#and fill in the other half of the dance automatically

[vanteguccir]

Fake Smile | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Chris records a TikTok with Tara after many requests from both fandoms, but fans reacted contrary to what he expected, generating questioning thoughts in Y/N.

Warning: Crying, comparison, fighting.

Requested?: Yes, by anon

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The morning sun beamed beyond the half-open curtains in the living room, painting the room with orange and gold tones. Sitting at the kitchen table, Y/N immersed herself in her books, trying to focus on her notes as the sounds of Nick and Matt echoed around the house.

At that moment, Chris was absent. He had gone to Tara's house, a new friend of the triplets and, consequently, of Y/N, who had recently become a frequent figure in their lives. The objective was to record a video for Tara's channel since after the large group's social media post together, both fandoms started begging for collabs.

As Y/N immersed herself in her studies, a notification flashed on her phone screen. The girl looked up at her device, seeing the new message.

pretty boy: hi baby!! look, we did a tiktok! I look so cool: link.

A smile curved Y/N's lips as she clicked on the link, curious to see the result of one of Chris and Tara's creations. The video started, and she immediately recognized the song as one of her favorites, humming softly as her eyes captured the funny dance and interaction between the two.

A laugh escaped her lips when she saw Chris shaking his head in the lyrics "Would you get down on knees for me?", remembering all the times the song played when they were together, and exactly in this part, Chris always got down on his knees in front of Y/N, making her laugh.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to relax and enjoy the scene. It was a genuine demonstration of their new friendship, and Y/N felt grateful to be part of that dynamic.

However, her joy was momentary.

As the video came to an end, Y/N scrolled through the comments, eager to see the reaction of Tara's followers. What she found left her cold.

Among the funny and complimentary comments, there was a barrage of messages that cut like sharp knives. Ardent fans of both Tara and Chris were heavily shipping them, completely ignoring Chris's long-standing and public relationship with Y/N.

"Chris and Tara are so cute together!"

"I so wanted them to be a couple 😭"

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but you don't hold a candle to Tara. Chris deserves someone like her."

The words echoed in Y/N's mind, like a distant echo of an approaching storm. She felt a tightness in her chest, a mixture of sadness, anger, and confusion.

How could they be so cruel? How could they judge their relationship based on fragments of a distorted reality? Y/N felt vulnerable, exposed to the relentless cruelty of the virtual world.

Her thumb moved automatically as she left the comment box, sliding the screen to the TikTok below the one she was watching, craving a quick distraction. But her hope was suddenly dashed when she saw that the next video was an edit of Chris and Tara's TikTok and all the others after.

She knew the fans were fast, but at that moment, she wanted them to be as slow as possible.

Y/N closed the app with a heavy sigh, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. It was difficult not to let the strangers' words and opinions get to her.

With a determined effort to forget about it momentarily, Y/N turned her attention back to the books, seeking refuge in the comforting familiarity of the printed pages, forgetting to answer Chris.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The day was coming to an end. In the room shared by Y/N and Chris, the atmosphere was filled with a silent energy, interrupted only by the gentle slide of Y/N's fingers over her phone screen, and the low sounds of various videos.

She was lying in their bed, having already taken a comforting shower, but her mind was still shrouded in a haze of dark thoughts. As she scrolled through her TikTok's For You, romantic edits of Chris and Tara popped up with disturbing frequency. Y/N's expression was a mixture of sadness and self-questioning, her eyes reflecting an inner storm.

She felt her mind defeat her with thoughts of comparison. She knew she would never reach Tara's beauty, humor, and even body.

The heavy atmosphere was interrupted by the sound of the door opening gently. Chris entered the room, radiating an aura of euphoria. His eyes sparkled with joy, and a smile spread across his face with ease.

"Hi, my pretty girl!" Chris greeted, closing the door behind him. "You won't believe how amazing the video with Tara turned out. I can't wait for her to post it so you can see it!"

"Hey, baby! I'm so happy you had fun." Y/N looked up from her cell, forcing a smile on her lips, trying with all her might not to reveal her current state - the last thing she wanted to do was ruin Chris's excitement, but the sadness still hovered in her eyes.

Chris immediately noticed the change in her expression and approached the bed, worried.

"What happened, babe?" He asked in a worried tone, frowning and sitting down next to her.

She just shook her head slightly, unable to put her tumultuous thoughts into words. Chris reached out to caress her face gently, seeking to comfort her with his loving touch.

"You didn't answer my text, I really thought something was happening... You know you can tell me anything, right?" Chris continued gently. He didn't want to force anything out of her.

Y/N nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. Before he could say anything else, Chris noticed the phone in her hand with almost silent sounds escaping from the speaker, leaning over to peer at the screen.

Romantic edits of Chris and Tara filled Y/N's device. He swallowed hard, instantly connecting the dots.

Chris's comforting touch on Y/N's face seemed to turn cool. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a sigh escaped his lips before he could control it.

"Y/N, are you really upset because of these silly edits?" The boy questioned, his voice filled with disbelief. His touch against the warm skin disappeared within seconds, the boy removing his hand from her face before sitting down on the bed.

Y/N flinched at the accusation implicit in his words, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable. Tears threatened to overflow her eyes as she struggled to find a coherent response.

"It's not just because of the edits..." She, her voice shaking with turbulent emotions. "Did you see the comments? They-"

Chris shook his head impatiently, cutting her off abruptly, frustration beginning to seep into his expression. He couldn't understand why something as trivial as fan edits could affect his girlfriend so much.

"Y/N, this is ridiculous!" He continued firmly. "These edits and comments don't mean anything. They're just fan jokes. It's not the end of the world." His voice came out louder than before, his posture now rigid.

His words hit Y/N like a sharp knife, making her feel even more inadequate and misunderstood. Anger bubbled inside her, a simmering mix of resentment and hurt.

"You don't understand, Chris!" She snapped, her voice shaking slightly. Her right hand worked to lock the screen of her phone in one quick motion, tossing it aside. "This isn't just about the edits. It's about how I feel about being compared to Tara, about how it's making me feel inferior to her! How would you feel if people started wanting to see me with a man other than you? While I'm in a relationship with you!"

Chris rolled his eyes dismissively, his patience beginning to wear thin at the intensity of Y/N's emotions.

“You’re so tiring sometimes, Y/N.” He snapped without thinking, his voice tinged with irritation, not giving a damn about how his girlfriend felt. "I can't deal with all this insecurity all the time. It's fucking exhausting."

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless, her rigid posture quickly crumbling. She felt tears run down her face without force as the painful realization settled in her heart.

She was tiring. She was insecure. She was too much for him to handle.

The pain of rejection burned in her chest as she retrieved her phone again, ripping the comforter off her legs. Her lips were pressed into a thin line tightly in an attempt to stop the ugly sobs that she wanted to let out. She wouldn't give herself the luxury of showing Chris how much he hurt her.

The girl got up from the bed in one quick movement, grabbing her pillow and heading towards the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?" Chris's voice echoed harshly behind her, his body rising from the mattress quickly.

"I'll sleep in the living room." Y/N responded curtly, turning the handle with ease before walking through the door, slamming it, feeling more alone than ever amidst the multitude of turbulent emotions.

She could feel her heart being crushed a little more when she didn't hear Chris call for her again, let alone try to reach her.

The stairs leading to the living room were silent, and her pillow clutched to her chest as a last vestige of comfort in a world that seemed to be falling apart around her. Each step up echoed like a lonely echo in an emotional void that seemed to swallow her whole.

Upon reaching the living room, Y/N found refuge on the empty couch. She curled into the soft upholstery, hugging the pillow tightly as tears continued to roll down her cheeks silently. The phone rested next to her, emitting a dim light that wouldn't turn off, almost begging her to pick it up again.

Hours dragged by like centuries as Y/N fought the ghosts of her own mind.

At some point, she had given up resisting and was on her TikTok again. The algorithm seemed to hate her, delivering her frequent videos of Chris and Tara, which were like a sharp dagger in her heart.

They would really look beautiful together.

Dawn fell heavily upon her, but sleep refused to welcome her into its comforting arms. Instead, she found herself trapped in a whirlwind of torturous thoughts, her mind pounding incessantly with doubts and questions about her relationship with Chris.

Until her brain shuts down completely, letting tiredness win.

At 3 a.m., in the darkness of the night, a familiar figure appeared at the entrance to the room. Chris was there, his tired face etched with worry and regret.

His eyes quickly found Y/N's figure lying on the couch, already asleep, curled up and shivering slightly from the cold. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the swelling that surrounded them, the traces of tears on her cheeks and her still damp face. Next to her, her phone repeatedly played one of the videos she had watched before falling asleep.

A lump formed in Chris's throat. He intensely blamed himself for not having thought before acting and, much less, noticing how much his actions had affected his girlfriend.

With hesitant steps, he approached her, feeling the weight of his own anguish on his shoulders.

Gently, Chris turned off her phone, cutting the endless cycle of pain that had consumed Y/N. He then crouched down beside her, studying her peaceful face with a mixture of love and pain.

With a resigned sigh, the boy carefully took her into his arms, hooking them around her back and behind her knees, feeling the weight of her fragile body against his own chest. Y/N hummed softly in response to his touch but didn't fully wake up.

Chris carried her down the stairs and back to their bedroom, where the soft light from the lamp bathed the room in yellow tones. Tenderly, he placed her on the soft mattress, covering her with the comforter carefully so as not to wake her.

Y/N shifted slightly under Chris's touch and the new surface beneath her limbs, her eyebrows furrowing in an expression of discomfort. She looked restless, as if she were immersed in a nightmare.

