedroom instead.

Kaeya is a menace but also the best person to take shopping for any kind of clothes; he picks out garments that you would honestly never choose for yourself, but they inevitably end up looking incredible when he convinces you to try them on. All the while, his hungry gaze rakes over your body, admiring the lingerie he picked out for you laying so invitingly against your skin, the sheer pale blue fabric caressing your curves and drawing Kaeya's attention straight to all of his favourite parts of your body. Of course, he has to tell you how stunning the set is on you, cold fingertips tracing slowly down your exposed arms as pretty words drip from his tongue so effortlessly, expressing how bewitching you are in such pretty lingerie, how much he wants to peel the fabric away from your body and delve into what lies hidden beneath…in the end you leave the store with the new lingerie set, a fierce blush on your face, and a very smug Kaeya by your side.

Childe's entire face lights up with joy when you suggest going into the store, and he wastes no time pulling you inside. Just a few short moments later, every attendee in the store is rushing around, ushering the other customers out of the store with murmured apologies and hurriedly preparing the changing rooms so that you and the Harbinger can have some privacy, as per his request. Meanwhile, he's darting manically around the store, picking out lingerie that he thinks would look good on you without even a glance at the price tag. When he finally pushes his selections into your arms and drags you to the changing rooms, you simply let him, too caught up in the elated grin he gives you to protest. With every set that you model for him, his compliments get bigger, more embarrassing, and he gets visibly more impatient. His fists clench atop his thighs, desperate to cling onto your body and never let go, and a pout sits on his lips every time you insist on trying another set. He'll buy you the whole store if you want, but first, come closer and let him appreciate the gifts he's getting for you.

Ayato barely reacts when you ask if you can visit this store, offering only his signature polite smile. He hangs around by your side as you pick out sets you like but offers no help, contributing little more than a hum in response to each garment that you show him. His eyes twinkle as you pull him towards the dressing rooms, determined to get some feedback from him somehow - and who knows, perhaps that was his intention? It doesn't matter now, though, as he settles into a chair and waits for you to emerge from behind the screen, wearing a beautiful set in his clan's trademark colours, white and blue. The fine silk garments cling to your form enticingly, and Ayato thinks with a breathy chuckle that they were made to be worn by you and you alone. He beckons you closer wordlessly with just a gesture of his fingers, and you obey, stepping towards him and watching his movements with eyes that shine with anticipation. His hands hover over your body, worshipful in their hesitation to touch, and he decides then that you look best like this, in his colours and desperate for his touch.

#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #ayato x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact hcs #genshin hcs #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #genshin x reader

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shadeysprings · 6 months

Text

So Good. So Bad.

—Stalker!Ex-Boyfriend!Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader

Summary — The Halloween party you and your friends attend turns upside down all because of your jealous ex.

Warnings — noncon/dubcon, toxic relationship, mass murd3r, k!lling spree, somewhat public sex, cuckolding of some sort, almost drugging, Lloyd being toxic and psychotic. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 7.2K

A/N — I know I said Sunday but my muse said no. Story #2 for my FREAKtober Fest and my second time exploring Lloyd as a character. The writing process was tedious yet exciting. The title and inspiration of this fic was taken from the song ILYSB.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

Aside from having the same shift as your best friends, restocking is the only thing you like about your work. Although it’s physical, it’s mostly mindless tasks done repeatedly, and the black shirt you wear acts like a shield from annoying customers who pester the ones in blue.

Your shift starts like clockwork; time in, grab the products from the warehouse, and begin stocking the shelves until you have to clock out. Though today was a bit more taxing than you expected with the cable aisle once more in disarray and you being tasked to reorganize and set everything in its proper place. You don’t understand the need to put in so much effort into something that will just end up messy at the end of the day.

But you do it anyway.

Upon arriving at the aisle, you begin sorting out the boxes and dismantling the hooks from the shelves. You’re happy enough to be doing this alone—the quicker you work, the faster you’ll be able to relax and waste the time away. That is, until Kate stands beside you, seemingly tensed as she starts helping you.

“He’s here again. TV aisle.” You don’t need for her to say anything more to know who she’s referring to and it just makes you sigh as you grab a box of an HDMI cable and hang it on the hook. “Jensen’s trying to help him but he’s being pushy about talking to you. How does he always know when you’re here? Didn’t you already change shifts?” She asks.

How you wish you knew the answer to that. “I did.” You say in exasperation. “Did he say I was on break?”

“You know we can’t lie. Besides, we have no idea if he already saw you before he came in. He could have seen you while you were on your smoke break.” She expounds and you feel a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Just—talk to him. Tell him to leave. If he tries anything, we’ll call the cops.”

“Yeah. Like they’ll do anything about it. Vince wouldn’t even allow that—bad publicity and all.” The sigh that once more leaves your lips is despondent. You don’t know what else you can do to make him leave you alone. “Fine. I’ll deal with him.” The box in your hand ends up being crumpled from annoyance.

“We’ll be keeping watch.” She says, a measly attempt to comfort you. But you take it anyway with a smile and push away from your cart to hopefully turn away the pesky client.

It’s been almost two years since you broke up with Lloyd. The sweet air that he once had turned bitter when you saw just how jealous of a person he was. You thought it was cute at first, comforting him after a fit and telling him that he was the only man in your life—until it wasn’t and he threatened your friend, John, even challenging him to a fight at the back of the club when he placed his arm on your shoulder as he introduced you to his girlfriend.

Since then, he changed and the relationship you thought was almost perfect, snowballed into endless fights and the revelation of the toxicity he kept hidden. You thought you could make him realize that there was truly nothing to worry about, that his jealousy was misplaced. But you were very wrong, especially after he demanded you quit your job and move in with him instead. You’d make a really good housewife, was what he said and you knew you had to draw the line.

It wasn’t the life you wanted. And it pained you to leave because you did love him but with the way he acted, you questioned if he truly felt the same for you for even the simplest of things, he failed to trust you. And ever since, he hasn’t stopped following you. Everywhere you went, at work or home, he was there, simply watching, observing and you’ve done all you can to push him away. But no matter how hard you try, he can’t take the word no.

The first thing you notice when you see him is the twitch of his mustache when he smirks. He looks pristine as ever with his yellow polo shirt and white slacks that match his black loafers—a complete mismatch to your black shirt, jeans and sneakers uniform. And it has you thinking, what the hell did he see in you?

“The new models just came in yesterday,” You hear Jensen tell him but it’s obvious that Lloyd is not listening, certain that he’s staring at you even with his blue eyes covered by sunglasses. “I can show them—”

“Ah, just the girl I was looking for.” He says, cutting off Jensen and stepping past him to head over to you.

“Sir, she’s one of our warehouse staff. I’d be happy to assist you in—”

“Beat it, nerd!” Lloyd snaps as he stops to face Jensen, rolling your eyes at his misplaced annoyance. “She’s the one I want to talk to.”

“It’s okay, Jen. I got this.” You tell your co-worker, gesturing for him to leave.

“You sure? I can stay if you need any he—”

“Are you fucking deaf?! She said she’s got it, loser!” Lloyd turns from where he stands and you’re suddenly alarmed to see him charge over at Jensen. “Beat it or I’ll make you.” He threatens and you immediately wedge yourself between both men when you see Jensen isn’t backing down.

You place your hands against Lloyd’s chest, stopping him from getting any closer. “Lloyd, stop it! Not here—Christ!” Your voice raises an octave when you scold him, facing Jensen right after and unintentionally glaring at him. “Just go, Jake! I said I got this!” It surprises you that you sound quite like Lloyd but it doesn’t deter you from pushing Lloyd back further.

You hear Jensen speak but don’t understand him as you grab Lloyd by the hand and pull him over to the other aisle, heat rising up your neck when you notice several of the shoppers looking in your direction. There’s never any peace with Lloyd—everywhere he goes, chaos follows.

Once you’ve pulled him away from prying eyes, you startle when he stops walking and tugs on your hand, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist as he holds you close. He gives you a sickeningly sweet grin, effectively trapping your hand against his chest.

“What the fuck do you want, Lloyd? Why are you here?” You bite.

“I’m looking for a TV.” He says smoothly, “Besides, I missed my little Kitten and I know that kitty of yours misses me too.”

You want to roll your eyes at his crass comment. “You know I work in the damn warehouse. I know nothing about them.” You reason, grunting as you try to get away from his hold. “We have a sales specialist who can help you with that.”

“Oh, but I want you to show me the options.” The hair on his lip twitches when he smirks, “Or I can complain to your manager that his employees aren’t helpful to their customers.”

“Seriously? You’re going to act like a fucking Karen?”

“Would you like to see me try?” He challenges.

That’s the last thing you needed from him and you don’t question that he would stay true to his word and make sure his complaint reached top management. Letting out a sigh, you nod at his request and show your best customer service smile before saying, “How can I help you?”

Your shift finally ends and you can’t wait to go home to wash off the day. After Lloyd pestered you with all the TV selections you showed him, he left with nothing and you tried your best not to show your annoyance at him though he knows he’s riled you up—he always does.

Bidding your goodbyes to Kate and the rest as you leave the store with Jensen in tow. He offered a ride to the station—something he always does and one you couldn’t refuse after the long day. You just want to go home and curl up in your room and hope that Lloyd doesn’t show himself again after that awful stint.

“Tough day, huh?” Jensen asks as he brings the engine to life and drives off from the parking lot.

“Yeah. I’m just glad it’s over.” You respond, leaning back against your seat while you hug your backpack against your chest.

“Yeah.” He echoes, hearing his fingers tap against the wheel. “The line at the tech depot was pretty long too. Seems like every computer within town is falling apart.” He jokes, and you think it’s an attempt to lighten the mood. You still feel tense with the altercation he had with Lloyd—you just wish for once one of them would listen to you.

“Hey, sorry about earlier.” He says and you visibly cringe when he mentions it. “I know you could handle him but knowing that he’s bothering you, I couldn’t just step away from—”

“Look. Jensen.” You sigh as you turn to face him. “I appreciate your concern, really, I do. But no offense, it’s none of your business. I don’t need a knight in shining armor to come and rescue me each time that idiot shows up. The others stay away because of how reckless he can be and I just don’t want you to get caught in the line of fire. Just let me handle him.”

You know full well why Jensen couldn’t get past that. After admitting to you his feelings since he found out you were single, he’s been subtly dropping hints about asking you out. You’d probably have taken up the offer if you met him before Lloyd but the trauma your ex has imprinted on you just leaves you thinking that any man who would dare go near would be the same.

Silence fills the small space, along with a flicker of tension. You think Jensen would disapprove of your words, that he would insist on giving his unwarranted help. But all you hear is a sigh and you see the nod of his head.

“Okay.” He utters, the rubber covering the steering wheel squeaking when his hold on it tightens. “I won’t meddle any—”

“JENSEN!” You shout and grab onto the handle of your seat when a car suddenly turns and blocks your path, Jensen stepping hard onto the brakes.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts as he rolls down his window but you, on the other hand, sit still when you see Conrad, one of Lloyd’s buddies, step out of the car and walk over to Jensen’s side. “What the hell is wrong with you, bro?!” Jensen growls as he unlocks his door, ready to step out.

But you’re too late to warn him—Conrad pulling open the door and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, trapping him against the side of his car. Lloyd then suddenly appears, with Chris in tow. He goes first to Jensen, the latter flinching when he raises his fist at him, threatening to lay a punch before leaning down and framing his arms over the edge of the window.

Your eyes dart to Jensen when he grunts against Conrad’s grip, glaring at Lloyd when he stares you down. “What the fuck are you doing here, Lloyd?!”

His eyes meet yours, darkness swirling around the blue and you can already tell that he’s angry. “What are you doing here, Kitten?” He says, a cocky grin on his face. “You couldn’t wait for me to pick you up so you got into this loser’s car?” He tuts, chin nodding over to your side and your door suddenly opens, Chris, pulling you out aggressively.

You look around, hoping to call for help but you curse Jensen when you notice he went through the back roads. No one ever passes here, especially at this hour, and now the both of you are at the mercy of your ex who you see looming over your co-worker.

You gasp when Lloyd sends him a punch, trying to pull away from Chris’ grasp to help Jensen, but it’s no use. You’re rendered helpless as you watch him send another blow, making the other bowl over to which Conrad pushes him further to the ground.

“Stay away from my girl, asshole!” Lloyd threatens before spitting at the other man, your eyes grow wide when Lloyd takes you from Chris and drags you to his car.

You hear the sound of tires being slashed and several glass breaking along with Jensen’s pained grunts. You knew Lloyd could be reckless but you’ve never seen him this way before. He opens the passenger door and pushes you in, slamming the door harshly before getting inside himself. He doesn’t wait for his companions before driving off, your hand grabbing the side of the door with the speed he’s going.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shout. “Let me out of here!”

“You keep testing me, Kitten. Running off with other men like that.” He growls and you scream when he takes a sharp left, cars honking left and right at how careless he’s driving.

“Are you that daft?! We’re over, Lloyd! We’ve been for years!” You shout amidst the panic that rolls through your veins, eventually getting the courage to hit him on the shoulder when he gets on the main road.

But you soon realize your mistake when he stops at an alley and his hand immediately wraps around your neck, pulling you towards him. You grab on his wrist when he squeezes tight, your eyes wide as you fear that he would choke you, kill you on the spot.

“Lloyd—” you gasp, slapping on his hand as tears fall from your eyes. “Y—you’re hurting me.”

“I will only say this once, Kitten, so you better listen.” His hot breath spreads across your cheek when he pulls you closer, the tick on his jaw setting you on edge. “You’re mine and no one, not even you, can change that fact. Got it?”

All you can do is nod, to agree with every word he says if it means you get to keep your life.

“Good.” He huffs, the anger in him somewhat seeping away, loosening his hold around your neck. “Good girl.” The praise that used to send shivers of desire within you now has your stomach twisting in disgust. “And if I see that weirdo or any other man going near you again, you know what will happen.”

You nod once more and gasp when he completely releases you, leaning against your seat as you try to regulate your breathing.

He drives once more and you’re thankful he’s slower this time, doing your best to stay calm as you look out the window. “Where are you taking me?” You ask, although you already have an inkling of his answer when you recognize the area you’re in and the direction he’s driving to. You haven’t driven in and out of these roads for almost two years. After you and Lloyd broke up.

The smirk he gives you is enough of an answer.

“Are we going to pre-game before the party?” Bucky asks as he plops down onto the couch in the employee lounge, shaking a tumbler of his protein shake in his hand. “Last year’s booze ran out so fast, I went home seeing straight. I don’t want to be sober on Halloween night.”

“You never want to be sober, Barnes,” Kate comments as she rolls her eyes, yet her interest seems to already be piqued. “But he’s right. Are we going to drink before the party or should we just hit the club after? I have a friend who can get us in at this club for free.”

“That could work but I’d rather enjoy the night drunk then get wasted at the club.” Bucky responds, taking a sip of his drink. “We could just meet up at someone’s place and pre-game there, then we can all go to the party together. Would save us gas too if we just take one car.”