Chris watched her for a moment, feeling the weight of his own harsh words weigh on him like an anchor. He knew he had hurt Y/N deeply, and the pain of seeing her suffer was almost unbearable.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down next to her, his hand reaching for her with a tentative touch. Y/N stirred slightly, her eyes finally slowly opening to meet Chris's. She fought the urge to get up and leave the room again, her anger at Chris's actions and sadness in her mind, making her want to avoid him.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, sharing a silent understanding that transcended words, Y/N making the decision to let him say what he wanted.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Chris muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I was insensitive and selfish. I didn't want to hurt you, I acted on impulse and completely without thinking. This whole situation is not silly if it hurts and bothers you, and I promise that we can talk better about what you saw and how you felt, and solve this together... Just please, give me this chance?"

Y/N blinked slowly, her eyes locked on Chris's as she processed his words. For a moment, she felt the weight of hurt and disappointment pressing against her, but then she saw the sincerity in Chris's eyes, the pure, unconditional love he had always offered her.

And in that moment, she knew that forgiveness was the only good choice to make. With a sigh, she squeezed Chris's hand tenderly, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders.

"Just one chance. I want you to fix what you did and do it right this time."

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My requests are open! Please read my rules before sending anything ♡

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @m0r94n @blahbel668 @strnilolo

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #x reader #sturniolo #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris fanfic #chris au #chrissy #chris #chris sturniolo x reader fluff #chris sturniolo x reader angst #angst #fluff #tara yummy #comparison

[alastorss]

Hello! I'm not sure if you'll be interested in writing something like this, but if your requests are open (and if you're interested), would you be willing to write some fluffy stuff? An Alastor x Shy/anxious reader, perhaps?

a/n: hello!! i'd love to write some alastor comfort fics based off shy/anxious readers but for now here's some good ol' fluff for the soul ♡ (with a mentioned quieter/shy reader)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You can always tell when Alastor's smiles are forced.

It's the subtle twitch of his eye, the annoyed little glare he'll stare into empty space with, the way his jaw gets so taut you're afraid it'll snap.

Quiet and observant, you've made it your personal duty to learn Alastor inside and out without stepping on his toes—watching how he grows increasingly annoyed with every brazen sex joke beat into his head from a distance but never actually having the nerves to talk to him.

You think you can read all his little tells by now. How his antlers get a little bigger with every huff of indignation. How his mind is never in the room (he's got a lot of souls screaming in his ears, after all. You learned that, too).

You thought you knew him just by watching, but you were wrong. Dead wrong. Alastor is an enigma, truly one of the great mysteries of Hell. You were foolish to think you could understand even half of him.

He's all bared fangs and glowing eyes right now, a hand squeezing your hip and the other tracing down your face. Waltz music faintly fills the lobby of the hotel where you both stand, but it feels like a million miles away when the static from the Radio Demon is sizzling in your ears.

His smile is impossibly relaxed, not an ounce of irritation in his expression that you've gotten so used to seeing all over his face. You can't comprehend this, can't understand why he's looking at you so softly and cradling your face with so much care.

It's bad enough that he had asked you to dance with him in the first place, and that you'd squeaked out a "yes" before considering the implications of that. He knew you were shyer than the rest of your friends here—perhaps he had been suspicious of you and wanted to get a closer look.

A dreadful chill runs up your spine and you shudder pathetically, eyes screwing shut as you await whatever fate will befall you in the hands of an Overlord.

But your judgement never comes.

Instead, his thumbs gently pull at your cheeks in opposite directions. When your eyes fly back open, you're face-to-face with nothing but warmth.

"You should smile more," he tells you without his usual facade of excitement. "It's wonderful."

You just stare at each other for a long moment, both frozen in place with his hands all over your face and you limply staying in his hold.

Oh no. Oh no no no. You're certain your cheeks are hot as magma right now because of some simple flattery. Then again, you've been watching him from afar for long enough to know that he doesn't flatter just anyone.

You jerk away from him with a nervous cough, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into his chest. As if nothing had even happened, he guides and strings you along in a waltz once more.

Annoyance, anger, sadistic joy—these are all things that come as easy as breathing to Alastor. But this is a new emotion you're witnessing, with his ears pulled back flat against his head and his eyes avoiding yours even as he dances with you.

It makes you sputter in laughter, head tilting back as you giggle at how embarrassed he seems.

"Thank you."

He softens at this, smile genuine. You'll come to know this side of him, too. You're sure of it.

You don't know why you were ever so afraid of this monster. Not when he's automatically reaching out to trace your smile with his thumb as if it's something he's always wanted to do.

(It is.)

#aroace alastor who doesn't know how to approach feeling connected to someone #🍓 faye's thoughts <3 #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #alastor fanfic #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fluff #alastor headcanons #alastor x you #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel headcanon

[christhopersturniolo]

୨ LATE NIGHT ୧

summary: through the night, chris finds out y/n is a sleepwalker.

warnings: cussing, fluff

notes: english is not my first language, so i’m sorry for any mistake!

୨୧

CHRIS’S POV

After taking a late night hot shower, getting my pajama pants on, I walk back into my room. Seeing my girlfriend on the bed, almost asleep, what I wasn’t expecting, cause she wasn’t home when I went to shower, she probably just got out of her work.

“Hey cutie, I didn’t knew you were already here” I crawl into bed, laying next to her, making me be the big spoon. I wrap my arms around her waist, I snuggle closer, and I kiss her cheek.

“Hey..” She answers sleepy, with her eyes half opened. I nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck.

"Long day?" I ask, usually she is full of energy at anytime, even by the time she gets home.

"Yeah" she replies with a tired sigh, her voice filled with exhaustion.

Feeling her tiredness into the air, I can't help but want to make her feel better. I hate seeing her like this. I whisper softly, "Well, lucky you, I'm here to make everything better." I plant a ton of soft kisses on her jawline, small giggles lefts from her lips. Despite the long day she had, her laughter fills the room with warmth and joy, like It always does.

She turns around, facing me, looking into my eyes with love, leaning her head against my chest and putting her leg over mine, making us get even closer.

We completely fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, I randomly start waking up, only to find Y/n's side of the bed empty. I look at the clock on the bedside, exactly 2:30.

I rub my eyes confused and I look around, maybe she went to the kitchen? Or maybe to the bathroom?

I slowly sit on the edge of the bed and start getting up, going downstairs to the kitchen. As I get in the kitchen, I notice Y/n, standing there and looking inside the fridge.

“Hey babe.. Are you looking for food?” I say with a quiet voice, she doesn’t answer, she’s not even moving. I get closer to her “Y/n?” I take a look at her face, her eyes are fully closed, what the fuck?

My heart quickens with concern as I realize Y/n is sleepwalking. “Princess.. Lets go back to bed, alright?” With a sigh, I realize I'll need to be patient and gentle to guide her back to bed.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I carefully lead her away from the fridge and towards the stairs.

“I need to take the train before it leaves..” She mumbles, making me laugh. “Yeah.. Yeah.. You can take the train once you get in bed..” I whisper. As we make our way back to our bedroom, Y/n's sleepwalking murmurs continue.

“Where is Chris?”

“I’m right here love.. Right here..” We finally get into our room, I close the door behind us.

“I wanna date Chris..” I gently lay her in bed, under the covers, and I lay next to her. She snuggles up to me, I hold her closely.

“Oh do you want to?” I giggle.

“Chris took me on a date.. Did he took you too?” I kiss her forehead. “Damn I wish he took me on a date” I play along with her sleepiness.

“And how was that date?” I say trying my best not to laugh.

"We went to.. Jupiter and.. We danced with unicorns.." She whispers. I automatically start laughing the most, but not enough to wake her up.

“Alright cupcake.. Let’s sleep..” I slowly start closing my eyes, surprisingly, she doesn’t say any other word.

By the morning, I wake up with her on top of me, giving me soft pecks on my lips, cupping my cheeks with her smooth hands. Automatically making me smile. I wrap one of my arms around her neck, pulling her closer and making us switch positions, getting me on top, never breaking the kiss. “Good morning..” I say now kissing her cheek.

“Good morning” She smiles.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" I chuckle, I know she doesn’t remember anything.

Y/n blinks a few times, her expression confused. "Last night?" she repeats to make sure.

"Last night" I confirm, nodding "You had a little sleepwalking adventure to the kitchen" I yawn.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "No I did not. Oh gosh, that's embarrassing" She affirms, hiding her face in her hands. Chucking slightly.

I can't help but laugh at her reaction. “And you said how you wanted to date me” I tease, only making her more embarrassed.

“I mean It’s not a lie tho” She takes her hands out of her face, smiling. “I do love dating you”

"I love dating you too" I reply, leaning in to press a light kiss to her lips. "Even if our dates involve dancing with unicorns on Jupiter."

“Oh my fucking good..” We laugh.

୨୧

im open for requests! 💭

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #fanfic

[barnesafterglow]

uncontrollable

summary: the rising tension with bucky comes to a head

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: literally all smut no plot (minors dni) [oral (f receiving), unprotected sex]

a/n: um hey

main masterlist | @theafterglowlibrary

Grunts filled the air, even through the music of your headphones, and you turned the volume up louder. Two minutes left in your plank, then you would reward yourself with a peek. Your arms shook as the time counted down, and you finally collapsed on your stomach, panting at the exertion.

Forcing yourself up on your knees, you granted yourself the pleasure of looking towards the other side of the gym. At the only other person there.

The sight you were greeted with was glorious: your neighbor, Bucky, working out, sweat staining his grey t-shirt and the rippling muscles of his back. He must have sensed your stare, because his eyes met yours in the floor to ceiling mirror, a small smirk playing on his lips. You quickly averted your eyes, picking yourself up and making your way to the small counter on the other side of the room.

You made a point to turn your back towards him, grabbing a water from the mini fridge and indulging in the cool feel of it sliding down your throat.

The two of you had been playing at this game for weeks now. Your schedules seemed to line up to where you were the only people in the apartment’s private gym at the late hour; you circled each other, sweaty and ridiculous, and the tension had been slowly mounting.

You were dragged from your thoughts as a pair of hands gripped your waist, and instinctively you brought your elbow back into Bucky’s abdomen.

Ripping your headphones from your ears, you spun around to see him half bent over, laughing between wheezes.

“What the fuck, Barnes,” you hissed. “Don’t just sneak up on me like that.”

“If you didn’t have your music turned up so damn loud, you would have heard me calling your name. And walking over here. And then snapping my fingers to try to get your attention.” He finally stood upright, still rubbing his stomach from your hit. “This was just a last resort.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the counter.

“Well? Did you need something?”

“I was just going to tell you that your planks looked good today. Who knew it was such an offense to compliment a lady.”

“I pay an exorbitant amount of money here to not get solicited at the gym, Barnes.”

He threw his head back laughing, and your eyes followed the line of sweat that trailed down his throat. You snapped back to reality when he held up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”

It was then you realized how close he was, practically enough to have you pressed against the counter, and your breath hitched.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The faux concern in his voice had your gut turning. “You seem a little flushed.”

“I just finished a workout, asshole,” you retorted, even though you both knew the heat rising to your cheeks was from anything but that.

His arms came around to cage you against the counter, his nose skimming your temple as he whispered, “When are we finally going to stop dancing around this?”

“Right now,” you whispered back before crashing your mouth to his.

He responded immediately, hands gripping your waist and setting you on the counter, and your legs automatically wrapped around him. You could already feel the hardness there as he pushed against you. Your hands gripped his hair, angling his head so he pressed kisses to your neck, moving down your chest to where your sports bra stopped him in his tracks. He pulled away long enough to discard the material before his mouth was back on you, mouthing at the swell of your breasts then taking a nipple in his mouth.

“Fuck, Bucky. Just like that.” He hummed his agreement and the sensation shot through you, making your legs tighten around him. He moved to your other nipple, hands busy as they tugged on the waistband of your leggings, but you stopped him, pushing his head back. The confusion and longing on his face might have been cute if you weren’t so desperate to strip him down. You pushed up his shirt until he got the hint, dropping it to the floor, and holy fuck.

Abs upon abs upon abs. You didn’t think you had ever seen anybody so ripped before, and your hands automatically went to touch him, to get his pants off and get another peek, but he stopped you, tsking at your desperation.

“Let me have my fun first, sweetheart.”

With that, he dropped to his knees, finally reaching his goal of getting your pants off, and groaned when he realized you weren’t wearing any underwear. Not wasting a second, he spread your legs, propping one up on the counter so you were bared to him, and placed teasing kisses along each thigh, alternating until he was so close to your core you could feel the puffs of breath coming from him.

You had a smartass retort on the tip of your tongue when he finally gave you what you wanted, latching his mouth on your clit and sucking until you threw your head back. You bit your lip to keep your moans contained, panting through your nose, as he continued his assault on your core. Each stroke of his tongue was a symphony of sensation and you knew you wouldn’t last long if he kept it up. That didn’t seem to matter to Bucky, though, because as he slipped two fingers into you, stars exploded behind your eyes and your entire body clenched, hips bucking up to meet his mouth.

He let you ride out your orgasm in his tongue and fingers, and didn’t pull away until you finally stopped twitching. Coming back to your senses, you hauled him up to your mouth again, moaning at the taste of yourself on his lips.

Without any resistance from him, you pushed his sweatpants and underwear down to his knees, pulling him close enough that his length brushed against your still sensitive core. You moaned into each other’s mouths as he thrust his hips, his cock brushing against your clit with every movement, until he finally slid into you.

This time, there was no stopping the noises that came from you. As he slid home, he brushed that sweet spot that had you rolling your eyes back, and each thrust hit it again and again until you were clenching around him.

You were determined to hold out, but your orgasm overtook you once his hand reached between your bodies to rub your clit, and he prolonged it by continuing his assault on your bud, until he finally spilled into you.

The two of you stayed like that, bodies connected, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, until he finally pulled away, reaching for a towel that lay on the counter and crouched down to clean you up.

“Such a gentleman,” you quipped, though your voice was still shaking. “All this and you couldn’t even take me to dinner first.”

“Does take-out on your couch not count as dinner?” he responded, and you both laughed. “Seriously, though, let me take you out.”

The air turned serious as you both pulled your clothes on, not looking at each other. Finally, once you felt less bare, your eyes met his.

“You mean this wasn’t just a release of tension?” This time you kept your voice steady. “You really want to take me on a date?”

“Hell yes,” he responded, before pulling you in for another kiss.

#tiff writes #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #uncontrollable

[st-el-la-luna]

Thinking about being a civilian in Las Almas when shit goes down

You'd been invited to stay with a friend and, being in desperate need of a vacation, you'd agreed. It was fun, staying with them, meeting their family, learning about their hometown and childhood.

The fun ended pretty quick when these cunts dressed in black started killing everyone.

You and your friend had been out enjoying the night, eating, drinking, dancing. You were on your way back to their house when you heard it.

A gunshot.

Your friend tells you this isn't entirely abnormal. Tells you to ignore it and keep walking.

So you do.

But the gunshots are becoming more frequent. Louder too. They're getting closer.

A woman you vaguely recognize, one of your friends neighbours, rushes out of an alleyway, terrified and bloodied.

You can only understand so much about what's said before her head suddenly... Not there. Bits of skull and brain and blood spattered all over you as you watch her body drop.

You turn to your friend. "This is normal? Dude...."

You're friend tells you to shut the fuck up and that you need to run. As the sound of heavy footsteps and voices (American accents you register) get closer, accompanied by the sound of a gun being reloaded, you agree.

The two of you make a run for your friends house, passing all sorts of horrible sights. You're a block away when a gunshot rips through the night and your friend suddenly just... Stops.

You look back in disbelief. Their eyes wide with shock, lips parted, slack jawed... The new hole in the middle of their forehead. They try to say something to you, but all that escapes them is a choked groan. They throw you their keys, then collapse.

They're not dead yet. You can tell by their sounds and the rise and fall of their chest. A part of you wants to help them, grab them and drag them off to safety.

The other part of you recognizes the man dressed in all black (he looks suspiciously military but that doesn't make sense, killing civilians is a war crime... isn't it?), who's walking closer as he reloads his gun.

So you run.

Run and run until your legs are burning. Taking back roads and side streets, jumping fences, the adrenaline making it easy to ignore the way the barbed wire tears at your skin.

When you make it to your friends street, you find the door to their house is already open. Kicked down.

You find the dead inside.

A part of you wants to stop here, curl up and break down. The other knows that these people, these men in black, could come back at any moment. And so you do what you can to prepare yourself.

You empty your backpack of your belongings, filling it instead with anything you find around the house that might be useful.

A first aid kit buckled to the side. Rubbing alcohol and tequilla and whatever else flammable you can find poured into glass bottles, the lips stuffed with socks. Kitchen knives. Fire crackers and fire works. A couple flares. You manage to break open the safe and get a gun. An eight round revolver that you have no clue how to shoot but figure, hey, its better than nothing. At the very least, you could use it for intimidation.

You're heading to the garage where you're pretty sure you remember seeing a bow and full quiver of arrows (you were obsessed with the hunger games when you were younger, actually got pretty good with the weapon) when you freeze.

The man in black also freezes.

He's bloody and out of breath. Face smeared with dirt and oil. His mohawk disheveled. His blue eyes land on you laser focused. He's got a gun. A big one.

And he's looting the corpses. Your friends roommates, their bodies still warm as blood pools beneath them, some of their eyes still open, casting judgmental stares, lay there limp. And this fucker is acting like this is a D&D campaign.

You've got the revolver trained on him with shaking hands.

He points his gun (some sort of automatic things) at you. His hands are steady, practiced. His eyes sharp.

He opens his mouth to speak and takes a half step towards you.

You pull the trigger.

Nothing happens.

"Aye," the man speaks in a thick Scottish brogue. He sounds like he's laughing. How dare he laugh? If you could figure out how the stupid gun works you'd shoot him. "You've got to cock a gun like that 'fore you shoot it."

You freeze, your arm drawn back ready to throw the revolver at the man. His accent gives you pause. The other men in black, they were Americans. And this guy... His clothes are a bit different too. Though he's clearly also army.

You lower your arm hesitantly. "You're... You're not one of them."

"The Shadows?" he asks. "Tch, no. You'd best thank your lucky stars for that, they'd have killed you in a second flat."

"What the hell is going on here?" You demand, slipping the gun back into the makeshift holster you had made out of a couple belts. You step around the man to the garage and he follows.

"You're not from here, are ya love?" he asks as he watches you scan the shelves.

"I'm here on vacation," you say bitterly as you stand on your toes, struggling to reach the quiver of arrows. He pulls it down and hands it to you. The arrows are dusty and old, though still sharp. He hands the bow to you as well, albeit unstrung, and you let out a quiet hum in thanks. He watches as you string the bow, a brow raised. He looks like he's going to say something, but you cut him off. "You didn't answer my question... What's happening? Who are those people?"

He hesitates a moment, you notice his ear piece. Someone else is speaking to him. "Aye, i know, I know, but I cannae very well leave her here now can I?"

At the mention of being left, you panic. There's a pair of handcuffs on his belt. You grab them and before he has a chance to react, you've cuffed your hands together.

And swallowed the key.

Yeah... Not your brightest moment.

The man looks at you dumbfounded. Then speaks to the man in his ear. "Uh... Lt? Got a bit of a problem..."

Please reblog to support my writing!

Masterlist

#call of duty #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #soap #soap x reader #soap mw2 #las almas #x reader

[flwrshee]

✉️ CHERRY TINTED

duo ﹒ heeseung x fmr genre fluff wc 04k warnings kisses , getting drunk note 💬 only posting this for cael

the smell of alcohol spun it's way to you as you step inside the bar, eyes frantically looking for your boyfriend. your phone was filled with notifications that consisted of missed calls and texts from jake, heeseung's best friend, complaining about how much he had drunk tonight. a small friend gathering with a couple glasses of beer turned into a drunken mess with more than half the men wasted — including your boyfriend.

your head was already intoxicated by the amount of half-finished soju shots and beer cans laying around. looking around, you see that there is barely anyone expect from your boyfriend's friend group and a couple of waiters. in the distance, you could hear jake struggling to pick heeseung up from the leather sofa that he seemed to be glued onto.