“Who even lives near the venue?”

You tune yourself out from their conversation and stab your fork into your lunch as the Halloween party is the last of your concerns. Besides, you don’t think Lloyd would be happy with you attending and you wouldn’t dare give him the opportunity to ruin the event for you and your friends or give him any reason to be mad again.

Your friends exchange ideas, listing down people’s names of who they’ll be inviting for their plan of drinks and whose place they’ll be crashing when the door of the lounge opens and you freeze in your seat when Bucky calls out Jensen’s name.

“Hey buddy! You live downtown, right?” Bucky asks, patting the space beside him to which Jensen accepts. “We were thinking that—the fuck happened to your face?”

Your grip on your fork tightens when you chance a peek at both men, feeling your stomach drop when you see the bruise staining Jensen’s cheek.

“Oh that?” Jensen chuckles, his fingers running against the side of his face. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I slammed against my door frame.” You know he’s lying, though you’re somewhat thankful he didn’t expose what Lloyd and his friends did. Still, you feel the guilt nipping at the back of your neck.

“You’re such a klutz, Jake.” Kate says with a laugh.

Jensen makes a face in her direction and you look away when his eyes meet yours. “Why were you guys asking if I lived downtown?” He suddenly asks, shifting the topic.

Bucky takes the lead again. “We were thinking of doing drinks before heading to the party. And since you live closer to the venue, maybe we could just meet at your place?”

“Depends. Do I have to provide the booze?”

“We can bring some and you prepare some.” Kate responds. “Sounds good?”

Jensen hums audibly as he thinks of his decision. You feel the tension circling around you as you sense his eyes on you while he speaks. You don’t dare to look up, keeping your focus trained on the lifeless pasta in your lunch container.

“I’m in. Though who’s coming? My apartment isn’t that big so I can’t really hold a huge crowd.” He finally says.

“I’m there.” Bucky says, mouth full of his protein shake. “Tell me what you guys want and I’ll bring it.”

“Me too. Though I’m bringing my boyfriend along—that cool with you guys?” No one seems to object and you look up to face your best friend when she nudges you. “You’re coming too, right? Amber’s dragging Nick along and we won’t be complete without you. I even planned this super cool costume for us.”

You feel your body shake at her question. The pressure of going to the event with your best friends growing in your chest, colliding with the added stress of meeting at Jensen’s place and the fear of Lloyd finding out about the plan.

“I don’t know.” You say with a frown, closing up your container as your appetite has already turned sour from the anxiety crawling up your spine. “You know I don’t do well at parties. I’ll just stink up the mood.”

“Aww come on. Please?” She begs with those puppy eyes she always uses to convince you. “You’ll be with us and if it gets too much, we’ll leave. And if you’re worried about that psycho ex of yours showing up, I can just show Andy in his direction and he’ll show him a thing or two.” You want to latch onto the assurance she gives you but she doesn’t know Lloyd like you do.

Still, you could probably think of a way to convince him—he’s never been apprehensive of you spending time with your friends. Except it’s not only them who would be with you; Bucky and Jensen would be there as well, and you’ve already witnessed what he’s done to the latter, the evidence staring you in the face.

And that would mean you would have to lie. Though is it really lying if you’re just omitting out the information he doesn’t want to hear?

But the plan didn’t go as expected.

Instead of heading over to the company party after drinks at Jensen’s apartment, like what was discussed, you find yourself nursing a red cup full of shitty alcohol in a dimly lit house while surrounded by your friend group and people you only assume to be Bucky’s college frat buddies.

You tug on the skirt of your black dress that’s a little too short for your liking, the cat headband already irritating you with how long you’ve been wearing it. You don’t know why you’ve agreed to Kate’s idea for the three of you to imitate the costume from that movie—you’re just glad she didn’t push you to wear a bodysuit and that Amber was happy to trade with the mouse theme you were originally assigned to do.

Speaking of your best friends, you walk around the living room as you try to look for them, no longer wanting to be alone amidst the foreign crowd. But you frown when you see Kate at the corner of the room, her boyfriend’s hand planted firmly on her ass while they make out. Amber, on the other hand, was just on the other side, with Nick barricading her against the wall like some prison guard. Though with the smile you see on her face, she doesn’t seem to mind being isolated by him.

Your eyes then dart towards the front door when the cheers of men grow louder than the music blasting in the house. Three people walk in, each one wearing a mask over some effortless casual clothes underneath. But the one wearing the iconic ghostface catches your attention, noticing him looking your way with the other two standing behind him following suit. There’s a somewhat eerie familiarity to their masked gaze that makes you look away and leave from where you stand.

“Not really what you’re expecting, huh?” You startle when someone says too close against your ear, making you look up and chuckle when you see Jensen smiling at you, an opened beer bottle in his hand.

“It feels like I’m back in college attending a frat party.” You comment, making the both of you laugh and tapping your cup against his bottle when he raises it to you.

“You went to a lot of parties in college?”

You shake your head. “Not really. Wasn’t really a party type.”

“Same. But I had no choice with my roommate dragging me to every party.”

You have no idea why Jensen is speaking to you—after what he endured with Lloyd and his buddies, you’d think he’d steer clear of you, probably even fear you thinking that history would repeat itself. But deep down, you’re happy to be in his company, choosing it over being alone in a place you don’t even know half the people in.

The both of you chat for a while, finding a less crowded spot in the kitchen and helping yourselves with the food and the drinks that are out and free for the taking. You still feel bad when the bruise on his cheek remains prominent, though with his purple button up and baggy gray slacks, you think it blends well with his cosplay of Bruce Banner when you asked him who he was supposed to be.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Jen.” You tell him with a frown, leaning against the edge of the counter as you look down at your drink. “I didn’t think Lloyd would actually hurt anyone.”

“It’s fine. It’s just a bruise.” He assures, giving your arm a pat.

“What about your car? Didn’t they trash it?”

“They did. But good thing I have insurance.”

It surprises you how positive the air around him still is despite the misfortune he’s met because of you. You almost envy his happiness, and the happiness that your friends have and you find it almost unfair that Lloyd wasn’t like Andy and Nick, doting and loving towards their girls, when both those men are his friends. You wish he’d learn a thing or two from them about handling relationships the proper way.

Sadness then swirls around you as you contemplate on what your life has become; always scared and cautious, that Lloyd would hurt another because of his jealousy, because of his unspoken obsession to completely possess you.

Your train of thought stops when you feel your cup being taken from your grasp, Jensen replacing it with a fresh one, fizz floating to the top of the amber liquid. “Jack and Coke.” He says. “Your drink looked a little stale.”

But before you could even take a sip, you hear spine tingling screams coming from the living room. You think it’s some scary prank someone has pulled on another, you and Jensen looking at each other and pushing away from your perch to investigate the commotion. But in just a flash of a second, the whole house is in chaos, people running, scrambling for their lives while the three masked men you saw earlier run amok, shooting and stabbing the party goers one by one and leaving them bloody and dead on the ground.

No sound escapes your lips as you’re gripped by fear upon witnessing the bloodbath, your body refusing to move even when your brain tells it to. But the hand that grabs onto your arm has you shouting in shock, only to be muffled by another and your eyes wide with horror thinking that they’ve got you. But to your relief, it’s only Jensen and he places a finger against his lips, telling you to be quiet before pulling you amongst the havoc for a way out.

You try the backdoor first but for some unknown reason it wouldn’t budge open no matter how hard he yanks it. He tries the window above the kitchen sink as well but just like the door, it’s screwed shut. He pulls on you once more, leading you down the hall this time, the rave music playing loudly in your ears pumping the adrenaline in your veins while the sound of the screams die out one by one.

He makes it to the end of the hall, the staircase free from the killers but with bodies lying lifeless on the steps—a woman with her throat cut wide open and a man with a bullet right between his eyes. He looks back at you, telling you to be quiet once more as he gestures that you both will be heading up. But before he could even set foot on the first step, one of the masked men appears and kicks him forward, making him topple over the corpses.

A scream is then wretched from your throat when you’re suddenly pulled back, the stranger trapping you against him while he positions his knife just under your chin, feeling the sharp edge of the blade kiss your skin. The man from the stairs kicks Jensen in the stomach then again, your co-worker writhing in pain as another joins his attacker, this time with a metal bar which he slams against his chest.

“Hello, nerd! Long time no see.” The one who kicked him greets, the timbre of his voice making your heart pound against your chest. No! “Whatcha doin’ with my girl, huh?” The stranger asks before pulling off his mask and you freeze when you see Lloyd’s face. He then turns to you, a cocky smirk playing on his lips and sending you a wink before he asks, “Whatcha doin’ here, Kitten? Thought you were at a company party?” The sly twist in his voice has you on edge.

The smirk on his face then fades, turning into a scowl when he nods at the man who’s got you trapped against him. You’re then released from his hold but not for long as Lloyd simply takes his place, grabbing you by your arm, wincing from his tight grip and dragging you into the living room where you see countless bodies lying lifeless on the ground and the walls of the house painted crimson.

He shoves you against the couch where you fall against something cold and sticky, only to realize too late, crying out to see that it’s Bucky you landed on; his blood staining your dress and your hands. But you’re then pushed away from him, falling back on the cushions as Lloyd kicks his body off the surface to take the space he once occupied.

You feel like you’re about to convulse as you cry when Lloyd wraps an arm around you. You try to push away from him, not wanting to be near him but he shakes you like a rag doll, making you stop before gesturing over to someone you cannot see as your eyes are blurry from your tears and remain locked on your dead friend’s feet.

“Gentlemen, thank you for all your help.” Lloyd says when the music finally dies and you look up, surprised to see Andy and Nick standing unscathed with only splatters of blood staining their costumes. But what has you more jarred is seeing Kate and Amber bound and gagged, sitting against the floor, they’re eyes wide in fear as they squirm to be free from their restraints.

You’re suddenly off your seat and on your feet, determined to get to them, to help set them free and run away from this horrid place. But Lloyd is quick to yank you back, grunting when you fall onto his lap and his strong arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place.

“Relax, Kitten. They’re safe.” Lloyd assures, his gloved finger grazing against your cheek. “Just had to go through some extra measures to keep them out of the way.”

“We did our part, Hansen.” Andy says, pulling Kate from the ground who forcefully tries to pull away from his grip while Nick does the same with Amber, who in turn quietly follows while tears keep running down her face. “Just don’t forget the deal.”

“Yeah yeah. Just make sure your bitches know what to say if they’re questioned.” Lloyd responds with disinterest. “Meet me by the end of this week for your payment.”

It’s all the words the men exchange before dragging away your friends, their wide and fearful eyes being the last you see before the door closes behind them.

The sound of wood being dragged across the tiled floor then makes you look forward, seeing Chris and Conrad, now with their masks off, placing a chair in front of you and Lloyd while the latter drags Jensen’s beaten body and forces him to take a seat. Both men then go to work, effectively binding their captive’s wrists behind his back with tape and his ankles to the legs of the chair.

The sight of his damaged state breaks your heart as you helplessly feel guilty upon thinking that everything that has happened to him is all your fault. You never should have come here in the first place as soon as you found out about the change of plans. You should have just gone home or better yet, you should have just stayed at home where you know Lloyd would be.

Yet the universe could be so cruel.

“Look what we found on him.” Chris says in a serious tone before pulling out a small ziplock bag from Jensen’s shirt pocket and tossing it over your lap. You glance down at the clear packaging, seeing several small white tablets enclosed in it. What?

“Lover boy here was so desperate to get laid he brought roofies with him.” Conrad adds with a laugh, pushing on the back of Jensen’s head hard that his body jolts forward.

The bag is then taken from your lap, Lloyd holding it up close to his face as he inspects the white circles. You yelp when you’re suddenly shoved off his lap, falling over to the floor while Lloyd steps over to Jensen and grabs him by his hair, pulling his head back while he holds the baggie in front of him, breathing heavily like some wild animal through gritted teeth.

“You were gonna drug my girl, weren’t you?!” Lloyd spits out his words and on Jensen’s face, tossing the tablets in Conrad’s direction, your throat eliciting a gasp when he holds a knife to his neck this time. “Did you take any drink from him?!” He asks, but it takes a second for you to realize that he’s talking to you. He turns in your direction, eyes dark with anger. “Any fizzy shit this asshole gave you?!”

You don’t understand what he’s asking, why the sudden interrogation—then it hits you. In the kitchen while you were busy with your thoughts, Jensen took your stale drink, as he claimed, and replaced it with another. No—it can’t be. He said it had coke in it and sodas make a fizz.

“I won’t ask again, Kitten.” Lloyd pushes and you nod out of fear, knowing that he would find out that you’re lying to him if you said otherwise.

The look on Lloyd’s face shifts into something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand. Like something sinister has possessed him with the way his lips curl in a playful manner.

A groan leaves Jensen’s lips when Lloyd releases him and you push yourself back against the couch when he goes for you next.

“Lloyd, please—!” you beg as he tucks the knife in his pocket, yanking you from the ground and shoving you forward, planting you firmly in front of Jensen before forcing you to bend over. “Let’s just go home—you already beat him!” You cry, pushing against Jensen’s thighs when Lloyd doesn’t budge and keeps dipping you further.

You feel like you’re going to gag when the metallic stench fills your nose especially with how close you are to your bleeding co-worker and you attempt once more to push away from him, no longer wanting the both of you to suffer. But the world suddenly feels like it’s turning upside down when you feel Lloyd pushing up the skirt of your dress, a grunt leaving his chest when he roughly rips your panties off your thighs.

“Now, don’t be like that, Kitten.” He says in a syrupy tone. “Don’t you want to at least show him his sick fantasy of fucking you?” The tell tale sound of his zipper being undone fills your ears and you’re shocked frozen, scared to the wits end that Lloyd would take you here amongst the dead and in front of your friend who he’s beaten to a pulp.

You look away from Jensen when you feel Lloyd’s cock brush against your ass, his tip teasing your pussy lips. You then shout when Lloyd grabs you by the back of your neck, forcing you to look back at your friend who has one eye swollen shut, while the other is stained with blood and brimming with unshed tears.

In one swift move, Lloyd enters you, gasping for air at his sudden intrusion. Pain blooms at the pit of your stomach when he doesn’t allow your walls to adjust and begins fucking you at a brutal pace, your nails digging into Jensen’s thighs as you try to endure your abuser’s torment.

Your body jolts against the chair, following Lloyd’s callous thrusts. You’re then washed in humiliation when you hear Chris and Conrad snickering at your sides, seeing them watch you with perverse eyes, sickened to the core as the thought that they enjoy what they are witnessing comes to your mind.

Both men then hold Jensen in place when he starts squirming in his seat that he almost topples over. Lloyd then abruptly pulls you up, pressing your back against his chest but only to grab on the straps of your dress and harshly pull them down from your shoulders, having your breasts spill into the open.