"it's ok jake, i can take care of him now." you tell him while he thanks you just before he leaves you with your boyfriend who was staring at your with very obvious heart eyes, ready to throw a cheesy pick line on you.

"hey beauti-"

"i do not want to hear it, we are going home, now."

next thing you now, heeseung is already following you to your car like a little lost puppy. but you didn't even realise that all he wanted was a hug or kiss from you, your man was sulking.

so when the two of you reach home, the first thing he does is come from the back and engulf you in a back hug. his head is on the crook of your neck as he slightly inhales your homely smell while peppering a few kisses on your collarbone.

"heese-"

"shh, don't say anything."

now it was your turn to be cut off, he turns your waist to make you face him and so that his hands are just above you hips. your hands automatically wrap around his neck as you leave a long peck on his swollen lips, but it looks like he has other plans. because, instead of letting go he makes the peck turn into a long, loving kiss. your tongue could feel the faint taste of the beer mixed with soju and the flavour of his favourite cherry lip tint — the one you had gifted to him on his birthday.

before completing letting you go, he takes his time to leave another passionate kiss on your lips as his hands travel around your waistline leaving tiny goosebumps along your hands. the effect he had on you was so immense that you wanted to fall on your knees every time he kissed you.

"liked that?" a smirk dances on his face as he asks you teasingly.

"whatever hee, go wash up before i seriously don't give you anymore kisses." you try to avoid his strong gaze but your cheeks said otherwise. he leaves a small peck on the corner of your mouth before leaving to clean up.

oh god you were such a simp for him.

© flwrshee

#⠀⠀ ౨ৎ flwrshee works⠀⠀ #thank you for the first line my lovely cael #enhypen #enhypen heeseung #enhypen lee heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen scenarios #enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen ff #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen soft hours #heeseung fluff #heeseung imagines #heeseung fanfic #heeseung scenarios #heeseung ff #heeseung fic #heeseung soft hours #heeseung drabbles #heeseung x reader #heeseung x yn #heeseung x female reader #enhypen x yn #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader

[woodstockbtswriter]

Oblivious

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Female); Namjoon x Reader (Female)

Word Count: 1.57K

Summary: When Namjoon doesn’t notice your flirtation, Yoongi takes it upon himself to make a move, but he soon realizes that Namjoon isn’t the only oblivious one.

Author’s Note: Y’all. It’s been a minute and a half since I posted a story. But I finally have a little free time and a smidgen of motivation and I had this idea and well… I just hope I have a few readers left out there who will enjoy this! Please let me know what you think!

Oblivious

“She wanted you to ask her to dance.” Yoongi remarked, idly swirling his drink in his glass.

Both he and Namjoon watched as you walked away, making your way through the crowd, back toward the other bridesmaids.

“You think so?” Namjoon asked, moving to join his hyung at the cocktail table. His eyes never left you, even as you were reabsorbed by your circle of friends. You kept your back to him, unaware of his continued observation as you laughed with the other girls.

Yoongi nodded, despite the fact that Namjoon wasn’t looking at him.

“She was flirting with you, Namjoon-ah. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice. She couldn’t have been more obvious.”

Namjoon shrugged, “I didn’t want to assume.”

“So you’re not oblivious,” Yoongi smirked, “Just an idiot.”

Namjoon finally tore his gaze from your unsuspecting form and looked at him.

“It seemed like she was flirting with me, but I thought it might be presumptuous of me to flirt back.” He explained. “What if she was just playing around? The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable. Or make an ass out of myself.”

Yoongi sighed wearily.

“You think too much.” He told Namjoon, but the bluntness of his words was softened by his genuine - though long-suffering - affection for his younger friend.

“I know.” Namjoon gave a sigh of his own.

At that moment, the song filling the reception hall changed from an upbeat dance number to a slower, more romantic melody.

“You can still ask her to dance.” Yoongi encouraged, giving his drink another twirl.

Namjoon said nothing, but his expression betrayed his hesitancy.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi held his gaze, deciding in an instant that he needed proper motivation, “You better ask her to dance… before I do.”

“What?” Namjoon chuckled nervously.

But Yoongi knew he’d both heard and understood him, so when his dongsaeng made no moves, he threw back the last swig of his drink and straightened his suit coat before marching resolutely in your direction.

Namjoon could only watch him go, dumbfounded.

When he reached you, Yoongi gently touched your arm and said your name to pull your attention from your friends. The way your face lit up when you recognized him surprised him, but he didn’t show it.

“May I have this dance?” He asked you, and the bright smile you gave him in response surprised him even more. He expected you’d accept; besides the fact that you were too nice to say no, the two of you were friends, after all.

But he hadn’t expected you to accept so enthusiastically.

You extended your hand to Yoongi and he took it automatically, feeling another twinge of amazement as your fingers wrapped around his. He dismissed the sensation as quickly as it had come, leading you toward the center of the hall, where a group of wedding guests were dancing.

As soon as Yoongi stopped at the edge of the dance floor, you moved close against him, one hand on his shoulder and the other in his. He felt awkward as he held your waist, but you began swaying to the music and he followed your lead, turning in slow circles with you.

You both made small talk as you danced - commenting on the beautiful wedding, observing the happiness of the newlywed couple, remarking about the size of the reception crowd - but even as he chatted with you, Yoongi’s mind was preoccupied.

When he asked you to dance, he’d hardly given it any thought. He just wanted to spur Namjoon into action. That had been his only motivation… hadn’t it? Yoongi didn’t ask girls to dance at weddings. Not even girls like you, his closest female friend. So why did he not even hesitate to approach you? Why had it been so easy to ask for your hand? Why had you been so happy to join him?

And why - despite the mild awkwardness - did it feel so… nice to have you in his arms?

“You look really handsome in that suit, by the way.” You smiled almost shyly, and Yoongi’s focus snapped back to the moment. He smiled back despite himself.

“You look beautiful.” He replied, the sincere compliment escaping his lips before he could exercise his usual restraint. “As always.”

The way your smile spread to your eyes pricked something in Yoongi’s chest, but before he could determine what it was, a familiar voice sounded behind him, and a hand gave his back a friendly pat.

“Mind if I cut in?” Namjoon asked, his gaze flicking between you and Yoongi.

Yoongi didn’t hesitate to step back, quickly dropping your waist, and you gave Namjoon a welcoming smile, allowing him to take his friend’s place.

But Yoongi didn’t miss how your eyes met his over Namjoon’s shoulder, just before he twirled you away.

Maybe Namjoon’s not an idiot, Yoongi thought, as he watched the two of you sway around the dance floor, your face shimmering as brightly as your dress beneath the party lights.

A self-deprecating smirk tugged at the corner of Yoongi’s lips as the realization dawned on him:

Maybe I’m the idiot now.

—

The ice in Yoongi’s empty glass clinked as he sat it on the bar, and the bartender knowingly topped it off with more whiskey without having to be asked.

“Can I have one of those too, please?” You asked the bartender, sidling up next to Yoongi.

Yoongi gave you a sidelong glance as the bartender quickly made your order and placed it in front of you.

“Cheers.” You held your drink out to Yoongi, and he smirked.

“Geonbae.” He offered, tapping his glass gently against yours before you both took swigs of your drinks. After the one sip, you sat your glass back down.

“I enjoyed our dance earlier. I’m really glad you asked me.” You told Yoongi, and the admission made him put his own drink down.

“It was nothing.” He chuckled dismissively, even though it certainly was not nothing to him.

“I was beginning to think you couldn’t take a hint.” You teased.

Yoongi only stared in response, finally meeting your gaze in time to see the twinkle in your eye.

“I wanted you to ask me to dance,” You explained, an amused smile playing on your lips, “I’ve been dropping hints all night. I was this close to giving up on being subtle and taking the direct approach, but you just barely beat me to the punch.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed.

“You were flirting with Namjoon right in front of me…” He wasn’t accusing you, he was just confused.

You bit your lip.

“I was kinda trying to make you jealous.” You admitted, holding back a giggle. “It was childish, and stupid, I know, but it was a last resort.”

“You could have just asked me to dance.” Yoongi told you.

You chuckled fully at that.

“I know you, Yoongi. I would have had to drag you out onto the dance floor.” You shook your head. “I needed you to think it was your idea in the first place.”

Yoongi scoffed, but he knew you were probably right.

“I’m just sorry our dance got cut short.” You continued, barely giving Yoongi time to catch up. “Maybe we could finish it now?” You asked, nodding back toward the dance floor.

Yoongi hadn’t noticed until that moment that another slow song was playing; he took a beat to process everything.

Now you were asking him to dance?

“Yeah, okay.” Yoongi nodded simply, his body turning automatically towards the dance floor. With a beaming smile, you clasped his hand, pulling him along, and he felt the tug all the way up to his heart.

Yoongi knew what this sensation was now. He’d felt it often with you, it finally occurred to him, but up until tonight, he hadn’t thought about what it meant:

Yoongi liked you.

He really liked you. More than just a friend.

How it took him this long to figure it out, he didn’t know. But as the two of you returned to the dance floor and wrapped your arms around each other, Yoongi realized you must feel the same way. And he wondered how he’d failed to ever notice before.

He’d accused Namjoon of missing the obvious, but it turns out… all this time, Yoongi was the one who’d been completely oblivious.

He pulled you closer against his body as he mused, continuing to lead you in lazy circles in time with the slow rhythm.

“Noona?” Yoongi asked, his voice low and deep, as the song progressed toward its ending.

“Hmm?” You gazed up at him.

“Can I have the next dance, too?”

You smiled slowly, nodding.

“And the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that. Every dance you want, it’s yours.” You promised Yoongi, threading your fingers through the hair that brushed the collar of his suit jacket.

Yoongi’s smile grew to match yours as he lowered his head, his lips finding your cheek and pressing a soft kiss close to your ear. You tightened your hold around Yoongi’s neck in delight, and as you did, you caught sight of Namjoon standing alone on the edge of the dance floor.

Namjoon gave you a knowing smile, lifting a champagne glass in your direction, and you almost laughed as you put a shushing finger to your lips, shooting him a quick wink in return.

#bts fanfiction #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #suganetwork #hyunglinenetwork #bts imagines #bts one shot #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #bts fic #bts fluff #bts drabble

[dairyminki]

Acquiescence || j.wy

PAIRING — jung wooyoung x fem!reader ... GENRE — fluff, angst, strangers to lovers ... WARNING/S — major character death, mentions and descriptions of hospital, pet names, reader has achromatopsia, mild profanities ... WC — 7.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE — i had this fic idea hiding in my drafts with only the title finished bcos i felt like it wasn't the right time for me to write it just yet, so i let it sit. and just when i thought this story will never see the light, stormy august happened, i got all angsty, and i was able to pour all my emotions on this fic. and now, i'm posting it for sad september, yay! anyway, special thanks to @hotteoki and @jaehunnyy for beta-reading this one ^^

SYNOPSIS — a life painted in shades of black, white, and gray, sparks a certain yearning for something brand new deep inside of you. but what if that 'something brand new' comes in the form of a boy and his camera? will his presence be able to alter the monotonous world you live in into a world where the colors of the rainbow are freely dancing?

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! ♡

— ☁️

ac·qui·es·cence

: the reluctant acceptance of something without protest.

achro·​ma·​top·​sia

: a visual defect that is marked by total color blindness in which the colors of the spectrum are seen as tones of white, gray, and black, by poor visual acuity, and by extreme sensitivity to bright light

☁️.... playlist!

To you, it was peaceful.

How the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against your sketchbook was the only thing you could hear, how the hues of black, gray, and white were the only ones that filled your vision, and how it was only the smell of fresh grass that lingered in the cool morning air.

But at the same time, it was depressing.

How those were the only things that constantly stimulated your senses. Always the same every morning, unless it were to rain.

You don't think any word was fitting enough to describe what you currently feel. Deep inside you, there's a yearning for something brand new. To alter the monotonous life you have in exchange for a life filled with an endless spark of delirium or one where the world before your eyes appears bright-colored.

Sitting on one of the wooden benches found in the hospital's garden inevitably makes your thoughts and emotions fly around. Sometimes, it's the feeling of hope budding inside your chest, but most times it was the heavy weight of despair forming over your head like a gloomy gray cloud.

Gray.

Now that is a shade you know by heart. A shade you've grown to appreciate that if anyone asks you what your favorite color is, gray would be your automatic answer.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, pink, and many others, are colors you could only wish and dream to see. When people around you talk about how blue the sky is, or how an evergreen tree looks, it makes you wonder deeply how on earth they look like. Are they as pretty as your favorite color? Or are they something more? Something that'd get you marveling hard and for long.

"Y/N? Y/N~?" You hear the familiar voice calling your name in a sing-song. When you turn your head around, you catch sight of shoe-clad feet before you see the face of your lovely nurse from day one—Nurse Aliah.

"There you are!" She exclaims, walking towards you with a huge smile on her face which you mimic as you close your sketchbook.

"Time's up for me already?" You ask, a bit dejected.

As much as you've grown to treat your hospital room as your home, that doesn't mean you've grown to love staring at the mundane four walls and smelling the overpowering scent of antiseptic and cleaning agents clouding your senses.

"Why? Don't feel like going back yet?" Nurse Aliah asks, making you scoot over so she can sit beside you.

Replying with a mere nod of your head, she sighs, patting you gently on the back. Then, she takes a glance at her wristwatch, saying, "I suppose I could give you half an hour more. I mean no one has to know, right?" She sends you a playful wink.

"That's more than enough, thank you."

"No problem at all, darling. But before I go, can I have a little peek at your sketches?" Nurse Aliah asks, gesturing at the sketchbook on your lap which you immediately hide behind you.

"No!" You laugh. "No peeking until I finish it."

Your answer got her frowning, but she stood nonetheless, muttering a sulky 'fine.'

"The sun's about to reach its peak in a little while, so put your cap on, alright?" She reminds, prompting you to nod your head before she finally leaves the garden.

With Nurse Aliah gone, you grab your cap beside you, wearing it, before you find yourself admiring your surroundings once more, taking in deep breaths as if the earth's air supply was about to run out, and then you're opening your sketchbook and diving back inside the world of art.

Sketching different things brings you peace—if some feel anxious leaving their houses without their phones or watches on, for you it's the same when you leave your mechanical pencil or any of your sketchbooks and drawing pads behind.

Art enables you to cope with all the imperfections you were forced to carry with you ever since you were born to walk the earth with your tiny feet.

You might not be able to see and appreciate colors as much as everyone does, but you do love being able to weave lines, shapes, and patterns from the tip of your pencil.

Click!

Your grip on the pencil loosens when you hear the sound of a camera shutter and someone cursing. Looking to your left, you see a male who looks the same age as you, holding a camera in his hand—his hair is quite long, he has styled fringes framing the sides of his face, and he is smiling sheepishly at you.

"Did you…just take a picture of me?" You asked, squinting your eyes at him and tilting your head to the side. You see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, all the while he lowers his camera.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He exclaims—his voice, pitchy. Then he proceeds to ramble aloud, "I didn't mean to startle you, I was just taking a look around, trying to find anything pretty to capture, and then I saw you, and I…I'm sorry."

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to take someone's photo without asking their permission?" By now you were standing, approaching the male and his camera. When you stick out a hand, he instantly gives his camera to you and you find yourself staring at a picture of yourself on the screen.

What he did was rude, yes, but you can't help but be in awe at the way he was able to capture you looking so immersed in your drawing—your furrowed brows and your tongue darting out of your slightly opened mouth because you're concentrating hard.

"I should be mad but, it's actually a pretty photo," You say, slightly abashed.

The male in front of you chuckles. Then he asks, "So, does that mean I get to keep this pretty picture of you?"

At the mention of the word 'pretty,' you feel your cheeks heat up. Coughing out loud and not meeting him in the eyes, you reply, "Only if you're not some creepy stalker, then I suppose you can."

"I'm not! I actually did it for a school project."

Hearing him say that made your ears perk.

"Oh, really? What's it about?" You can't help but ask, not being able to hold back with your natural curiosity for things.

"Nothing much, really," He starts. "We were just told to visit someplace we hadn't been to before and then capture something that catches our eye. Once we can do that, we will be asked to share about it in class."

After he explains, you find yourself asking him more.

"What else did you take a picture of?"

"You…were the first really." He answers with his free hand rubbing at his nape. As for you, his answer got your cheeks even hotter.

"Oh." You end up saying, not really knowing how to respond further. Luckily, he opens up another topic, and later on you're back sitting on the bench you previously sat on, but with him beside you.

"So you're telling me you've never been to a hospital before?"

"Nu-uh. Never," He answers, fiddling with the buttons of his camera. "Uhm, how about you? Did you…"

You knew what he meant despite him not fully voicing it out. Thank goodness you didn't see that one thing you really hate, in his eyes, though—pity.

"Been here since I was five," You say as you stare up at the sky. The gray-looking sky that always accompanied you whenever you were out here in the garden.

"What are you here for?" You could gather a hint of hesitance in his voice, most probably not wanting to pry considering you've only just met. But he's just like you, curious.

"I'm color-blind," You begin. And just when you were about to tell him more, you heard someone calling you.

"Y/N!"

You turn your head and see Nurse Aliah approaching you. From a distance, you could already see the questioning in her gaze.

"I—ah, unfortunately, have to go now," You say, picking up your sketchbook and standing up.

"Oh."

"Yeah, um, I'm grateful I was able to cross paths with you today," You tell him with all honesty. And you think you see him bite back a smile.

"The way you say it, makes it sound like, us, meeting was something big."

"Well, maybe it is," You grinned at him. "I'm Y/N, by the way." You say, extending a hand for a handshake which he immediately accepts.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Wooyoung," He responds before you wave at him goodbye and run towards Nurse Aliah with a smile still lingering on your face and her look of questioning not fading away in the slightest.

"Who was that?" She asks as the both of you start to walk back inside the hospital.

"Hmm, just someone who thinks I'm pretty."

—

The following day, you asked Nurse Aliah if you could go out again. When she asked you why, you simply told her that the fresh air and the calming surroundings got you more motivated to finish sketching, and not because you were kind of hoping for a certain long-haired male to find his way back to the garden, no, not at all.

Well, not that you were going to admit and let her know anyway.

You fell into the same routine as yesterday without any difficulty. By now, the subject you were trying to draw was getting more defined. Just a little more shadings here and-

"Smile!"

Instead of smiling as the chirpy voice told you to do so, you think your caught-off-guard face was what the camera was able to capture.

"You could've warned me!" You exclaim after a few moments of just blinking and nothing but your mind trying to register the sound of the shutter that went off earlier and the laughter of the newcomer.

The very reason why you wanted to escape the stuffy walls of the hospital again.

"I take pride in my candid shots, though." Wooyoung pouts.

"You only started taking pictures yesterday!" You point out.

"Okay, and?"

"Ugh, just let me see the picture," You say, though it sounds more like a demand. A demand that Wooyoung refuses to follow through.

"No, this one is for my eyes only." Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at you and then,, later on has this shit-eating grin on his face.

In the end, you give up trying to get the camera from him. The moment you decide to set your focus back on your drawing, silence envelops you two—not the awkward kind though. It was more like those silence that'll have you sighing in relief, and everything else around you sounding like calming waves.

And amidst the silence was Wooyoung near a flower bush with his camera out. You don't know what colors the flowers are in but you do remember Nurse Aliah telling you they are called Chrysanthemums and that they smell sweet.

"Wooyoung," You say after a minute of just staring at him snapping a couple of photos of the said flower. "What color are those flowers?" You ask.