“She’s got perfect tits, doesn’t she, lover boy?” Lloyd taunts as he keeps up the pace of his hips, grabbing your breasts, kneading, squeezing, and pushing them together. “Why don’t you feel how soft they are?” And it’s as if things couldn’t get any worse, Lloyd moves you forward along with him, tipping forward when your knees hit the edge of the seat. His hands grab onto the back of the chair and you wail in horror when he forces your breasts to press against Jensen’s face, the sticky blood smearing all over your skin.

Lloyd laughs and so do his friends and all you feel is shame and disgust at what he’s doing to you—that the man you once loved would hurt you in the sickest way possible.

A gasp is once more wretched from your throat when Lloyd slams hard against your cunt, feeling his thick cock slide even deeper when your walls grow wet, the toe curling sensation from his tip repeatedly hitting that sweet spot of yours trying to take over. You feel like a woman possessed as you grit your teeth, pushing hard against the unwanted pleasure that slowly begins to crawl up your skin and seep into your bones, not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction that, despite such circumstances, he still manages to make you feel such a way.

Yet your attempts are deemed fruitless when you whimper and eventually turn into a moaning mess, your body responding to each of Lloyd’s touch; your pussy walls clenching around his throbbing cock with each thrust he makes and how your skin shivers, singing each note in sheer perfection as you climb higher and higher to your peak.

“You see that, nerd? You see how she turns into a fucking slut when you fuck her good?” He goads between heavy breaths, adjusting the position of his legs to have you lean more against his victim, his hands grabbing onto your tits once again only to rub it further against Jensen’s face, feeling the bristles of his goatee rub roughly against your skin.

“Too bad you’ll never get to have this.”

Lloyd's hips begin moving more erratically, the sound of your skins slapping with one another filling the stolid air. You swallow thickly, refusing for any more moans to leave your lips as you’re slowly enveloped in ecstasy, Lloyd’s cock pulsing deep in your pussy.

A blinding white light suddenly fills your vision and you shake uncontrollably as you come hard around Lloyd’s shaft. Tears once again spring from your eyes and you’re confused about what causes it. Is it embarrassment from feeling the pleasure? Pain from Lloyd’s roughness? Or is it sadness of how the evening of fun turned into a nightmare? You can’t think as you’re dissolved into nothing, your body floating in orgasmic bliss.

Lloyd follows soon, growling low and animalistic as he keeps his cock buried balls deep, painting your pussy walls with streaks of white as he spills his seed, filling you to the brim.

You think that it’s finally over, that Lloyd’s objective has finally been met. But a life draining gasp then fills your ears—not from you or from Lloyd but from Jensen. And it’s only then that you realize what has happened when you see Lloyd’s hand gripped on the hilt of the knife with the blade stuck deep into Jensen’s chest.

“No!” You cry out as Lloyd stabs him repeatedly, grunts of passionate anger escaping him each time he sinks the blade into the body before you.

Tears of despair and horror are what fall from your eyes, closing them as you hope that this is all a bad dream. You ball your hands into fists as you try your hardest to close in on yourself, to leave this place of torment that Lloyd has condemned you into.

Yet, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t. With the sound of metal hitting bone, along with the devious laugh of the men around you and the way your body shakes from Lloyd’s continuous blow, you’re repeatedly pulled back into the present, unwillingly witnessing the murder of your friend.

You suddenly feel your body shake, your chest tightening that you think the room is losing air and the smell of blood getting stronger and stronger that it makes bile ride up your throat. With Lloyd’s final stab, he pulls you away with him, leaving the knife buried in Jensen’s throat. The world around you suddenly turns, your vision spinning uncontrollably that before you could even let out a scream, everything suddenly goes dark.

You sit inside the employee lounge along with the others in somber idleness. The police came over just before the store opened and ordered that it remained closed for the rest of the day to make way for an investigation. Vince wasn’t happy with the commands of the law enforcers but there’s nothing he could do—there was nothing anybody could do.

A massacre, one of the officers said. A mass murder, another voices, declaring that some of the victims were employees of the store. You already knew who it was—Bucky and Jensen.

One by one, the employees were interrogated, some taking minutes while others taking hours. You glance at Kate who sits across from you on the lunch table, noting the small bruise on the side of her neck. You try not to imagine what Andy told her or did to her that night. You don’t even dare to ask as you refuse to relive the grim evening, nor want to feed her any memory of it.

You sit up once your name is called and you feel the eyes of your other co-workers land on you. The detective, stout and looking somewhat annoyed to be doing such a thing, looks your way and asks your name once more to confirm your identity.

He beckons you to follow him and you do, but not before looking down at your best friend when she grabs your hand, seeing the fear etched in her eyes. You give her a small smile and give her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting her go and following the detective into the other room.

You do as you’re told when he tells you to sit, staring down at the round table that sits between the both of you as you wait for his first question.

“I’m Detective Bodecker.” He starts, his belly protruding as he leans back against his seat. “And I just want to ask you a few questions regarding your co-workers. Is that okay?”

You nod.

“Do you need some water? Anything to make you comfortable?”

You shake your head.

“Very well. Let’s begin.” He hums and grabs his notebook from the desk, flipping a page. “Where were you on the night of October 31st?”

Your mind suddenly begins reliving the night in question. Jensen’s bloody face and Lloyd’s devious smile playing in your head. You blink those thoughts away, not wanting to give out any information on your face.

Taking a breath, you begin your tale.

“I was at a party—”

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x f!reader #so good so bad #the gray man #chris evans characters #dark fic #horror fic #beanie's freaktober fest #freaktober fest #shadeysprings fics

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 18 days

Text

In Stitches 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

We've all agreed that The Quiet Ones, Follow You Anywhere, Hidden Treasures and this fic (maybe more) have built the deluluverse.

Summary: You find your work hindered by your client's son.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had to do it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re not late, but you’re too dang close! You pride yourself on being at least fifteen minutes early wherever you go. Being self-employed, you make a point of always being on time. And you are but that long hand is a bit too close to the tick mark.

It doesn’t help that Mrs. Odinson is one of your best and favourite customers. You hate to let her down. You shake off that rattly feeling as you pull up to the gate and glance at the time again. Still a couple minutes to spare.

You buzz in with the button and wave at the camera. You’re never quite sure who’s at the other end but they always just let you through. You suspect it’s standard business and all the help know every face that comes and goes.

You roll through and steer around towards the vehicles along the east side of the curved driveway. You’ve never seen the sleek silver car you pull in next to but you know Mrs. Odinson’s pear-coloured porshe and Mr. Odinson’s slate grey beemer. They must have company. You can’t remember if she said there was a special occasion.

You slide into the space and grab your bag from in front of the passenger’s seat. You push open the door and gasp as the seat belt keeps you from climbing out. How forgetful! You unbuckle and untangle yourself, stepping out in your heeled oxfords and cigarette pants.

Your reflection looks back at you from the sleek polish of the unfamiliar silver car. You smile and shut your door, locking it with a chirp from your key fob. You tuck the key ring into your blazer pocket and bounce up towards the front door. You climb the stone stairs, broad and trimmed with curled railings. You stop at the top and clang the large knocker, a raven’s head with a ring in its beak.

A man in a dark suit answers the door. You’ve seen him before with his steely hair and sleepy eyes. He’s often the one who opens the door but he says nothing and shows you to Mrs. Odinson’s salon, as she calls it.

As the man leaves you just outside, you peek in through the open doorway. You see your client before the standing mirror in the corner, swirling as she checks her reflection. You cough and give a gentle knock on the door frame.

“Ah,” she spins to you with her pretty smile, “just in time, darling.” She struts over breezily, “the hem has come undone on this.” She smooths her elegant hands over her bodice, “so much for designer, eh.”

“Oh, my,” you give her a look up and down, “shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“Thank you, darling,” she trills and strolls back to the mirror. You follow her and pull up the stool you often use for such a fix. You have a routine between you, you know what she expects and you do it.

You sit and open your bag. You pull out your needle and stir through your spindles to find a matching thread. As you thread the eye, she continues to preen in the mirror.

“Something special going on?” You ask in your usual small talk.

“Didn’t I mention? My son’s come home at last.”

“Your son?” You look up as her curiously.

“Oh, not Thor,” she laughs, “no, no, he’s always about, isn’t he?” She tugs on a blonde wave, trying to make is stay in place, “my other son. Loki. Finally decided to move back home. Not here, certainly, but close by. Near to his mother.”

“Mm, that’s exciting,” you comment as you grab the hem and work around her movement.

“Isn’t it? We’re having a little luncheon. At the tea room, I feel a public place will deter an outbursts,” she pouts at herself, “you know how family can be.”

“Erm, sure,” you agree dulcetly as you tie off the thread, “all done.”

She swirls, her skirt nearly hitting your face. You lean back on the stool and wiggle your nose. She admires herself. She is beautiful. Her age takes nothing away from her natural grace. You could only dream of having a similar bearing; you’re a bit too short, a bit too clumsy.

“Mother,” a voice drawls from the hallway. You glance over as you wrap up the thread around the spindle, “we’re due to be off.”

You don’t know that timbre. It isn’t Thor’s rumbling baritone, rather something smoother, something refined. You tuck away the thread as a slender but tall man appears in the doorway. He tugs at the cuff of his jacket as he furrows his nose.

“Ready, just needed a touch up,” she faces him, “darling, I’ve a rack for you to take. Wouldn’t want you to make the trip just for a loose hem.”

She points to several garment bags hung from a rack against the wall. You stand as her son’s green eyes find his mother then drift over to you. His sharp features turn imperious.

“Must you trouble so,” she swats at him as a loose thread dangles from his cuff.

“Wasn’t me, mother, I only just purchased the piece,” he counters, “quality, these days.”

“Darling, come, you’ve some scissors,” she beckons you forth with a flutter of fingers.

You reach into your bag and take the silver scissors from their sheath. You approach them with a smile as the man stares at you, eyes narrowing. He’s much unlike his brother. Much calmer.

“May I?” You ask and Mrs. Odinson forces his arm towards you.

He hums but offers no protest. Your fingertips brush his shirt sleeve as you roll back his jacket cuff and snip the offended thread. You feel the seam with your thumb.

“Should do for the day,” you advise, “but it’ll come loose eventually. I could do a quick sew-off...”

“We’re already late,” he declares and rescinds his arm. “Mother.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she pats his chest gently, “go on then, get yourself off. Your father and I will catch up. Oh, are you taking Thor with you?”

“I believe he is capable of tending to himself--”

“Yes, but... he does enjoy indulgence,” Mrs. Odinson girds.

“He is an adult and it isn’t yet noon,” Loki reprimands, “I shall drive on my own, then.”

“You always do as you wish, don’t you, Loki?” She rebukes playfully.

He grumbles again and his eyes flit toward you one last time, “you might have the tailor see my brother. Perhaps she could sew his lips shut so we might have a peaceful lunch.”

Your cheeks bulb a bit larger at his joke. You can't entirely disagree.

“Eh, don’t begin,” Mrs. Odinson giggles as she snaps shut a compact and shoves it in a clutch, “you’ve only just returned.”

“Mm, yet it feels I never left at all,” he frowns, still watching you.

You chalk it up to curiousity, perhaps he feels it improper to ask, you do feel it a bit much to introduce yourself without prompting. The Odinson household always holds an air of formality you can never quite riddle out. You keep a smile on your face as his cheeks dimple and he tilts his head.

“Right then,” he straightens his posture and tugs his jacket straight, “suppose I should go and hold our reservation before they think to give it away.”

He inhales and pivots away, striding off with long, stiff steps. You watch after him before you turn back to the room. You go to slip your scissors back into their sheath and drop them into your bag before lifting it. Mrs. Odinson holds a cape and a jacket before her.

“Which do you think it better?” She asks as you cross to the rack to gather the waiting hangers.

“I think the cape would be better, it is rather warm. It shouldn’t rain I think,” you proffer, “is this the hounds tooth?” You peek through the opening of one of the garment bags.

“Yes, dear, it is so lovely and yet that dang clasp is giving me such trouble,” she sounds ready to swoon at the tragedy, “might you replace it? Perhaps a button might do instead?”

“I’ll have a look,” you fold the bags over your arm and hike up your bag, “I’ll be off then. Hope you have a good lunch.”

“Thank you. Don’t you work too hard, dearie,” she trills after you, “much too nice a day to be pent up.”

You sweep off with your armful. The dresses are heavier than one might expect. You find it surprising how fabric can add up. You go downstairs and once more find that stoic man in his dark suit. He opens the door for you and you thank him brightly.

You amble down the steps, looking around your load to keep from stepping on the treacherously low edges of the bags. You would hate to trod on one of Mrs. Odinson’s dresses. You’re so distracted with your efforts to keep from mussing up the hems that a honk has you jumping in your boots.

You yipe as you turn to face the silver car, its bumper stopping just short of you as the headlights flash. Your lips make an O and you quickly scurry out of the way. You dip your head down guiltily. You should’ve been paying attention.

The car door opens on the other side as you approach your own. You peer over with a sheepish look, “I’m sorry--”

“You should be careful. I could’ve hit you,” Loki says, more accusatory than concerned.

You smile, “I know, I’m sorry. I was distracted--”

“Certainly, you were,” he affirms, as if telling you exactly how the world works, “and what would I do should you be caught under my tires? Can you patch yourself up so easily as a stray cuff?”

“No, sir, I’m sorry. Again, I wasn’t meaning to get in the way--”

“You don’t look very sorry. Not so many people smile in the face of mortal injury.”

Your cheeks wobble but you keep your smile. You can’t help it. When you’re happy or nervous or even confused, you just tend to smile through it. A smile makes everything a little better.

“I’m not smiling at that--”

“Then what are you smiling at?” He hisses harshly.

You bat your lashes and look side to side, “you.”

“Me?” His forehead wrinkles. “Are you being smart?”

You shake your head and your lips twitch, “smart? No, sir, I’m only... I suppose I just smile at everyone.”

“So you would,” he mutters and angles back to his car, “be sure to stand back then. Wouldn’t want to run over your toes.”

He drops into the car seat and slams the door. You stand back and watch him buckle in. He takes his time, adjusting his mirror, then his long fingers tap his shifter before he cranks it into reverse. He swerves around and hug the pile of clothes.

You don’t blame him for being agitated, you’ve had a few close calls yourself. Accidents are never fun. His adrenaline was just going and at least he cared enough to be upset. It’s a good reminder to be more aware.

🪡

The fabric store isn’t very busy. The higher-end boutiques never are. You don’t often come to them yourself but you desperately need a yard to match Mrs. Odinson’s crushed velvet jackets. You need to replace a full panel and you can’t compromise; she’ll notice. She has a good eye. She never seems to miss.

Time is hardly on your time. You agreed to drop off the lot the next day. She has a gala and needs that one dress in particular. You know she’ll expect the rest.

You walk around with a swatch in hand, comparing the hue and feel. You don’t want the new material to contrast. You can’t forget the thread; you don’t have quiet that shade of magenta.

You stand amid the velvets, flipping over the large rolls, tugging the end, rubbing the fabric between your fingers. Your advance is patient even as your inner expediency nips away at you. As you come to the end of an aisle, you stop short as you look up. There’s a shadow there, waiting.

You stand still, waiting for them to come down that aisle. You’d hate to get in their way. But they don’t and in an instant, the shadow flickers away. You hear them retreat down the next row and you curl around, seeing no more than a leather heel before the figure disappears.

How odd.

The mysterious entity doesn’t distract you for long. The pinks are close, each of them seems just a shade off of what you’re looking for. You sigh and breathe out between your lip, rolling your tongue around the tip of a needle that isn’t there. A habit.

You lug out each roll and carry them down to the front counter. You lift each up as a woman greets you from the other side. You smile and clear your throat.

“You don’t happen to have any in the back,” you wonder, “I’m looking for something in between.”

You show her the square of crushed velvet and she sucks her teeth, “not quite, I think. I think we’ve something close in our catalogue but it wouldn’t be at this location. The north end may have it but I can’t confirm.

You sniff and nod, still smiling. It isn’t her fault she doesn’t have it. You remember the days you worked in a fabric shop, though it wasn’t as nice as this one. You thank her and take the rolls off the counter.

“I’ll just put these back then. I need thread anyhow,” you announce.

“Wonderful, you just let me know if you need anything, hon,” she beams at you.

You nod and turn back. You take the rolls back and set them away how you found them. When you spin, you feel something shift, as if there’s a breeze in this stagnant shop. You peer around. It’s strange, it’s as if you’re being followed but you haven’t seen a single other customer in the shop.

You tilt your head and cluck your tongue as you carry on to the racks of thread near the counter. You dive into the search for the perfect thickness and colour. It’s a much more fruitful hunt. As you pluck out the very strands you need, you hear the door. Your head pops up and you glance behind you curiously. You don’t see much of the other person as they leave the store, you never even saw them pass.

You shrug and take the spool to the counter, “thanks again,” you say to the associate, “better get out of here before temptation gets the best of me.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #in stitches #mcu #marvel #avengers

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 months

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Lovers Say Goodbye | 2 - B.Barnes

Character: soft!dark Bucky x ex-girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds solace and love in an unexpected place, only to have his world shattered by a shocking revelation about the person he cared about.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , Chap 3 ,Chap 4, Chap 5 , -

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

A dangerous glint flickered in Bucky's eyes as he stared at your employee photo on the screen. "What if," he said, his voice barely a whisper, laced with a chilling intensity, "I stirred up a little trouble of my own? Got her attention the only way she understands?"

Steve furrowed his brow, confusion etching lines on his forehead. "So, you're saying you want to create some chaos to get her back?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Based on your sudden disappearance, Bucky could only conclude that you had already made your decision, that you weren't coming back. But messing with Bucky Barnes was a grave mistake. He had developed deep feelings for you, and now, he was determined to do whatever it took to see you again, even if it meant the world went up in flames.

"Is it worth the potential consequences?" Steve pressed, his voice heavy with worry. He knew the depths of Bucky's past, the darkness he could unleash when provoked.

Bucky's posture remained rigid, his jaw clenched tight. "For her?" he rasped, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Without a doubt."

Steve swallowed hard, the weight of Bucky's unwavering resolve settling in his stomach. He knew his friend better than anyone, and when Bucky set his mind on something, he always got it. No matter the cost.

Bucky continued staring at your picture, a twisted smile on his lips. A silent promise hung heavy in the air, a promise that sent shivers down Steve's spine.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely audible, "we'll meet again. One way or another."

***************************

The rhythmic click of high heels echoed down the long, sterile hallway. The cheerful facade of the friendly florist was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. Gone were the warm smiles that had charmed customers and Bucky alike; your expression had turned as cold and sharp as the winter wind.

The sun-kissed summer dress you once wore was a distant memory. In its place, a crisp white shirt and a severe black suit, the skirt hitting just below the knee, encased your form. Black high heels completed the transformation, adding an air of controlled power to every step.

As you entered the imposing exterior of the CIA building, you shed the remnants of your borrowed identity, "Alex Lynch." With each click of your heels on the polished marble floor, you stepped further away, leaving behind the carefully constructed charade and reclaiming your true self: Y/N L/N.

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing you within a metal cocoon. You pressed the button for the hidden floor, a destination accessible only to those with the highest clearance. As the elevator descended, the tension in the air thickened. When the doors finally opened, revealing the bustling operations center, a hush fell over the room.

"She's back?" A stunned murmur rippled through the ranks of agents. They couldn't believe their eyes. You, their elusive phantom, had returned after two grueling years embedded with the target: Bucky Barnes, the world's most notorious assassin.

Previous attempts to neutralize him had resulted in nothing but body bags. They'd taken a gamble, sending in their last hope, the agent renowned for overcoming impossible odds: You, with the code name of ODIN - Operational Deception and Intelligence Network.

The nervous click of Peter's heels echoed in the stark hallway as he approached you, "Ehm, Agent L/N," he stammered, barely daring to meet your gaze, "welcome back. Director Brandon is waiting for you." It was clear he was awestruck, speaking to his idol, the legendary ODIN.

You acknowledged him with a curt "Hmmph," your voice devoid of warmth. Reaching Director Brandon's office, you stopped. No knock. No announcement. Just a pregnant pause before the heavy oak door swung open with a silent by Peter.

Director Brandon, a man hardened by years of service, found himself instinctively straightening in his chair as your icy blue eyes met his. A tremor ran through his hand, a stark contrast to your unwavering demeanor. Even though he was considerably older, an aura of authority clung to you, making him feel like a student in the presence of a seasoned master.

"Y/N," he began, his voice strained under the weight of your presence. A fleeting smile, more of a grimace, played on his lips. "Welcome back. Splendid work, truly. We secured everything we needed thanks to you."

You didn't respond, your silence a weapon hanging heavy in the air, thicker than the unspoken questions and unspoken judgments. With a practiced grace devoid of human warmth, you lowered yourself into a chair, your posture rigid and unyielding, as if carved from granite.

The silence stretched, broken only by Brandon's nervous cough. "Anything you desire," he offered, the words tumbling out in a rush, his voice tinged with desperation. "Name it, and it's yours. A vacation. Anything to show our appreciation for your... sacrifice."

A single word, devoid of emotion, dripped from your lips: "Mission."

He leaned back, surprise momentarily cracking his carefully constructed facade. "But... wouldn't you like some time to... relax? After two years undercover, surely even Agent L/N needs a moment to reacclimate to the real world."

You tilted your head ever so slightly, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. It was a smile devoid of warmth, bereft of amusement. "Tending to flowers for two years," you drawled, your voice like the whisper of an arctic wind, "has left me... unproductive. I require... stimulation."

A sigh escaped Brandon's lips, the weight of responsibility and the chilling efficiency of his top agent settling heavily on his shoulders. "Very well," he conceded, defeat lacing his voice. "I'll have the mission parameters ready shortly."

You offered a curt nod, the only acknowledgment he deemed worthy of his desperate plea.

He cleared his throat again, a nervous habit exacerbated by the intensity of your presence. "So," he ventured hesitantly, "no... regrets?"

Even though Brandon had been the one who sent you in, a sliver of unease gnawed at him as he regarded you. He couldn't shake the feeling of misplaced sympathy for Bucky, the notorious assassin you'd manipulated.

Your brow furrowed, a flicker of something akin to annoyance momentarily flickering in your eyes before being smothered by the practiced indifference that had become your second skin. "The success of the mission," you stated, your voice a monotone devoid of inflection, "is the only consideration that holds any relevance."

You rose from your chair, your movements smooth and practiced, your heels clicking like a death knell as you turned towards the door.

Without a single backward glance, you exited the office, leaving Brandon alone with the silence and the weight of his decision. He sank back into his chair, the image of your emotionless face etched in his memory.

Still, a sense of relief washed over him. Operation Pandora, a two-year-long covert operation, was finally over.

****************

A heavy sigh escaped Bucky's lips, a guttural "Huft," as he strained through another repetition. The training room, shrouded in darkness except for a single bare bulb illuminating the space, held memories he'd actively tried to suppress for the past two years.

Everywhere he looked, the ghosts of his past mocked him. Rows of gleaming weaponry hung on the wall, each instrument of death a stark reminder of the life he'd left behind.

Weight benches and punching bags stood like silent sentinels, their leather surfaces worn smooth from countless hours of his relentless pursuit of perfection.

He gripped the bar, his knuckles white with strain as he executed another hanging sit-up, the burn in his muscles a welcome distraction.

His gaze, however, remained fixed on the opposite wall, where a lone photograph served as a silent witness to his solitary workout. The image – a woman with warm eyes and a captivating smile – held the power to both soothe and ignite a storm of emotions within him.

Your fake name, Alex, echoed in his mind, a stark contrast to the cold reality of your true identity: Special Agent Y/N L/N.

"I'll get you," he whispered, his voice hoarse with a mix of determination and simmering anger. It wasn't just a vow of vengeance; it was a promise to himself, a pledge to reclaim the life stolen from him, to understand the woman behind the mask.

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Author Note:

My dear readers and followers,

Could you please share your opinions about this series with me?

If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear why it appealed to you.

If not, I would greatly appreciate your feedback and advice on improving the series.

Thank you!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x female!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel x reader #sebastian character #lovers say goodbye series

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ilys00ga · 2 months

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞.

➞ pair: yoongi x female reader.

➞ word count: 4k

➞ synopsis: buying a pretty vase from an antiques shop can't be that bad of an idea, can it?

➞ genre: fantasy, some angst, bitter sweetness is good for our hearts, fluff, hurt/comfort, cursed ghost!yoongi...

➞ A/N: So, this isn't the fic I talked about before, but I still wanted to post something while I take my time to figure out what the hell I wanted the other fic to be. this is purely inspired by a random prompt I found on a random website, and I wanted to give it a try. I hope u like it <3

ps. PLEASEEEE !!!!!!! do not hesitate to send me ur feedback (comments, asks, reblogs... whatever u want) !!!!!! just give me ur opinions. I'd love to hear it all :,)

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

The tips of my fingers meticulously traced the lines and patterns that coated the vase between my hands. A gorgeous ceramic vase that came with an even more gorgeous lid I had come upon at the small antiques store a few hours earlier, which—in my honest, humble opinion—was poorly and deficiently frequented given the amount of goodness it vends.

It was one that I’ve passed by many times on my way to work before, located in an old street busy with other art stores. Each time I’d stopped at it, fascinated by the items I could see through colorless glass, I’d get that strange desire to enter and discover what it had to offer me, but it wasn’t strong enough to pull me inside.

Broken or not, there’s magic hidden in those old items. Stories and emotions traveling from the past all the way to my heart.

Until one day, I decided to surrender to those powerful items and made my way through the front door. It was indeed a dusty magic shop.

I put the vase on the table with extra care and opened the lid, my dog running around somewhere in the other room. A quick look inside the vase, however, had my brows rising.

"Is this.. powder?" I asked myself.

Back in the shop, nothing hinted that the vase contained anything, nor did the owner utter a single word about it. She, in fact, didn't even seem to be that interested in her very few customers, if I were to be honest. The newspaper she was reading throughout all that short period of time I was in there had her eyes fixed on it, for the most part.

I swallowed hard, feeling like my heart had been ripped off my chest and drowned in icy cold water with the thought of getting unknowingly tangled in some illegal activities.

Loud barks, then the crashing of something cut my new overwhelming awareness short, and I sprinted in search of my hyper dog.

"What did you break this time, Holly?" I made quick work of cleaning the mess Holly had made, giving him some treats because he looked so cute nonetheless then returned to what I had decided to call a cursed beauty later on.

Upon entering the room, the sight of a man looking through my limited collection of vinyls with his back facing me made my legs freeze in their place, and my heart almost slipped out of my mouth in another alert panic.

"What the hell?!" my lips shouted before I could even think of finding something to defend myself in the face of that stranger.

The man dropped the disk in his hands and faced me with wide eyes. His startled expression quickly snapped into a kind smile, and he spoke, "Hey, are you the one who opened the urn?"

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?!!" my heart was pounding in my ears. I quickly went through the details from the moment I walked into the apartment to that of when I came back to the room, checking if I missed any hints of somebody breaking in or not.

The stranger started walking towards me with an arm stretched out, and I quickly backed away, looking around before grabbing the first hard object I could find within my sight line, "Stay away from me!"

"Relax, I'm not here to hurt you." He stopped in his tracks and raised his hands in the air, "I'm Yoongi, Min Yoongi, and you just set me free from that damn urn. Thank you, by the way."

The more he talked, the colder my blood was running in my veins and the slippier the object was becoming as I gripped it with sweating hands for dear life. Nothing he said made any sense. All I could do was shout in frustration, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

The patter of paws slapped across the corridor floor, and Holly came running into the living room. The dog started barking when he saw the stranger, but the latter didn’t even flinch. Instead, he sighed, breathing heavily through his nose, and then looked back up at me. But before he could say anything more, I huffed.

"Are you a serial killer?" I wanted to cry. Actually, he looked too pretty to be that coldhearted. I figured that maybe if I cried, he'd feel bad and leave me alone. Or maybe, if I took the chance to launch at him first, right then and there, that'd do something.

I could either die an honorable death, attempting to fighting back, or lay myself bare skinned for my predator, and no one would be a witness outside of the walls of the room that were only getting colder and colder by the ticking seconds.

Well, maybe Holly would, but he’s busy barking, not moving from his place at all.

"Look, I really don't know how you ended up here. I-I don't want to know, yeah? I will even let you go and not speak a single word about this. Just please don't kill me. Yeah? I'd do anything you want, just- please?" I began to plead, sweating like crazy even though the room around felt too icy.

The man didn’t reply, crouching down to lure my dog over. Holly’s small head cocked to the side before slowly moving closer to him. If I weren't busy trying to steady my breathing while simultaneously making sense of whatever was going on in the middle of my living room, I would’ve palmed my face.

"I told you, I'm Yoongi and I'm not a serial killer. This thing you have here, the one you just opened," he explained, nodding towards the open ceramic vase on the table, "I, my soul was trapped in there."

I blinked, a beat or two slipped through my lips, then muttered, “You’re being serious?”

“Why would I lie about something like this?” he retorted, hands petting the pet on his lap, and added in a softer voice, “I understand how crazy this sounds, but in simpler words, I was trapped inside and once the lid was lifted, which is what you have done, I was able to get out.”

“Oh, so you say once the vase is shut again you’ll go back there, is that it?” I breathed out, picking my words cautiously.

He hummed and nodded, still focused on the dog he was playing with. Taking my chance, I rushed towards the table. With trembling hands, I grabbed the lid and screwed the vase shut.

"No, wait! Don't clo-"

Silence…

The familiar sound of multiple clocks ticking together, hand in hand and almost perfectly at the same time, welcomed me into the antiques shop.

The shop was practically empty. No customers were in sight. My only audience was the oil paintings hanging on the walls, the lamps and the crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, the tables and the surfaces that displayed everything: from old jewelry to dolls and collectible plates and cups, the sculptures in different shapes and sizes scattered everywhere, the old books, cameras, vases and musical instruments…

They all stared at me and the vase I was holding tightly to my chest.