Without taking his peering eyes off the viewfinder, he answers, "They're purple!"

Purple—you know they're the color of grapes, your favorite fruit. You've wondered since then if purple was anything like how the fruit tasted.

"How about your hair, Woo?"

Woo—that's new, and the way the nickname rolled off your tongue actually felt nice.

"It's black, probably just the way you see it!" He answers, and then you see him finally lowering his camera and smiling to himself while he walks back toward you on the bench.

"Were you able to capture something pretty?" You ask him as soon as he drops his weight on the bench, his shoulder touching yours.

"I did. It's quite a lot. But…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he's looking at you with a cheeky grin. "...they're not as pretty as you though."

At that remark, you feel heat rush towards your face, however, you don't look away from his gaze, just yet. Your thoughts begin to wander again, as you think of what the color of his eyes are and if they're the same as yours, or the color of the shirt he's wearing, and his camera too. You could've asked those questions aloud but you didn't.

Instead, you ask, "If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

Wooyoung briefly seemed to appear as if he was in deep thought, with his head tilting to the side, his eyes roaming all over you, and his lips pursing.

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?" He proposes.

A month could be awfully long for some, and short for others who are patient enough. You're not sure which one of the two are you, although you still nod your head at Wooyoung.

And a month? Sure, you could wait. Time flies fast these days, after all.

—

Days turned to weeks, and by now, you've grown accustomed and comfortable with Wooyoung's presence.

He was just the right amount of loud, funny, and kind, that even your Nurse Aliah has opened up to him already.

"You smile a lot nowadays," Nurse Aliah comments one time while you're resting inside your room and she's replacing your newly emptied bowl of grapes with a fresh set.

"Is it bad?" You ask as you stare at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything—just the little joke Wooyoung told you a day ago repeatedly tickling your head.

You hear the clinking of the fruit bowl for the last time before you hear the rustling of your bed sheet.

"It's not bad per se, but…"

Her unsaid words send the all too familiar sinking feeling creeping its way back into your chest. A feeling you've tried so hard to push to the back of your mind, only for it to resurface once again.

"Don't," You plead in a small voice, eyes closed. When you open them again, you're looking straight at her, hot tears lingering in the corner of your eyes. You tried hard to blink them back.

But when was the last time you let them fall? When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel sadness? When was the last time you willingly set hope free and embraced despair?

"Alright, I…I just want to let you know today will be the last time you'll be able to go out Y/N. Tomorrow, Dr. Lee will be here to check on you."

Not being able to stop the dam from breaking, you just nod your head to whatever Nurse Aliah is saying. You feel her caress your hair before the door to your room closes with a thud.

Tears spilled—rolling down the apples of your cheeks until they're gliding past your lips, enabling you to taste their saltiness. And then you're sitting up, pulling your leg close to your chest with your head resting on the wall as you stare at the window.

You sigh. Feeling all the energy you possess going down the drain.

You suddenly remember all the things the younger you had to suffer through just because you weren't normal just like how everyone was. You remember how you'd run into things and tripped over them because everything seemed dark and dull. You remember how other kids would play outside at the playground while their parents would sit there on the benches and talk about how the sun looked so bright.

You've never directly looked at the sunlight. It hurt your eyes, even until now. Hence, every time you go out, you always wear a cap on your head just to shield your eyes from the light radiated by the sun. Anyone else would've worn sunglasses to deal with that, and you've tried—once. After that, you came to Nurse Aliah, crying, because you felt suffocated while wearing them. And that continued until you were older—any type of glasses having the same effect on you.

Childhood for you was tough. Luckily, Nurse Aliah was there to somehow make it less hard for you to deal with the world and reality. Making you smile, laugh, and enjoy the little things—Nurse Aliah was your only family. She contributed to igniting the spark of hope inside you.

And now, there's Wooyoung—his smile, his raucous laughter, and the way he sweeps his fringes to the side out of habit. Just Wooyoung and the click of his camera, his camera roll that's probably full of your stolen shots now. Just Wooyoung trying to peek at whatever you're drawing while you're so adamant not to show him. Just Wooyoung discreetly picking out a random flower from the bush and putting it behind your ear.

It sends a rush of warmth all over you—something warmer than what you get when you're spending time with Nurse Aliah. No, Wooyoung's was something else.

You place your right hand on your chest, and there it is. The faint sound of your heart beating, increasing, as your mind gets filled more by the said male.

It feels foreign, but it's nice. Really nice.

And with that, you know you're ready to face another day with the open sky and Wooyoung's presence keeping you intact and aground.

—

After all the crying you've done, you felt light and at ease. As you walk out into the hallways and down to the ground floor, you find yourself greeting more people you encounter along the way. You can't help but notice the smile sticking to your lips, and surprisingly, it didn't hurt you with how wide it was.

Your smile only seems to get brighter when you spot Wooyoung's familiar figure outside. He's by the same bench you two sit on with his back facing you.

Giggling, you were eager to reach where he stood.

But then it happens.

Just when you were about to run and shout his name, it happened.

Instead of shouting his name, you find yourself gasping for air, feeling as if your throat was closing in on you. With your heart irregularly beating painfully against your chest you drop to the ground, feeling faint and cold with sweat.

You don't register much about what happened next but swore you heard screams around you and the last-minute turning and running Wooyoung made toward you.

Blurry grayness was the last thing you saw before everything turned black.

—

There were voices around you and the sound of a machine.

Fluttering your eyes open, you recognize you are in your room—lying on a bed with a few tubes connected to your body, and then gently shifting your eyes to the door where the sound came from, you see a familiar back and your Nurse Aliah, talking in low voices. Though, not low enough, seeing as they awoke you.

Nurse Aliah notices your awoken state first, you see her whisper something to Wooyoung before she attends to your side.

"Hey, darling," She began in a soft voice, almost lulling. When her fingers brushed through your hair, you swore sleep was tempting you to go back into its arms once again. But you stopped yourself.

"How are we feeling?" Nurse Aliah asks. You find yourself clearing your dry throat, unable to answer. You give her an okay sign, instead.

Immediately, she gets a glass of water from your bedside table. She gently guides you to a sitting position, before she hands the drink to you.

"I'm glad you're awake, Y/N. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go call Dr. Lee. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and talk with your lover boy over there. Sounds good?"

You could only roll your eyes at her, shooing her away.

Wooyoung instantly came to your side after the door closed. He pulls out a chair for him to sit on and then just stares at you. You find yourself looking down at the empty glass in your hand, with the silence the male was giving you.

You can't figure out if he's angry, sad, or disappointed. If he only sees you as a weak and undesirable thing he no longer wants anything to do with.

"What's my pretty girl thinking, hmm?" Wooyoung asks, gently taking the glass out of your hold, and replacing it with his hands.

Wooyoung's hands felt warm against your slightly cold ones and you liked it.

"I'm thinking that I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not telling you," You answer truthfully, now finding the courage to reciprocate his gaze on you. But then, a gasp leaves you when you see how puffy his eyes are.

"Have you been crying?" You ask, pulling your hands from him and cupping his face. Your thumbs trace the bags of his eyes while Wooyoung leans into your touch.

"If I did, what's my pretty girl going to do about it?" Wooyoung asks with a small chuckle, in an attempt to lighten up the mood inside the four walls.

"Am I really still pretty to you, Woo?" You asked in a weak voice, tone laced with disbelief.

"Y/N, y'know that's a stupid question, right? Love, you'll forever be pretty in my eyes, and I—y'know yourself I'm good at finding pretty things, right? That's how I found you."

"Woo…"

"If you think that me, seeing you like this will change anything, then you're so wrong for that."

"Woo-"

"Is it shitty of me if I say that I'm in love with you, right now?"

You're caught off guard when Wooyoung starts crying, his tears wetting your fingers. With him breaking down in front of you, you can't help but cry as well, pulling his head to your chest in hopes that your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear that it was actually screaming his name.

"I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please…" Your voice was croaky after a while, tears having dried on your cheeks, while Wooyoung's sobs still hadn't subsided.

"I don't know about you but I'm not feeling funny enough to laugh right now," He answers with a chuckle and you laugh as well, still cradling his head against you.

If you could, and if you only knew how, you'd lessen the pain he's feeling.

Absorbing all the pain coursing through him until you become numb, you'll do so. And if you could control time you would love to rewind it to the time he took a photo of you without permission.

If you acted coldly towards him and sent him away, would you still find yourselves in this position?

Will Wooyoung still weave his way into your fragile heart and your colorless life?

Will you still find yourself falling in love at the last minute with him?

You don't know.

But you do know you feel the same way as him.

Who knew that that delicate heart of yours was still capable of welcoming a powerful force called love inside?

—

Most of your days were filled with your doctor and nurse checking up on you at every possible chance. The wheelchair has become your friend, and instead of getting out into the garden and finding Wooyoung, the tables turned. Wooyoung, being the one who found his way to your hospital room, started constantly visiting you with a different set of flowers every day to adorn the lonely vase sitting atop your bedside table.

Unlike the other days though, this time, he was kind of late. Even Nurse Aliah didn't get to peek inside after the early morning check-up she did on you today. It was strange, you think.

Starting to feel bored, you decided to take a quick look at your finished drawings and the letters you wrote slipped into one of the pages of your sketchbook

Then, you hear the door to your room opening. Instead of Nurse Aliah, though, Wooyoung's adorable peeking head was the one you saw.

"Woo!" You exclaim, putting a sweet smile on his face as he welcomes himself in.

Immediately, you open your arms for him, and he fits in perfectly when he engulfs you in a soft hug. You feel his lips against your temple, and if you could, you'd choose to stay in this position, just basking in all the warmth he could offer and all the kisses he'd get to spoil you with.

"I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" You whisper back at him. Then, he's pulling away, a hesitant look on his face.

You looked at him, confused, asking, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong! It's just that, Nurse Aliah told me you're not really fond of these, but, I was hoping if…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he takes something out of the small bag that he brought with him. "...can you please, wear them for me, just this time?"

In his hand was a case, and when he opened it, you saw a pair of glasses.

Your breath hitches.

"Is this—h-how were you able to—Woo, I-"

Unbeknownst to you, you were panicking, and Wooyoung was doing all his best to calm you off the overwhelming feeling encapsulating you.

When you've calmed down, he proceeds to ask again, "Will you wear them for me, love?" in a much softer voice.

You nod your head, tears brushing your cheeks, while smiling hard and mumbling a few yeses.

"Thank you, my pretty girl," Wooyoung says, showering you with butterfly kisses, prompting giggles out of you.

"Are you ready?" Wooyoung asks before you take the glasses out of its case. Nodding eagerly as a reply, you put them on, unable to control the blinking of your eyes as they adjust.

An immense feeling grows in your chest, your words stuck in your throat when you finally get to look at Wooyoung and see what his gorgeous eyes are colored in. When you asked him what color they were, he told you they were brown, the same as yours.

Minutes later, as soon as Wooyoung sees you're all set, he pulls you up from your bed, helps you wear your shoes, and then guides you every step until you're sitting in your wheelchair.

Turns out it was blue—your wheelchair. And blue is such a pretty color, you think. Though, after seeing the color of Wooyoung's eyes, you think nothing could ever compare with it.

—

It was your first time being able to see the garden with the stars present, twinkling up above.

Wearing the special glasses that Wooyoung has gifted you, you can't help but cry at the overwhelming colors filling your vision.

Wooyoung and Nurse Aliah told you that it won't make you see all the colors the world is painted in, but at least it was no longer just black, white, and gray—the three same colors your world was revolving in.

Another surprise welcomes you hard when you notice the transformation the garden had to go through with all the fairy lights hanging from each tree.

Green—a color you know that dominates the earth. You are so delighted to be able to see such a refreshing and tranquil color. A color you wouldn't mind looking at forever.

"Did you do all of this for me?" You ask Wooyoung in between shivers, that the latter had to stop wheeling you from behind for a minute. He crouches down in front of you, tightening the jacket around you, and sensing that it isn't enough to shield you from the cold nightly breeze, he takes off his own and puts it on you.

"Hmm, though I did ask Nurse Aliah and a few others for help. Do I look like I could pull off this surprise by myself?"

"Of course not." You playfully scoff.

"I know I asked, but I can't help but feel offended."

Laughter filled the rest of the path you took toward the very bright evergreen tree in the far distance. The sound of the crickets and the luminous moonlight accompanied you two as well.

"Is that—are we having a picnic?" You gasped, spotting a blanket lying over the green grass, a basket, and a set of empty plates over it. You think you even see a bottle of your favorite drink peeking out of the basket.

"Yes, we are, pretty." Wooyoung responds, but then something else catches your attention that you almost want to abandon your wheelchair and just say, 'fuck it,' and run.

You realize that not only fairy lights hang from the evergreen tree, but also pictures.

When you get nearer, you feel your heartbeat becoming louder. And when the wheelchair halts—Wooyoung carrying you afterward towards the area he set for you two—you were able to see the pictures much closer.

At first, all you see were the different flowers Wooyoung captured in his camera—they were a myriad of colors; pink, blue, red, and purple.

You found purple to be the loveliest.

"Is that—?" You turn your head to Woooyoung as your finger points to a certain picture of two people.

Wooyoung only nods.

It was a picture of you and your Nurse Aliah. Bright smiles graced your lips. Your arms were around each other and you were wearing your cap which surprisingly is colored purple as well.

Maybe, Nurse Aliah knew that purple was bound to replace gray as your favorite color in the long run, and the color didn't disappoint you at the very least.

"Thank you," You tell Wooyoung as he puts you down on the blanket. Everything looks magical. Like a scene pulled out from a movie, a scene you didn't expect to live out.

And just when you thought Wooyoung's surprise had reached its end, you thought wrong when he handed you a photo album. Well, it looked more identical to a scrapbook, with your name on the cover formed using cutout magazine letters.

When you open it, you see a short letter written on the first page with what seems to be Wooyoung's penmanship. From his penmanship alone, you could identify what his personality is like. And you thought it was endearing.

However, when you flipped to the next page, your eyes widened, breath hitching as your gaze stayed fixed on the very first picture pasted on.

It was that picture Wooyoung took that got you so caught off guard. The one he so adamantly tried to hide from you.

One of the candid photos he took pride in—you with your eyes staring wide at the camera, your mouth ajar, the pencil you were holding slipping out of your grip mid-air.

You were quite shy to admit it but you now understand why Wooyoung said it was for his eyes only.

It was a pretty picture.

—

Deeper into the night, Wooyoung finds himself running his fingers through your hair while you're laying your head on his lap, watching the stars dance in the endless obsidian sky.

Having you close like this, he gets to realize how frail you appear to be, one touch and he fears you'll break. A second of looking away from you and he's afraid you'll slip away from the clutch he has on you.

But then, there was your smile, ever blinding, and it made him think there was nothing wrong. That this was simply a storm passing by and that tomorrow a rainbow shall greet him from the bluish sky.

"Ask me again, Y/N," He asks after a while of comfortable silence, you merely humming back, eyes questioning him with what he means by that.

"Ask me the same question you asked me a month ago."

And just like that, bliss danced in your irises, but then you sat up a little bit too fast that it worried Wooyoung for a bit. However, the joy in your face never seemed to fade, and that was enough to reassure him that you didn't experience any pain of some sort.

"What color am I to you, Woo?" You paraphrased the question you dropped on him a month ago, one he couldn't answer yet. But now, he thinks he got it all memorized.

"My dear Y/N, if you were a color," He starts, leaning in towards you, his hands cupping your face and then he's resting his forehead against yours. "You'd be every color in the rainbow."

To Wooyoung, you were purple—a color that's meant for uniqueness and the artistic side of life, which you surely have running in your blood. Purple was a color that could relax the overall senses, which is why it's no surprise to him that it was now your favorite color.

Although, he believes you're also blue—not the feeling, though. Blue was a perfect color to describe your calm demeanor to others. Just like the feeling one gets from looking at the sky—breathtaking, pure, serene, and easy to look at. Wooyoung thinks he gets all of that just from a single glance at you.

But then you're also green. Softness and growth. In the short amount of time, he got the privilege to spend with you, he knows you've become more open to everything. You've once told him about what your past looked like and to be honest? He thinks you've started to learn to let go of the painful parts that once scarred you—like a leaf falling from the tree and letting the air carry it to anywhere it'd take it.

Yellow and orange are colors that represent joy and energy—you exude both. Wooyoung sees a certain glow in you, and he thinks Nurse Aliah will agree with him if he claims that the energy you possess is one of a kind, something that needs to be shared with everyone else.

A glow that gravitates people towards you.

And maybe that was one of the reasons that made Wooyoung stumble his way to you that very day you two first met.

Will you end up believing him if he said that that project was something he was forced to do? Wooyoung had never even touched a single camera until that day. And looking at how bright his world looks right now in front of him, he's glad he decided to do it.

"And lastly, you're red. You radiate passion and warmth, Y/N," Wooyoung tells you, never breaking away his gaze from you, and not caring if he ends up cross-eyed.

"You are love itself, and every day I wake up beyond grateful that I'm one of those people whom you've decided to share a piece of yourself with."

"Woo…" You say, already sniffling, while he's now finding it hard to see through his tears.

"Can I…Can I kiss you?" He asks, his hands shaking.

"You'll probably be my first and last-"

Wooyoung cuts you off with the tender feeling of his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was messy and frantic at first, like time was chasing you away, and was salty with all the tears. But then, every brush of your lips against his' turns into something sweet, making his insides flutter and his heart beat like he just ran a mile. Wooyoung feels warm all over as one of his hands found your waist, the other delicately holding your chin, and if he could wish for one thing, he would love to wish for this moment right here to stop as it is.

But the thing is, he can't.

He knows any moment now, an endless slumber shall find you. And if he can, he would like not to waste any remaining second he's got with you left.

"Woo, I'm tired," Wooyoung hears you say in a small voice after a while, a yawn escaping your lips and your eyes getting droopy.

He gently lifts you, placing you on his lap while letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. And then he's wrapping his arms around your body layered with jackets, cradling you like a baby.

"Woo?" He hears you speak once again. He hums back in response.

"Look at me, please?" You plead in a soft voice which almost breaks his heart there and then. But he looks at you, and when he does, he thinks he saw your eyes shine with the littlest spark it could still muster to show.

"Your eyes are really pretty," You say. Wooyoung looks away, fearing you'll see him cry. And he doesn't want you to go after seeing him in that state. Instead, he hugs you a little tighter.

"The sky is a witness to how grateful I am to have crossed paths with you, I hope you know…just how lucky I am and how happy I feel right now," You say with a contented sigh, and based on the way your cheek moved against his skin, he knows you're smiling right now.

But it turns out you weren't finished.

"My life was dull and repetitively the same until you came along with all your colors. Thank you for letting me feel how love feels like, I love you…and I'd like to believe I'll still do until we meet again."

That was the last time he heard your voice drifting in the wind before the chirping of the crickets increased tenfold.

"I love you, too, always, my pretty girl." Wooyoung gets to say before his entire body stills, your last intake of breath reaching his ears and your last exhale fanning his neck.

And then he's shaking, another batch of tears washing over him as he cries silently, slowly rocking your body with his, back and forth, and dropping soft kisses on the top of your head.

I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please.

He hears at the back of his head, bringing him back to the moment he saw you so fragile-looking for the first time.

Wooyoung actually got to talk with your doctor, Dr. Lee, that day. Dr. Lee had told him that it was considered a miracle, how you lasted for a month when he thought you'd only have a week left after the both of you saw the latest condition of your heart—only seeming to get weaker as each day passed.

Now, Wooyoung wasn't one to assume things, but he would like to think that you held out for him, all because you wanted to ask what color you were to him.