Walking ahead, I reached the front counter where the same old woman stood reading some newspaper. Despite the clearly audible bell that rang every time the door was swung open, she didn't seem to be recognizing my entrance. I cleared my throat in an attempt to grab her attention, but it fell on blinded ears.

Sighing, I put the vase on the counter with a thud and declared my aimed objective, "I'm here to return this."

"No exchange, no refund." The woman finally, but dryly, replied.

"You have to understand, I can't keep this anymore." I insisted.

"No exchange, no refund!" She repeated in a stern tone, looking up and meeting my eyes.

"Fine," I took a deep, long breath in, "you're the owner, tell me what do I do with it then."

"Its colors go very well with any kind of furniture, but I'd say keep it on a shelf amidst other decorations." The contrast between the way she spoke so friendly and the tight smile she had on her lips poked at my nerves.

"Are you kidding me? I just said I don't want this cursed thing anywhere near me! It has a weird powder in it! and-" I paused, lowering my voice despite the fact that the shop was empty—minus me, its owner and its goods, "some weird ghost appeared out of it!"

The antiquarian silently folded her newspaper, put it on the counter in front of her, and stayed silent for a while, staring deeply into my eyes.

"Use the ashes and break the curse." She mumbled.

"Ashes…? What?"

"You heard me. Break the curse and save the dead." She didn't say anything further, busying herself with the newspaper again, and that was my key to leave.

"Next time, don't sell cursed stuff to innocent people who don't have enough time on their hands." I turned on my heels and stomped out of the shop with the vase between my hands.

Three days later:

“Alright, talk to you later.”

Stepping into the apartment, I hung up the phone and put it on the small coffee table. Holly was curled up on the sofa with his nose tucked under his tail. My body naturally bent down, and I pecked the pup’s head affectionately.

It had been exactly three days since I came back from the small antiques shop, put the vase on the shelf, and never dared to touch it again. Every morning and every night, I’d stared at it and contemplated whether I ought to open it and investigate what the hell was going on or not. The shop owner’s words never left my ears, ‘break the curse and save the soul.’

Three days had passed, and I still hadn’t made my mind up or got to any simple conclusion whatsoever. The thought of having somebody else’s ashes in my house made my stomach twist in ways, yet somehow I couldn't find the courage to empty the urn.

Well, at least it wasn't coke or something of the kind. That thought floated in my head as I lay on my bed the same night I’d come back from the shop.

Stuck in a quandary between the fear of what could be awaiting me and the burden that was unceasingly weighing both my heart and mind, I knew that having a staring contest with that damn container day and night wasn’t going to do me any good.

After yet another fruitless debate between me and my conscious mind, I slowly walked towards the shelf, carefully put my hand over the lid, lifted it up and stared at the powder—the ashes inside.

I waited, nothing happened. Looked around the room, nothing happened.

For a moment, I could feel a scoff bubbling its way up my throat. It was ridiculous, I felt ridiculous for expecting something, for believing that something would happen and that all of that madness was real.

How could a tale about the soul of a cursed, handsome man popping out of an ancient vase be real?

But then again, I recalled the thing the old woman had said to me, as well as that encounter I had with the strange man. Very vividly clear. I remembered it, it happened, it was real.

"You didn't throw it away." A low voice came from behind and made me jolt in surprise.

There he was, the strange man—Yoongi leaning on the doorframe with both of his hands tucked in his pockets.

Part of me was grateful he was there because I didn't have to worry about my mental well-being deteriorating. But the other one shivered, creeped out by his presence, by the whole situation.

"Thank you." Why is he so polite? "I was scared you too would throw me away." Oh?

I lightly shook my head, trying to find the proper words to express myself, and I said, "Listen, I need answers."

“I figured. What is it that you want to know?”

"I-I talked to the person that sold this thing to me, and she said that I need to use these… ashes to break a curse.” Somehow, my brain was more than aware of the fact that the man standing a few steps away from me was most probably not human.

“yeah…?” He mumbled back, “didn’t she say how to do that?”

I shook my head ‘no’, and if his disappointed, broken look surprised me, I tried my best not to make it visibly noticeable.

“What the hell are you exactly?” I asked. I wasn't sure what emotion(s) I was feeling at that very moment exactly. I couldn’t put a name to it to save my life. But I surely didn’t mean to sound as exasperated as my voice made me out to be. I could see his throat work as he gulped, eyes averting from mine to look down at the floor for a moment before looking up again.

"I died a hundred years ago. A witch attempted to kill me, and she did, before casting a curse and trapping me inside that thing over there." he pointed towards the antique vase behind me, then added, "in my ashes. I've been trapped there for years. Some people did stumble upon me when they opened it over the years. Just like you did. But they never gave me one chance to even speak, and they threw it out immediately."

“But why? What did you do to deserve all of this?”

A gloom overcame his eyes, yet his voice was steady and deep as his lips stretched into a smile that only the word ‘sour’ could do its description justice.

"That's what happens when one falls in love with a witch.” He replied, “anyways, that’s all I know. I've been trying to figure out how to break the curse, but being stuck in a jar serves for nothing.”

Neither of us spoke for a while, him standing amidst the echoes of his past and my voice trying to find its way through the strangled words stuck in my throat.

“I’ll help you.” I spoke, breaking the heavy silence.

“Really?” His face was so full of hope it sent my heart clenching between my ribs.

“Yeah. This is making me anxious as well, I have no other choice.” I answered, brushing it off with a shrug.

“What brings you back here?” said the antiquarian who was busy polishing some old pocket watches, her glaces hanging low on the tip of her nose.

“I- We need some help.” I answered, and her head snapped up to find me and Yoongi staring back at her at the front counter.

“How could an old antiques shop owner possibly be of any help to you youngsters?” She asked again.

“I assure you that I’m not younger than you.” came a comment from Yoongi.

She stared at him, her relaxed expression turning tense, and then she looked at me again. Instead of providing an answer, I put the open vase in front of her. She gave it a quick look and then looked back into my eyes. “You are one stubborn young woman.”

“I’m not here to return it.” I cut her off to explain myself, “I’m here to know how to break the curse and release his soul.”

“I see you let him walk around freely.”

“Why is that a problem?” I asked with furrowed brows.

“Why wouldn’t a wandering dead be a problem to the living?” Her brows rose just as she gestured with her head towards Yoongi, as if stating the most obvious scientific fact, “anyhow, you want to know what to do next, don’t you?”

I hummed.

“All you need to do is throw the ashes into the ocean, let it dissolve and become one with the salt water. Tomorrow, when the sun sets.”

“Why specifically tomorrow?” I asked.

“Full moon. Or else your efforts will go down the drain. Do not let that happen” She emphasized on the last part through gritted teeth.

“How do you know so much?” Yoongi was the one to ask.

“I am nothing but a mere shop owner. Buying old stuff and selling them, that’s what I do.”

“You must be a special kind, then.” He bantered.

She shrugged and replied, “I study my products. We’re talking about items that date back to hundreds of years ago.”

She handed me a small pouch bag and told me to put the ashes in there, saying that it would be easier than carrying an open urn around. She seemed displeased with Yoongi’s presence, which was quite understandable, but it didn’t phase him as he was more interested in the shop around him. Walking around with curious eyes.

“Do not spend too much time out there.” was the last thing she addressed to Yoongi before we walked out of the shop.

“You think there’s more cursed things in that shop?” he asked.

“I do not want to think about it.” He chuckled at my response, then I added, “Full moon is tomorrow night.. Do you want to spend one last day with me?"

"Sorry?"

"I think you deserve one last good day before.. resting."

I watched him give my offer a thought as we walked down the street, then he broke into a wide smile, "You mean it?"

“Of course! You’re new here. We can't do much in less than a day, but we can do things around the town. And then we’ll go to the beach before the sun sets, do what we need to do…”

“That sounds way too good to be true.”

“We'll make it true.” I reassured him with a nod.

The next morning, I found Yoongi sitting with a book I could easily recognize from my own collection resting in his hands. He had told me that since he doesn’t sleep, he spent the night reading from my bookshelf. After a few minutes of me listening as he talked so passionately, impressed by everything he’d read, I decided it was time to commence my mission of granting the man his most merited happy day.

It started with a short trip to a well-known bakery, where I made him try whatever his heart—and stomach—desired of baked goods. I bought him wine to taste, and he said it bore no resemblance to that of ancient times. That's how we found ourselves running a taste test on a bunch of beverage bottles, and he had the same reaction to all of them. I also ended up getting him some soda cans to try, and he liked them.

I rented two bikes. It took some time for him to adjust, whining about being confined inside a jar for a hundred years. But once he got the hang of it, we went wandering around the streets of the city with the breeze kissing our cheeks.

I then brought him to a park, one he later said he really liked. We walked between the trees and let the grass tickle our toes. Sat between colorful flowers, redolent with the scent of an early spring. He made a crown and insisted on taking a picture of me with it. He later revealed that he used to love nature the most when he was still alive, and talked about the days he’d spent in the green despite his father’s constant insistence on marriage and building a family of his very own.

I asked him how old he was when he died, he said twenty-eight. And suddenly, his appearance made sense after that. Too young and too handsome, how could the world still let go of him?

He laughed when I made a comment about that and joked, saying that apparently his past lover didn’t want him to live past twenty-eight. I could feel the heavy pain in that joke slicing at my neck, stinging, and I swallowed it down.

He stopped to pet every dog and cat that crossed our path. I couldn’t help but take a picture or two, though the camera never caught his reflection in its frame.

I made sure to drag him towards the kid’s section of the park, where I taught him how to play in the slides and the swings and spring riders. Two grown-ups playing around in a kids’ playground had its fair amount of questioning stares, but hearing him giggle and seeing his wide grin was more than worth it.

We kept on talking nonstop about the differences between our timelines. We made it to a bridge that looked over a lake, the clouds above reflected on the water surface, glowing with the sun behind them. Yoongi started throwing small pieces of bread for the floating ducks, and I just stood there, observing.

“What other place do you want to go to?”

“The beach.” He answered, not looking up from his task. “My favorite place.”

It was a couple of hours before the sunset when we finally made it to the beach. There was a chill in the air that evening, the sand wasn’t as burning as it probably was when the sun was still up high in the sky, beaming. I let my lungs sip on the fresh scent of the ocean as I took a deep breath in, watching Yoongi approach the water with distant eyes.

He let the foamy edge climb its way to his toes, dipping his ankles and then retreating to the sea. He sat on the sand and I did the same.

We didn’t talk. We just sat there and watched the waves dancing with the wind as the sun sank to meet the horizon.

It wasn’t until shades of blue, orange and red blended, interwoven as they painted the breathtaking scenery before us that he spoke in a hushed voice, as though he’d startle the sun and make it rush to hide under the ocean if he spoke any louder, “Thank you for everything, really. No one has ever been this nice to me, even when I was still alive. This meant the most to me.”

I smiled.

“You know, if I were still alive, or if we had met sometime in my lifetime, I would’ve done everything I could to keep you by my side.” I could see him scratch at the back of his head from the corner of my eye, and I turned to see his giddy smile.

“you shouldn’t say things like this ‘cause I’m going to be thinking about it for the rest of my life.” I said, sheepishly.

His smile grew bigger, “Sounds superb. At least someone will remember me.”

My heart clenched.

“You deserve to be remembered.” I said.

“I really don’t.” I could see tears pricking his eyes as they turned a faint red. I had so much to ask at that moment, but I couldn’t. Words were stuck behind my teeth, and I just turned my head to face the horizon again.

“It’s time.” He noted, standing up and offering his hand to me. I took it in mine and stood on my feet, gripping the pouch between my fingers. We marched deeper into the sea, deep enough that the water reached our knees.

“ready?” I asked one last time, and he nodded, his smile never fading away.

The pouch felt so heavy as I untied its drawstring, carefully emptying its content into the water. Yoongi stood behind me, and I didn’t have the heart to look over my shoulder.

It took everything in me to turn around, and when I did, he was no longer there. Breeze blew in my face, and I swear I could feel warmth touching my skin for a moment, or two.

Whether I’d want to visit that antique shop again or not was something I still can’t put my finger on, but somewhere, somehow, deep down I knew I was thankful for it guided the vase– the urn to my hands.

And I whispered prayers of him resting at peace ever after as I looked up at the glowing moon above and the sparkling stars that swimmed all around it.

Grieving a person I never knew, but had the chance to cross paths with, at last.

#yoongi #bts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi drabble #bts scenarios #bts yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi angst #yoongi gif #bts imagines #bts fic

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demxters · 2 years

Text

— 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader

summary: in which you find the handsome stranger of your dreams in the form of one of your frequent bookstore visitors…

wc: 1.1k

warning(s): slight second hand embarrassment from y/n but other than that none!

a/n: baby, baby boy i love you. this is the first time i’ve written in MONTHS and i’m glad it was for the loml bob floyd. feedback is greatly appreciated! <3

(gif credit @unicornships )

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The chill of the crisp autumn air blows through your little shop just as the door swings shut. It sends a pleasant shiver down your spine from where you kneel in the romance section to take inventory.

Your fingers delicately skim the spines of your favorite novels as you count and check them off your sheet. Too caught up in your own daydream of being swept away by a handsome stranger, you don’t hear the footsteps coming down the aisle when you stand up on your feet.

All the air leaves your lungs as you lose your footing. With eyes clenched shut and awaiting the inevitable you brace for the impact that, strangely, never comes.

A comforting warmth wraps around your middle, breaking your fall.

“Careful, miss!” Your savior makes himself heard.

You deeply inhale to catch your breath, surrounding yourself in the mystery man. Your heart skips a beat at the feel of his chest to your back. He’s lean, yet muscular (not that it mattered, but it was a plus). And his scent… he smelled like a mix of warm spices and laundry detergent in a way that reminded you of home. Your eyes just almost fall shut in his warm embrace. Almost.

“Uh, miss?” The arm on your waist loosens and you feel a firm hold on your shoulders.

God, was he gorgeous.

The naval aviator with the perfect hair and adorable glasses has been there five times since Monday, not that you’ve been counting. It is currently Wednesday.

“Hi,” you gasp breathlessly. Your eyes flick to the patch on his chest. “Lieutenant Floyd.”

A small smile graces his features as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Hi, Y/N.”

“You-you know my name?” A flutter bursts in your chest.

“It’s, uh, on your name tag,” he points to the pin on your apron.

Duh. You feel like an idiot. If you weren’t hot earlier, you certainly are now. You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there. “Right,” you clear your throat. “Of course.”

He nods and awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck.

He opens his mouth to speak but you’d rather not embarrass yourself any longer so you point to the register before bolting.

You leave Bob standing in the aisle with pink tinted cheeks. He feels his palms start to sweat as he watches you walk off. Bob’s desperate for another interaction with you. Your wide eyes and rambling sent his heart into a frenzy. The moment he discovered your hidden gem of a bookstore in Fightertown, USA, he knew for certain that it would become his favorite place to frequent. The plethora of books and cute bookshop owner was a plus. He has wanted to talk to you for so long and now that he has, he’s scared you off.

Just talk to her. Bob scoffs to himself as he picks a random book off the shelf. Some advice that was, thanks Hangman.

He makes his way back to the front of the store to see you flipping through a Better Homes and Garden magazine. Bob takes a deep breath, puts some confidence in his stride and makes his way to you.

The sight of your newfound favorite customer with your favorite book in his hands has you practically throwing your magazine to the floor.

“You all set, Lieutenant?” You hope the shakiness in your voice isn’t obvious.

“Bob.”

The puzzled look in your eyes urges him on.

“Earlier you called me Lieutenant Floyd. But you could just call me Bob,” he shrugs.

“Bob,” you test out. It’s a simple name, no more than three letters, yet it feels right on your tongue. Like his name was meant to fall from your lips. “Alright, Bob, your total is $4.50, military discount included.”

He completes the transaction in silence and you rock back and forth on the heels of your feet. You desperately want to say something, anything but you can’t. You’ve never been this nervous around a boy before.

“That’s my favorite, you know.”

Bob looks down at the book in his hands, realizing he didn’t even care to look at what he grabbed. “The Notebook?”

You hum in response as you fiddle with the corner of your magazine. “It’s the perfect amount of romance, true love, and tragedy.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. My opinion on Romeo and Juliet has almost gotten me killed on multiple occasions, so I don’t want to delve into that.” You dismiss with a shake of your head.

You’re rambling again and Bob smiles. You were just the cutest thing. He could listen to you ramble all day if you’d let him. “I’d love to hear that opinion. Promise I won’t kill you.”

The most beautiful sound falls from your lips at Bob’s poor attempt at a joke. That’s when he knows, he’s absolutely enamored by you.

“You say that now, but once I tell you what I think, you might change your mind.”

“Not possible,” he grins, leaning forward on the counter. “You’re too cute to kill.” Bob’s eyes grow wide at his words. Now it’s his turn to be embarrassed. He’s about to apologize, about to take it back and run out of the store when you stop him.

“You think I’m cute?”

The way your face lights up makes Bob think his embarrassment was worth it. “Yeah,” he lets out, turning redder by the second.

“I think you’re cute too,” you smile, placing a gentle hand atop his on the counter.

Bob’s watch goes off startling the both of you and you pull your hand off his. He finds himself already missing the warmth. “Shoot, I’ve got to run.” He grabs his copy of The Notebook. “Say, what are the chances of me taking you out sometime?”

“I’d say it’s looking pretty good, Lieutenant.”

The wink you send him makes his heart rate rise. “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

You watch him leave with a lovestruck grin. The squeal that comes from you echoes through the empty store. Who’d have thought your handsome stranger would come in the form of adorably shy, Bob Floyd?

+bonus:

“The Notebook? Really, Bob? I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic,” Phoenix teases, taking the book off the table and skimming through the pages.

“It looked interesting,” Bob mutters.

A slip of paper falls from its pages, catching Phoenix’s attention. Bob walks over to her and peers over her shoulder, curious to what she found.

For when you’re in the mood for some killer opinions:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

-Y/N

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

#top gun: maverick #tgm #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fic #samwlscns writing

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ivanwm-05 · 9 months

Text

The Thousand Of Us

Genre: Superpowers/Post-Apocalyptic/ Sci-fi

Story plot:

Your story begins at what everyone largely saw as the end of the world. There was a bright flash that illuminated the night sky so brightly, it was identical to day as thousands of missiles in a last-ditch effort to save mankind collided with a ginormous asteroid entering our atmosphere.

You wake up two years later and find out that the crisis was averted, but a new crisis of similar proportions was created. The asteroid was carrying a never-before-seen element, mixed with the radiation that bathed the earth. It created a chain of genetic mutations that wiped out nearly the entire population of the planet and put every other living being in hibernation for two years.

For starters all adults are dead, only a thousand people 18 years of age and below around the globe survived, and the thousand of you that survived, wake up to discover that you each now have unique powers. The only problem is that you’re not the only ones that same phenomenon gave powers, also mutated every other living organism on the planet to varying degrees and they were also in hibernation for as long as you are, so they have about 2 years worth of hunger to satiate.

Would you focus on Survival and Rebuilding? or would you try to Unite or Conquer other groups of teenagers to form a more powerful force against the threats you face? Would you try to Find a Cure or Solution by striving to find a way to reverse the mutations in animals and restore the planet to its former state? or would you struggle in Navigating Moral Choices? You could Uncover Hidden Powers or struggle to Establish a Safe Haven for you and your group.

Features:

Play as Male/Female/non-binary and customize your appearance and personality.

You can select one out of a long list of abilities, ranging from just flight to insane regenerative abilities to even earth-shaking strength or even necromancy.

Struggle to stay alive as you do not just have to watch out for mutated plants, animals, and even crazy weather conditions, but also have to watch out for other humans who seek to conquer and lead the rest of the survivors with their terrifying abilities.

You get to choose your MC’s demeanor and how you react to situations. You can be cold and calculative or you could be shy and reserved.

Most involved characters are up to 18 & older including the MC.

Hidden pathways will be made available based on certain choices made within the book that will reveal new endings and shape the LIs future just try to explore this new world.

There might be some explicit scenes but if there are you’ll have the option to fade to black. Mild gore might be unavoidable and there would definitely (depending on your choices though) be death scenes.

Every different power is a different route to explore.

Romantic Interest:

I’m gonna try to make this relatable so no definite number yet but nearly every person you encounter, depending on your interaction and relationship with them can be romanced by your MC.

MC can romance male/female/non-binary characters.

I would also create LIs that exist outside of the MC to showcase that the MC’s involvement in their life created a change within them.

Polyamory possible.

Also ace/aro routes possible.

Current Word count: 202,095 (without code) and 1,187,537 (with code)

😂Code is pretty beefed up because I want to branch this out as much as possible so you have the liberty to make whatever choice you desire and live with the consequences.

To play the demo, go here: Play Demo

To join the discussion at the forum: Forum

This is the link to the New Patreon: NEW Patron

This is the link to the new Discord server: Discord

Patreons get releases ahead of the public and also I'm starting the side stories soon and they get to vote for the characters that I release first.

Any and all feedback and suggestions would be appreciated.

Note: no current notes.

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ghostheartfelt · 10 months

Text

*:･｡☆ tags: damsel in distress!reader, reader will have a father daughter relationship with dutch, slowburn romance, no use of y/n, reader is nicknamed "Miracle" once she settles in with the gang. THIS IS SET BEFORE THE FLEE OF BLACKWATER.

*:･｡☆ warnings: mentions of kidnapping/attempts of kidnapping, blood and gore (mostly js people gettin shot n shit 🙏🏼 it's rdr afterall.) period typical undertones of sexism. canon typical violence. mentions of animal abuse/neglect

〔☆〕 desc: during a little break at the saloon, you're interrupted by an O'Driscoll who presses a gun to your back and forces you out of the saloon for a kidnapping. the Van Der Linde group comes to your rescue.

.. ☆ next part | masterlist (tbe)

—✩ A WOLF’S BANE P. ⅰ ✩—

word count — 2.3k

a/n: hey! this is part one of my arthur morgan x fem!reader slowburn series. i know it starts off a little funky, but i promise you’re in for a treat!! feedback/ideas are greatly appreciated! 🤭🪭 this part is mostly focused on the reader developing relationships with the other members of the gang. (p.s i promise reader isn’t a mary sue 😭 this is just for build up!)

Your hands stay busy loading and spinning the barrel of your duel Widowmakers. They were beautifully customized, and you just purchased a brand new cylinder from the gunsmith. There were elk carvings on the wood handle—your holsters having the same stitching as they rest on your waist under your coat—and freshly polished metals.

You were quietly listening in on the discussions that swarmed at every angle in the Saloon. You’d traveled from Strawberry to Valentine to receive your prescription from Doctor Calloway.

Smithfield has tried a fair amount to ask you out for a dinner, or a horseback ride to Saint Denis, and as much as you loved horseback riding, you declined kindly.

He mailed you a letter asking that you come to his office to obtain it. You caught a stagecoach and paid five dollars for the ride, then took yourself to the saloon first for a quick lamb heart stew, which was something you always made sure to grab upon visiting Valentine, making you a familiar customer with the owner, Mr. Smithfield.

As you stood and adjusted your skirt while stuffing your revolver into its holster that stayed hidden under your coat, a barrel of a gun pressed against your back. Your eyes shot open and you refused to turn your head to see who your threat was.

The man stunk of alcohol, cigarettes, and pure grime, and the scent only grew stronger as you felt his face press against your hair to whisper in your ear.

“Act natural, pretty thing.”

His body closed in against your back with his hip bones digging into your waist. He wasn’t very tall, nor muscular, perhaps about five foot six.

“Do you always greet a pretty woman like this?” You hiss quietly as he twists the gun into your back, guiding you out. He makes sure to snatche your purse from off the table you were seated at—which you didn’t mind too much since you were struggling financially with only about thirty dollars to your name—you didn’t even get to pay your tab off. You hoped Smithfield would understand.

“Shut up and move, girl.” He rejoined.

Undoubtedly, your heart raced in your chest as you both stepped out of the Saloon. There’s another stagecoach with a few other men seated, causing your eyes to widen. This is a kidnapping, not a robbery, you thought, and that was when sweat began to head down from your scalp.

“She’s a good one, Welts!” one snorted. He had crooked and several missing teeth, a lazy eye, and his brown hair was greasy, and he just looked downright disgusting.

“O’Driscoll will be real happy!”

That was when you froze in your place as you were turned around and patted down for any extra goods; the male in front of you had managed to find a pearl necklace from the depths of your dress pocket, and you scrambled to try and grab it from him.

“Please, don’t take that, take anything else.” You were surprised to find yourself pleading to this man. To an O’Driscoll.

Welt’s head tilted and he let out a loud laugh before he took his revolver, slamming the barrel and cylinder rough against your cheekbone, immediate pain and heat surged as it quickly began to swell, and your body twists, landing on the ground with your palms flat in the dirt below you.

You reach one of your hands—that had grains of tiny rocks stuck in your bleeding skin—up to touch your cheek, a quick feeling of regret causing you to yank your head away from the pain.

“You’re a scum!” you try to turn your head, yet he grabs a full fist of your hair and unsheathes his knife, cutting off a thick chunk of your locks. You gasped weakly.

The men above you bursted into laughter while instead tears stung your eyes. “Speak when spoken to, woman,” he grimaced. You feel for the hair he sliced, and your lip quivers. These were definitely Colm O’Driscoll’s men.

Welts gripped your upper arm, and pulled you onto your feet. Accidentally, you rip your dress from your feet getting caught in the fabric as you struggle to stand with the man swinging you around like a lasso.

You feel his revolver get pinned into your back once again as he taps the barrel against you, gesturing you to walk towards the coach. You hesitated, which he didn’t take kindly. You heard the hammer click, and that’s when you caught yourself walking.

“Hello, gentlemen!” an exuberant voice joins in, and you turn your head to look at the man. He was neatly shaven, besides just a bit of clean stubble along his chin. His hair seemed slicked back at the top, even with a black hat, and he was in a long-sleeved white and blue striped shirt, a black vest, and black slacks.

His boots were black with brown spurs. He had his hand on his belt, though not over his holsters that you think were home to dual revolvers. You were just about tired of seeing men with guns.

Guns. You thought. I’m as dumb as a rat—you shimmy your arm down to press against your waist, feeling for your Widowmakers. You felt the hardness with your wrist, playing it calm, and cool. Welts was just as dumb, if not more—he hasn’t even realized you were armed, not that you knew how to use them, anyway. Your hand drags away. Most likely, you wouldn’t be able to beat the man in a sharpshoot.

“Now, a little birdy told me you were being not so nice to this innocent woman, is that true?” The black-haired male, being passive aggressive, sends you kind eyes that leave you feeling skeptical.

You notice his friends.

One was in a low ponytail, and had a sombrero on his head, and the other had olive skin and a hat with a small feather in it’s band.

“She’s my wife, she’s drunk, and these men have offered to take us home. Go along with your business.” Welts snarled as he pushed your shins into the step of the stagecoach. Never in a million years would you even think to date or marry an O’Driscoll—especially not him.

His hair was greasy, and there was collected dirt behind his ears. With his gapped teeth, and his uncared for eyebrows. You wanted to murder the ratbag for laying his dirty fingers on you.

“You tellin’ me the little birdy is a liar?” the man asks, his tone lowering.

“Hell is your problem?” Welts’ eyebrows furrowed.

His gun against your back was starting to feel like it was forming a circular mark on your back from the muzzle.

“I surely don’t remember a time where I saw a loyal man pinning a gun to his wife’s back,” another one of the man’s friends appeared. He had darker skin, Native American features, and a braid running down his own back.

His arms were folded against his chest that was covered in a brown long-sleeved tunic.

“Do you know this man, miss?” His eyes drag to yours with a softer expression creasing his features.

Once you open your mouth to speak, you’re silenced with a quick shoulder shove forcing you into the coach.

“She does, now leave us be.” He sat himself down next to you. Your head turns to look at them as your face twists into fear.

There were five men; the black-haired one, the one with the braid, the male with the ponytail, the scarred Scottish man, and another male who was a bit taller and quieter. His hair was more brown, his face was scruffy, and he wore a black gamblers hat.

“Come on now, hold your horses, compadre!” The one with the ponytail waved his hand in the air, though the man standing in the front seat of the stagecoach flicked the reins against the hinds of both of the gray and black horses, causing them to squeal and chase out of Valentine.

Panic surged through you, raising your adrenaline. When you try to crane your head to see if the men decided to leave, your chest is pushed back against the seat by one of Welts’ companions. Suddenly, the one who’d exchanged you the soft look—which you now have come to believe was the leader—yelled out, and all the men followed his command. “Saddle up, boys, we got ourselves a couple’a maggots!”

You heard two, or three, or four, of them whistle a call to their horses and moments later, they were chasing down the stagecoach. You felt a tinge of hope, and trusted that these men would save you.

“Can these sons’a bitches go any faster?!” Welts hands gripped the seat the driver sat on with his head turned over his shoulder.

When the shooting began, you quickly ducked and let out a distressed noise. Bullets flew all around you, and you covered your ears. You looked up, and immediately the driver had a bullet pierce his skull. You screamed, some of the red paste splattering onto your face. The driver fell off the front of the coach, and you gasped as the wheels ran over the body, the lump making you wobble. You lift yourself up, and take a hold of the seats to stabilize yourself.

The horses stressed, unsure what to do, and you looked around frantically. Another one of the men attempted to cross over and take hold of the reins, but he received the same fate, instead his body leaned over yours, and you pushed it off the edge before it toppled on you.

“Girl!” One of the men yelled, catching your attention. “Do ya know how to drive that thing?!” His accent was thick, and his voice was deep with a slight rasp. You’d gotten a more clear look at his face now that it wasn’t half-covered with his hat. “I said, do ya know how to drive it?!” His horse sped up along the side of the coach, and you frantically nodded your head. You used to be a Stagecoach Taxi at fourteen. You just hoped you still had it in you.

You tore the fabric of the hem of your dress some more until the fabric stopped just above your knees, then hopped over before you’re pulled back by the neck; a man’s arm choking you and smashing both sides of your head as he squeezed his arm making you fall back onto the floor. “Stupid bitch,” the man huffed and grunted, shooting off a few rounds.

“Arthur, Arthur, no!” the leader yelled from behind. “You’ll risk shootin’ her! Put that gun down!”

He was right; the coach was teetering from side to side, and would be sure to tumble off the edge of a cliff if it were to get close enough.

They’d be sure to go off-road with the horses only knowing to go in one direction at the speed they were currently.

These horses were abused, whip welts covering both their hinds and backs, it was disgusting.

You sputtered out a few coughs as the man cut off your entire circulation, your fingers to pry at his arms and your nails scratch at his skin.

He drops you and you slump onto the floor. You hit your head on some metal, yet quickly recover. While the man is distracted, you throw your head at his pants and bite on his groin through the slacks, immediately, he lets out a yowl and accidentally pulls the trigger of his Litchfield Rifle as he falls off the carriage, which ricochets off a steel base, and strikes your shoulder.

A cry leaves your throat and you slap your hand over the wound. Blood seeps through the cloth of your ruffled top, but you swing yourself back over and take hold of the reins.

You feel your head pounding, but you pull back the reins and attempt to slow the horses down, though they don’t abide. The horses are panicked, unsure how to react.

“Don’t stop the coach!” the man with the feather in his hat, shooting over his shoulder.

”Well, what the hell do I do then?!” Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s more! They just keep comin’!” you turn your head at his words, and your eyes widen to see more O’Driscoll men trailing behind on coaches and horses.

“Jump on my horse!” The man with the striped shirt yells in your direction, and you look at him as if he’s crazy. “I’ll grab you, don’t worry about falling, but hurry it up!” His voice booms, going rasp.

“Now! Now!” He pulls back the reins of his horse, causing it to halt, and with a running start, you jump off the coach and onto his horse, his arm pulling you up as you almost fall off the horse’s hind to sit upright.

The horses to the coach attempt to stop at the edge of the cliff they ran too, though the coach pushes them over. You gasp, and turn your head as your hands grip the man’s jacket that was in front of you.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sweetheart,” he clears his throat, and turns his horse around. His friends caught up, and their horses skidded to a stop.

“Dutch! What the hell was that for?” The male, who had directed you to not stop the stagecoach, his face was twisted with fury.

“Do you trust me, or not, son?” The man, who now is identified as Dutch, questions him, then elbows you lightly. “John Marston, he’s the hothead if you couldn’t tell, ain’t that right, boys?” He let out a humorous laugh. “Damn straight.” The one with the sombrero howls.

You had to keep yourself from passing out, which failed miserably. “You alright back there, miss?” He nudged your body again. Your eyes began to shut on you, and you slumped against the man’s back, then began to slide off the horse and onto the ground.

“Shit, shit!” Dutch took quick notice of your wounds. “Ain’t any of you tell me she was shot!” He wheezed, rushing off his horse. Everything faded to black.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan is sexy #ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing

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wip · 10 months

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RSS feeds need love -- they're an excellent way of managing feeds when you're trying to keep track of way more than the dashboard/tabs can handle. It seems to have been left by the wayside: photo posts were randomly broke (some but not all are now fixed), reblogged "asks" only show the original answer, older blogs with "shorten posts in feed" still exist even though the option was removed. Dashboard-only blogs don't even allow RSS. Are there any plans to improve that system at all?

Answer: Hey, @nameless-sdk!

So, your last point is a misconception I’d love to clear up: blogs without custom themes do have RSS feeds! For example, while https://macmanx.tumblr.com/ redirects to https://www.tumblr.com/macmanx, https://macmanx.tumblr.com/rss does not redirect and works exactly as it does if the blog did have a custom theme. The exception is if the blog is “hidden” and requires login to view—these blogs do not have RSS feeds, because there is no way to authenticate with Tumblr over RSS! Since this is a privacy setting, this is fully intentional.

As for the other concerns, I agree—it would be awesome to see RSS get more support. Unfortunately, it’s not really aligned with our current priorities. In the meantime, if your RSS reader has a setting to simply visit the webpage of feed items (I know Mozilla Thunderbird has one), I’d recommend using that to read Tumblr posts via RSS.

Thanks for your feedback and suggestions—it’s much appreciated.

Best,

—April

#feature #rss feeds #posting #backend #your suggestions

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rottenroyalebooks · 4 months

Text

Love Drunk 0.4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x older sister!Harrington reader

Also includes: Steve Harrington x sister!reader (siblings)

AU: No Upside Down.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N Harrington left Hawkins with her boyfriend when she turned eighteen to follow her dreams of being a rock star. Three years later, she returns to Hawkins alone and scarred. Now, she has to repair her broken relationship with her younger brother while trying to prevent herself from falling for a cute metalhead who plays at the Hideout, where she works.

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence.

<- Previous | Next ->

A/N: Please remember to like, comment, and reblog! It helps a lot! Don't be afraid to give some feedback! <3

Taglist: @witchwolflea (Open for all!)

Corroded Coffin's set was a half hour long, by the end of it I was busying myself cleaning the glasses left by customers and keeping an eye on my brother from my place at the bar.

Yes, he was old enough that he didn't need my protection anymore, but I knew what being in a bar underage was like and didn't want him dipping his toes in the wrong crowd.

Seeing the group he came with tonight, a bunch of young teens and some respectable-looking kids his own age, it seemed that they'd keep him out of trouble.

"We're Corroded Coffin, thank you and goodnight!" The bar cheered, but I could hear Dustin's voice over everything else going on, which made me chuckle as I started putting away the clean glasses.

Jim strolled over to me with a smile, stopping beside me as he leaned against the bar, "Don't you miss that? Your hometown cheering you on after you blew them away with your amazing vocals?"

I rolled my eyes, "It's not going to happen, Jim."

"But it'll be just like old times!"

"I haven't performed in three years. The only person who gets to hear me sing and play guitar is my dog. Besides, I left my guitar in California." I put the drying rag over my shoulder and crossed my arms turning to him.

It was Jim's turn to roll his eyes, "We have instruments in the back, Y/N, come one! Just one song, next Thursday, you've got me beggin' here!"

I pursed my lips; what could be the harm in performing one song? I doubted my presence in the bar would bring as many people in as Jim was claiming, but if he thought it would help him out, I was willing to give it a shot.

I breathed deeply, "Fine, you've worn me down. One song, Jim, ONE."

He nearly jumped for joy when I agreed, "I knew you'd come around, Harrington, I need to start advertising it." He turned on his heels and raced to the kitchen, where his office was hidden in the back corner.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to begin cleaning behind the bar, only for my eyes to lock onto dark brown ones belonging to Eddie, who stood on the other side of the bar with a small smile on his face.

I rose an eyebrow and tossed the rag I was holding onto my shoulder, leaning forward against the bar with a small smirk of my own, "Hey there, Rockstar. What can I get you?"

I watched as his eyes widened, but his recovery was quick, "Just a Sprite, uh, yeah." He said awkwardly, running a hand through his long curly hair, "I'm only twenty, Jim would kill me."

I scoffed, grabbing a glass from under the table, "Please, you bring buisness, one drink isn't going to send me to jail. You just got off stage. You deserve a proper drink." I winked at him and started looking through the selection of liquor.

What would be a good drink to make for this guy?

"I don't want to get you in trouble." He said quickly, but I dismissed him.

"I've known Jim since I was sixteen. I'll just get a slap on the wrist. Relax, I'll make you a drink."

After the back and forth, he gave in, leaning forward as he watched me make his drink, "How long have you worked here? I've never seen you before."

"Tonight's my first day,"

"That'll do it." He joked and I slid his drink over to him. He looked at the drink and hesitated before looking up at me.

"It's a rum and coke, but if anyone asks, it's a coke." I winked at him again, leabinh firward to start shamelessly flirting, but in the corner of my eye, I noticed Steve rushing over to us with his eyes widened slightly.

"No no no–" He said quickly as he approached us, making me raise an eyebrow at his tense state. He pointed to Eddie, "No." Then he turned to point at me, "No." Finally, he threw both hands in the air, "Nope, I am putting an end to... whatever this is right now."

Eddie blinked while I was unbothered by his overdramatic tendencies, "What's the problem, man?"

"That–" he pointed to me, while looking at him, "Is off limits."

I smiled innocently, "Steve, why don't you introduce me to your friend?" I cocked my head to the side and watched as Eddie took a sip from the drink I made him.

Taking a deep breath, Steve reluctantly began to introduce me, "Eddie, this my sister. Y/N Harrington."

The sentence seemed to send a Shockwave through Eddie because the contents of his drink spewed from his mouth, droplets landing on the floor next to him as he turned to look at me. He glanced between the two of us and cleared his throat, placing the drink on the bar counter, "You have a sister?"

I chuckled, "He wishes he didn't, but alas, here I am."

Steve rolled his eyes, "I've never said that, but yes, Munson, I do have a sister. She's older."

"And better." I joked with a wink, making Eddie visibly flush, and Steve sent a glare.

"Not my friends." He snapped, pointing at me and I raised my full hands in surrender.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way, Stevie. I will be here, pretending I'm merely a background character in your heartwarming tale of self-growth and friendship." I turned away, sighing dramatically as I leaned against one of the support beams, cleaning a dirty glass in my hand.

Steve sighed, "I'm throwing an after-party thing for all of us at our house. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Keep them out of my room, Baxter isn't too keen on having guests."

Huffing, Steve grabbed Eddie by the sleeve of his leather jacket and pulled him over to the registers, away from me as I smirked.

I wasn't looking for a new relationship anyway, I had other matters to deal with before thinking about starting something new with someone else.

(❤️ ω ❤️)

The next day rolls around, and I sat in the doctor's office, kicking my feet as I waited for her to return.

She knocked on the door and strolled in with a big machine and a smile on her face, "Hello Y/N, now after your Physical that I did I noticed some healing bruises...may I ask where you got those?"

I took a deep breath, knowing that this conversation would've had to happen at some point during my stay in Hawkins, but I wish I could've settled down more before it did happen, "My ex-fiancé was physically abusive towards me. I packed my stuff and left him last week."

She pursed her lips, grabbing the clipboard and holding it to her, "Are you worried about him finding you after he learns the news?"

I shook my head quickly, "I don't plan on telling him at all; he doesn't have the right. As soon as I learned of it, I got out of there and came back here. I don't want to tell anyone else, so I plan on saving up and moving to Louisiana or something. Anywhere that has no ties to him or our past."

She tilted her head, beginning to prep the machine, "Is he from Hawkins, too?"

"Born and raised, just as I was."

"I will leave you with a card to call in the event that he decides to come back to try and find you," she grabbed a bottle of gel and gestured for me to lay back, "Lift your shirt."

I did as she asked, lifting my shirt, and she squeezed the cold gel and moved it around with the transducer, looking at the ultrasound machine and searching for the parasite that was placed into my body.

"I found the baby," she said as the heartbeat was heard from the speakers, knocking the wind out of me. I cursed under my breath and tilted my head to rest it on the bed, "You look about twelve weeks along and the baby looks healthy. We can schedule an appointment for your next ultrasound which will also be where we can find out the baby's gender, if you'd like."

I nodded slowly, "Yeah, that sounds great, doc." I gave her a tight-lipped smile and she nodded, grabbing a pamphlet and handing it to me.

"There's a long list of vitamins that you should be taking in there, you should be taking. Also, there's a support group for victims of domestic violence that meet every Monday if you need someone to talk to about all this."

Just like that, when a doctor confirmed it, I knew my journey was just beginning.

#rottenwrites #writers of tumblr #fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x y/n #eddie muson #stranger things #steve harrington x sister!reader #steve harrington #writer #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #robin buckley #friends to lovers

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Once Upon a Time 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Andy Barber

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You don’t mind working evenings during the week. In the hour before closing time, it’s pretty slow. There isn’t much for you to do much follow the tune of the instrumental jazz and lean on the counter behind your till. Management is hidden in the back office so you don’t even need to pretend to work.

So it is that you’re startled at the unexpected figure strutting around the table of stationary and novelties across from the checkout. You stand straight as you smile at the man, not letting it falter as you recognise him. You brace yourself and swallow as your mouth runs dry. He’s been here almost every day this week; at least, when you’ve been in.

“Oh, uh,” you don’t notice anything in his hands aside from his cell phone, “Mr. Pine isn’t here, sir. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t reply until he’s at the counter. His blue eyes bore into you as he rests his hand against the edge, gripping his phone tight. A small furrow scrunches between his brows.

“I didn’t ask,” he smiles.

“Well, er, sorry, I thought…” you chew your lip nervously. Each time he’s been in, he’s asked for the store owner. You assume he knows him. And he’s of the demographic who likes to make a fuss when he doesn’t get what he wants. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he agrees, still grinning.

You squirm and run your fingertips over the keyboard. “Well, is there anything I can help you find? We’re closing up soon–”

“You’re trying to get me to leave?” He challenges.

“Not at all,” you croak. “Sorry, sir.”

“Andy,” he pulls his hand away, instead crossing his arms and leaning his elbows on the counter. He reads your name tag, “it’s fine. I was just looking around. Figure a book might help keep me busy.”

He has a very intense way of watching you. Very on the point. He speaks directly to you, but you’re more the type to focus above someone or past them.

“Do you have a favourite genre?” You prompt. It’s easiest to talk about work and you have a dozen suggestions.

“Not really. You know, I work a lot and I never really had a chance to read much outside of deposition records,” he shrugs and raises his eyebrows, “don’t make my mistakes. Don’t waste your life working overtime. Enjoy the small things. Like books, you’re never gonna find a fairytale in real life.”

You feel a bit bad for him but try not to show it. You don’t want to insult it and he seems to pendulum between amiable and unapproachable. You nod and put on your customer service smile.

“Oh, thanks, I guess you’re probably right,” you eke out, “do you like thrillers? They’re pretty popular and we’re having a special.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s somewhere to start,” he rubs his beard, the hand clutching his phone against the counter as he leans on the same elbow, “what do you read?”

You give your usual answer, vague and not entirely false, “fantasy, mostly.”

“Like The Hobbit or whatever?” He wonders.

“Sure, I’ve read that,” you say.

“My wife– ex, now, she was a Tolkien fan,” his lips slant, “twenty years, no kids. Got nothing to show for it.” He pushes himself straight, “I’m sorry, you caught me on a bad night. I, whatever you suggest, I’ll take it. I need something to get my mind off of… everything.”

“Oh, sure, well, we have our best sellers down here,” you point over the counter and the racks between each till, “Conrad’s always a good choice.”

He hums and backs up. He peruses the books silently as you twiddle your fingers impatiently. You’ve had awkward encounters with customers before, almost daily, but something about him is a bit too cringe for you. You hate to even think like that. You feel mean. He’s just going through some things. And who isn't?

He plucks up a book and comes back to your till. He lays it down and slides his phone into his pants pocket, then reaches under his jacket. He takes out his wallet and pauses as he unfolds it, “wait, do you get commission? I could grab a few more.”

“Um, no,” you login and scan the barcode on the book, “but there’s a survey on you receipt. If you fill that out, I get credit for that.”

“Oh, sure, a survey,” he agrees as he slides out a card.

“And did you have our rewards card?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “what’s that?”

Great. You peek at the time in the corner of the till screen. It’s getting close to closing.

“So, for purchases you collect points. Kinda like air miles. When you buy items that are part of a promotion, you receive double, and for prestige members, there are triple point days. You can collect points to earn store credit.”

He nods and considers it. He tilts his head as his cheek dimples, “so, that costs money?”

“Yes, twenty-five dollars for paperback level and forty for prestige.”

He weighs the options. You expect the amounts to deter him like most customers. He taps his card on the counter, “you know what, I’ll do the forty. I’m looking to get into reading so I’ll be back for sure.”

“Oh, uh, right, okay,” you say with surprise, “I’ll just get you registered.”

You reach past the till and grab one of the cards displayed behind it. You scan it and go through the whole routine; name, phone number, email. You get all his info in and offer him a bag before you turn the debit machine towards him. He taps his card and the approval chirps loudly.

“Great, so, if you wanna do the survey,” you say as his receipt prints out, “you can scan this QR code and it will direct you straight to the survey.” You tear off the receipt and circle at the bottom, “my employee number is here, you’ll have to enter that and the transaction ID.”

You fold the receipt and hand it over. He takes it and looks it over with a squint. He raises his chin and gives a half-smile, “um, this QR thing? How do I… I’m sorry, I’m a bit slow. Could you show me?”

You want to say no. You want to point to the clock and tell him to have a good day but he’s actually going to do the survey. You need a good review.

“Sure, um, I’ll show you. Just on your phone,” you step closer as he digs his hand in his pants pocket, “let me see the receipt.”

“Thank you so much,” he says, “you’re so patient with me.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #drabble #bookstore au #au #series #once upon a time #defending jacob

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

{5} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU & Dragon AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 2,515

Warnings: This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Short update for you guys, but I feel like it sets up the next chapter nicely!! Finally, we’ll be able to soon see the progression of some of the relationships OC will have with a few of the guys! I’m super excited, so I hope you’ll all look forward to it, too!! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Mini Masterlist

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” A frown tugs at the young male’s features, following close behind another as the taller of the two storms away.

“I mean exactly what I’ve just said,” the other sighs, stopping abruptly and causing the shorter male to crash into his back. “No.”

A frustrated sigh leaves Jongho’s lips as he sharpens his gaze at his flame headed brother.

“You’re too infatuated with this girl,” Mingi mirrors Jongho’s stance, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do not lose sight of our main goal.”

“All I’m saying is that she may have a point,” Jongho counters. “Perhaps we are taking the prophecy too literally.”

“How do we know we can even trust a word she says?” Yeosang voices, leaning casually against the wall with his own arms crossed.

“She did save Seonghwa’s life.” Yunho shrugs.

“Yeah, after nearly killing me.” The eldest huffs, a displeased furrow to his brows.

“To be fair, you did deserve it.” Hongjoong hums, turning the page of the novel he’s currently reading at the kitchen table.

“I thought you didn’t care for those stupid, ancient customs.” Seonghwa rounds on the male, scowl pulling at his features.

“I care about you bringing dishonour to this clan in our attempts to retrieve the crown.” Hongjoong replies, quite pointedly, as he shoots a look over the top of his book in Seonghwa’s direction. “We’re lucky she agreed to spare you after the first time.”

“She’s starting to become a pain in the ass.” Mingi grumbles.

“Watch it, Min.” Jongho’s eyes flash in warning at his brother.

“One thing’s for sure,” Hongjoong adds, a knowing look thrown at the younger two, “she’s spared more than one of us, more than once.”

“What do you mean?” Wooyoung’s voice is heard from across the room.

“Well, our youngest here broke the deal we made with her as soon as he revealed his face to her again,” Hongjoong softly closes his book, sliding it slightly up the table for the moment to give him room to place his elbows in front of him. “She had every right to tear you apart where you stood for breaking our word right then and there.”

“At least we know she’s honest about giving warnings.” Yunho observes, recalling how quickly that blade embedded itself right beside his head the first time he met you. He shudders.

“She’s a strange one, alright,” San hums pleasantly, continuing to mix some herbs together in boiling water.

For the past two weeks he’s been attempting to create new mixtures of tonics and salves, but he hasn’t had much luck. He either overcompensates for one ingredient, or gets the measurements completely wrong. Currently, he’s attempting to dilute frost berry leaves like you’ve implied can be done. The only problem is, he literally has no idea what he’s doing.

A low growl is heard from the youngest.

“I meant it in a good way,” San is quick to defend, coughing as a puff of smoke rises from the ash root he’s just added to the mixture.

“She’s strong, that’s for sure.” Jongho smiles faintly, recalling the moment he shared with you in that clearing so many nights ago.

Sure, you may have thought nothing of actually revealing yourself to him, but the youngest cannot help but read more into it than you probably intend. You could have kept hidden. You didn’t have to reveal yourself. But you did.

“Strong enough to best me.” Seonghwa grumbles, a small pout on his lips.

“It’s easy to best you,” Yeosang puffs out a dry laugh, earning him a glare from the eldest.

“Strong enough to hide her true nature to the point where no one can tell what she is.” Yunho observes.

“She holds herself like an ancient.” Seonghwa adds, a harsh curl to his lips.

“Do you think she is one?” Wooyoung voices the thought on a few of their minds, somewhat absentmindedly himself.

“She certainly acts like one,” Mingi huffs, sitting down on a chair at the table, opposite Hongjoong.

“No, I don’t think she is.” Hongjoong comments, interlacing his fingers together. “But I think there’s more to her than she’s letting on.”

“You’re telling me,” San huffs, waving away some more smoke that continuously billows out of the cauldron he’s using.

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow. “Do you know something that we don’t?”

“Just that her perception and sensory skills are in a completely different class than ours.” Wooyoung replies for his brother, knee bouncing as he props his foot up on the one rung of the stool that he’s sitting on. Both he and San share a look, considering how close Wooyoung resides to the table his brother is currently working at.

Hongjoong looks towards Jongho, but at the way the younger casually averts his gaze, the elder has his answer.

“So, not only did Jongho break the deal, you two knuckleheads did as well.” He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “How are we supposed to build our reputation before we become the new rulers when all you do is disobey my orders?”

“To be fair, it was her cubs that brought us out of hiding.” Wooyoung says.

“You were found by her cubs?” Yeosang leans forward slightly, nothing but disbelief painting his features.

“Yeah, cause someone couldn’t control himself.” San narrows his gaze at the younger male who raises his hands in defence. “Just admit you’re interested in her, too. It’ll make it easier for all of us.”

The snarl that escapes Jongho gets ignored.

Wooyoung shoots a pointed look at San. “That’s rich, coming from the man who was practically on his knees begging her to teach him her ways.”

“I’m thinking ahead!” San is quick to retort, the tips of his ears turning a vibrant shade of red. “We could use her knowledge of herbs and tonics to our advantage. Wouldn’t it be great if I could figure out an antidote next time without getting her involved?”

“You’re not using her for anything.” Jongho’s voice is but a low growl as he rounds on his brother.

“I didn’t mean it like that-“

“Then what did you mean by it, San?” Jongho’s eyes are wild, nostrils flaring as he stares down the elder male.

“She’s made you crazy,” Yeosang shakes his head, seemingly disappointed in the younger male. “Irrational.”

“I love her.” Jongho narrows his gaze at the male leaning against the wall.

“Your mistake.” Seonghwa scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t know her like I do.” Jongho retorts, teeth bared in a snarl.

“I don’t think we want to.” Mingi states, leaning back further in his chair as he crosses his arms.

“Speak for yourself.” Wooyoung mumbles, staring down at the ground beneath his feet with a slight frown on his face.

“I’ll admit, I’m curious about her, too.” Hongjoong hums, shifting his position slightly to rest his one arm against the top of the table. “If we can learn a thing or two from her in our quest for the crown, we might be able to finally gain the upper hand over the Wolf Gang.”

“I don’t think she’ll be easily convinced to train us, let alone see our faces again.” San sighs, somewhat sadly. “It’s a shame. She was really cool.”

“You call her poisoning and almost killing your brother ‘cool’?” Yunho inquires, brows raised in slight amusement.

“She had a salve that immediately started closing Hwa’s wound while it stunted the bleeding.” San replies, matter-of-factly. “Obviously, she knows a hell of a lot more than she ever lets on. So, yeah. Cool.”

“San might have a point.” Yeosang’s frown deepens, not liking this one bit.

“Think of how much stronger she can make us.” San continues. “Is that not something to be considered?”

“She will not train us.” Jongho says, voice firm as he shakes his head.

“How can you be so sure?” Seonghwa quirks a brow.

“She’s trained the Neos.” Wooyoung grumbles, somewhat bitterly.

“Because she considers them family.” Jongho replies, somewhat exasperatedly.

“Then what are you to her?” Mingi’s sharp gaze pierces the youngest.

Jongho pauses, exhaling a long sigh. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t know’?” Seonghwa frowns, annoyance clear on his features as he takes a step towards the youngest.

“I was sure she hated my guts, and she still might, but she didn’t necessarily tear me apart when she saw me again.” Jongho explains, shrugging lightly. “I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our relationship any more than it already has been, and using her like this, for entirely selfish reasons because of all of your desires, does not bode well with me.”

“And is her asking me to stop burning down our conquests to help speed along the prophecy not selfish on her part?” Mingi counters, voice slightly incredulous.

“I don’t think it’s selfish at all.” Hongjoong’s response surprises all of them, but none so much as Jongho. “I think she has a point. We’ve been taking this prophecy about the crown too literally. Perhaps it’s not even a jewel that we’re meant to be searching through the ashes for.”

“You’re trusting a stranger’s words over our own?” Seonghwa’s brows raise, staring in disbelief at the younger man.

“Not necessarily,” Hongjoong shakes his head. “I just think it’s time for a change. How many years have we been hunting for this supposed jewel, only to come up empty handed each time? Maybe it’s time for us to reevaluate our search tactics. What Jongho said that she told him about being a good leader is true. There is no honour in complete destruction. What will be left to rule over if we burn it all to the ground?”

A few of them take the time to actually consider his words, like Yeosang, Wooyoung, San, and Yunho.

“What’s gotten into you lately, Captain?” Mingi spares an incredulous look at Hongjoong. “You’ve never cared about this stuff before.”

Hongjoong remains silent for a brief moment as he looks down at his one hand on top of the table.

“The Wolves are not our biggest threat out of all of the dragon clans.” He sighs. “If the Neos wanted, they could easily overpower each and every single one of us in sheer numbers alone. The fact that we now know they have her on their side, and the fact that we have no idea what she’s truly capable of, is not a comforting thought. We’re just lucky Taeyong has no interest in claiming the crown for himself, or for his clan for that matter. If he did, we’d have probably lost a long time ago. That, or we’d all be dead.”

“Is this about her, or those damn Neos?” Seonghwa’s brow furrows, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest.

“Both.” Hongjoong meets his gaze from across the room.

“But if we could get them on our side…?” Wooyoung trails off, a glint shining in his eyes.

“It might take a lot of convincing,” Yunho nods, hand coming up to support his chin as he contemplates his brother’s words.

“Good luck convincing grudge holder number one and two of anything after the stunt Hwa pulled with her.” San huffs, somewhat amusedly.

“Have you seen her since that night?” Yeosang turns his attention back to the youngest, nothing but curiosity in his voice.

“No.” Jongho shakes his head, a sort of longing taking over his features as he glances out of the window in the direction he knows your house to be in. “I’d rather not push my luck with her right now. I’m just grateful she’s giving me another chance.”

“From the sounds of things, she hasn’t granted you that chance, yet.” Yunho reminds him.

“Then, you know what must be done for him to get that second chance.” Hongjoong says, and all heads turn to look at Mingi. “After all, he’s still our brother, and he did imprint on her.”

A brief silence.

“Oh, no,” the male shakes his head, brows furrowed in discontent. “Just because you are all convinced she’s right about the prophecy, doesn’t mean I am.”

“Who said anything about being convinced?” Yeosang quirks a brow.

“Believe me, I like this about as much as you do,” Seonghwa sighs, looking down briefly at the ground. “I don’t trust her at all, and if I could, I’d tear her throat out for what she’s done to me-“

Jongho snarls, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Oh, get over yourself, Seonghwa,” San rolls his eyes, bringing a finger up to his lips in order to swipe his tongue across the skin, testing the mixture for the nth time that evening. “You deserved-“

The room goes unnaturally still as they watch San’s eyes roll to the back of his head, body immediately collapsing onto the ground. The male even manages to hit his head on the side of the table, the scent of his blood filling the air as a large gash now resides on his forehead. A gash which does not seem to want to start healing.

The moment San’s body starts convulsing, the others seemingly snap out of their shock and rush over to him. Wooyoung is the first by his side, checking the male’s pulse and shifting him onto his side.

A moment later, and San begins emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground, blood dripping down his chin.

“What’s going on?” Yunho’s panicked voice reaches their ears, fear flashing in his eyes as he meets his brother’s gazes all around him.

“I don’t know,” there are tears lining the corner of Wooyoung’s eyes as they can all do nothing but watch as San’s whole body trembles. “He’s usually the one that deals with the remedies, tonics, herbs, and such.”

“Don’t you usually help him?” Yeosang nearly snaps, irritated by the lack of preparation Wooyoung seems to have in situations like this.

“Not all the time!” Wooyoung replies, frantically.

“None of us are healers, except for what San knows.” Hongjoong replies, feeling the younger dragon heating up beneath his touch.

“There is one person I know who can help him.” Jongho replies, immediately scooping San into his arms and standing back to his feet.

“Like hell she’ll help us again.” Mingi spits, holding Jongho back by the shoulder.

The younger males spares a glance over his shoulder, keeping his voice low. “Let me go.”

San’s breathing begins to strain, chest stuttering as he fights to get air into his lungs.

“We have to try.” Wooyoung is already gathering a sample of what San had been working on in a flask, falling into step behind Jongho as he heads for the door.

“I hope you’re right about this,” Yunho grimaces, his heart racing uncontrollably with worry in his chest.

“Come,” Hongjoong nearly tears the door off its hinges as he rushes outside. “We cannot waste anymore time.”

The others follow close behind him, rushing out into the crisp evening air. Extending their wings, they take off into the sky, saving their brother the only thing on their minds.

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