"If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?"

And you did wait for a month. Wooyoung would like to say it was a stupid reason but, he's glad you asked him that. And he's even glad that you were able to hear his answer to your question before you closed your eyes.

Somehow, it brought him peace.

—

Entering your room, Wooyoung feels nothing but emptiness, the joyful energy you once radiated, is now nowhere to be found—but the memories he got to share with you linger on.

Earlier, he volunteered to tidy your room and your things when Nurse Aliah asked, and now as he's walking near your bedside table, he spots something peeking out of the sketchbook you always used to carry with you to the garden. The sketchbook you didn't let him take a peek even once.

Wooyoung grabs it, and he lets out a sound of surprise when something falls out of the pages, dropping onto the floor. Crouching down, he picks up the bunch of paper and sees there are two drawings and two handwritten letters.

He takes the drawing you made for him—a sketch of him while he's holding the camera to his face—and the letter addressed to him. Then, he puts the ones that are for Nurse Aliah back on the table.

Wooyoung takes his time admiring every stroke and shade you've made while sitting on your bed.

Now he understands why you wouldn't let him peek even just a tiny bit.

Wooyoung feels his heart soaring because you drew him.

And it was a pretty drawing.

Wooyoung sniffs, putting the drawing on the bed and picking up the letter you wrote for him this time.

Frankly, he isn't sure if he's ready to read it, especially since your passing is still fresh in his mind and his heart is still hurting.

But then again, when will he ever be brave enough to read it alone? Wooyoung thinks reading it inside the room you once resided in will ease him even just a little bit, although he can't promise that he won't cry again.

And so, after a deep exhale, he opens your letter.

One look at the first line and Wooyoung finds himself breaking down for the nth time.

My dearest Woo,

Hi! I'll be honest with you, I wasn't really sure how to start this letter, but then I thought, what if I told you a story first? You like stories right? I hope you do. Anyway, here it goes.

Once upon a time, there was a little fairy. Now, this fairy was unlike any other fairy—she didn't have wings. (I know what you're probably thinking; why is she a fairy if she doesn't have wings? But cut me some slack, will you? This is probably why I should stick to drawing, which I hope you saw first, by the way.) Since she didn't have wings, she couldn't fly. And because she couldn't fly, she felt like she was always left behind, always feeling like an outcast that she almost resented herself for being born. Why wasn't she like normal fairies? She always finds herself asking.

Right when she thought all hope was lost for her, she met this boy. A boy who had no wings but was still able to fly. Of course, the fairy was in awe and disbelief, and so, she asked the boy, "How are you able to fly without wings?"

The boy grins at her and says, "Wings? Who says they're the only thing that could make you fly when pixie dust exists?"

"Pixie dust? What is that?" The fairy asks, and then the boy shows him a bag filled with golden-colored dust, which he pours into her hands.

"Sprinkle it all over you and think happy thoughts, then you'll be able to fly just like me," The boy says, and without hesitation, the fairy follows his words.

And when she did, she found her tiny feet slowly lifting off the ground. "I'm flying!" She exclaimed with great joy. After that, she became friends with the boy and together they soared to greater heights. But nothing ever lasts, don't they? Soon, the boy had to leave her, but before he left, he gave her another bag of pixie dust and promised to come back looking for her as long as she continued to think happy thoughts.

However, the time came when the pixie dust ran out, and the fairy had lost her glow and was unable to think of happy thoughts. In the end, her life ended before she could even know if the boy didn't really plan on coming back, or if he simply wasn't able to find her. The end.

Whew, what a story!

I don't know if it made sense to you, Woo. But I think, what I'm trying to say is, I want to make things lighter by saying that, in that story, the fairy was me, and you were the boy who gave me hope. Although, I'd also like to believe that our ending will be slightly different from theirs. We both know that I don't have much time left, we do. And which is why, I'm hoping that before I rest, I'll still be with you long enough to let you feel how much I adore and appreciate you.

The thing is, being born with achromatopsia was already sufferable enough for my younger self. And then, imagine, my doctor comes in one day and tells me I also have problems with my heart and that my days are numbered.

Of course, I became miserable, who wouldn't? I felt like the world caved in on me. During that time, I only had Nurse Aliah and I even shut her out. I thought life was so unfair, because why did I have to go through something I didn't even wish to have while other people my age were living the life I could've lived?

But of course with Nurse Aliah not giving up on me and encouraging me to do the same, I outgrew that phase, or so I thought.

I was a work in progress when lo and behold, you jumpscared me with your camera and affinity for the word pretty. Have I told you how giddy it makes me feel and how blushy I get when you call me that? No? Well, now you know.

Wooyoung, despite all the loudness and wonderful chaos you entailed, you became my peace. Just like how the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against my sketchbook brought me comfort, so did the sound of your camera shutter.

Did you know that right before the moment you decided to enter my life, I was deeply yearning for something brand new? Well, that yearning was fulfilled, because that something brand new, became you, Wooyoung. In case you haven't realized yet. (But of course, I know you do!)

By the time you read this, I'm probably, well, gone…but I'd like to think I'll be among the stars twinkling in the night sky, trying to get your attention by shining the brightest while you're staring out of your window. (Please, say hi back to me!)

Just like what I said, don't waste your tears again on me, okay? My dear Wooyoung, promise me you'll only smile when you think of me, please. I don't want to cause my favorite people any form of sadness or any kind of pain.

Truth is, I…I don't really wanna go. After meeting you, I suddenly wasn't sure if I was ready to leave everything, especially you, behind, just yet.

But then again, we can never always have what we want right? It's bittersweet, but that's life for you. I'm just so, so glad that this weak heart of mine was still able to beat for you.

I love you, more than you'll ever know.

Forever and always your pretty girl,

Y/N

P.S. When will you ever show me those pictures you've taken of me, huh?

— ☁️

#wooyoung x reader #cromernet #k-labels #pirateeznet #Hiraya-M #ateez x reader #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #ateez angst #ateez fluff #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez fics #ateez #jung wooyoung #dairyminkiwrites #dairyminki_atzwy

[paperstorm]

wip wednesday

I was tagged by @inflarescent @alrightbuckaroo @birdclowns and @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

Season 3 of Missing Moments is in the initial phases baybee so have a scene I wrote at 4am while insomniatic and trying to dig into Carlos's mindset at the hospital. (does that low key count as self harm lol probably)

-

Carlos tugs his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he steps out into the still-falling snow thought the automatic sliding doors. He passes by others, concerned visitors braving the storm to visit their loved ones. The chill seeps quickly through his clothes and into his bones. Carlos has lived his entire life in Austin, he’s never felt cold like this. TK used to tell him about winters in Manhattan, about snow and sleet and the kind of cold that burrows into muscles and tightens skin and leaves a person with chattering teeth and lungs aching from inhaling ice crystals, but Carlos could only ever imagine it until now. It’s worse than TK’d described. But come to really think of it, the cold might not be the reason he’s having trouble gasping for a proper breath.

He finds a brick half-wall, a built in planter than in the summer months would be filled with flowers, and he sits onto it. It’s all he can do not to collapse onto the snowy ground. Carlos tucks his shaking hands into his own armpits, clenching every muscle in his body as his molars press together in a useless attempt to stop himself from bursting into tears. His eyes burn, his head pounds, his breath comes in uneven bursts through his nose.

It can, the doctor had said. Their chosen course of treatment can work, for someone in TK’s condition. She hadn’t meant it. Carlos may not be a medical professional like she is, he may not be the same sort of hero as her and Captain Vega and TK and Nancy, but he’s still a first responder. He still knows that dance. He knows intimately the mask of sympathy to wear and the tone of voice to adopt when the situation calls for kindly offering a grain of false hope to someone in a sand-dune of despair.

His shoulders shake. A woman with a teenaged daughter in tow crosses in front of him on their way towards the parking lot, and Carlos tucks his chin down against his chest so they won’t see the way his eyes are filled with tears.

It’s important to know when a thing is over, he’d said to Marjan, only hours ago before his world was tilted off its axis. Like the well-meaning but misleading doctor, Carlos hadn’t meant it. The mask he’s constructed out of his grief and anger and loneliness and heartbreak disintegrates right off his face and seems to crumble to dust at his feet. He wipes in annoyance and tears on his cheeks, that freeze to his skin almost as soon as they’ve spilled from his stinging eyes.

When to move on, he’d said. She saw through him.

Once upon a time, Carlos was a master of this deception. He built a home for himself constructed almost entirely in lies, in half-truths and secrets and pieces of himself given only on a need-to-know basis, and he wasn’t happy, but it was good enough. It was enough that his parents still invited him over for dinner. It was enough that his coworkers only speculated about his sexuality in private and to his face behaved at least cordially and professionally, even if behind his back they were sneering at him. It was enough that Michelle knew he was gay and accepted him for it, even if she was always too consumed with loss to ever really take an interest in Carlos’s wellbeing after Iris was gone. It was all enough, and then TK came along, and then it wasn’t. And Carlos’s ability to lie to himself so successfully burned up along with everything else he lost in the fire.

He never moved on, he’s still stuck right where he was the day TK walked out on him, and if he loses TK forever, Carlos can’t see a way to ever extricate himself from this spot.

He untucks his right hand, exposing his bare skin to the frigid air and reaching with trembling fingers into the pocket of his jacket for his cellphone. He’s been avoiding this very action for months, but Carlos hurts in every inch of his body as he sits here in the snow and considers a future in which TK is just a jumble of increasingly bittersweet memories and a gravestone he’ll never work up the courage to visit, he can’t avoid it anymore. He presses his thumb into Mama in his contacts and brings the phone up to his ear, choking on an inhale as his heart races while it rings.

“Carlitos,” she answers. “Hola, mi amor, are you keeping warm?”

Carlos vibrates. A miserable noise escapes from his throat and he quickly covers his mouth with his free hand, reduced to clawing back desperate sobs the very second he hears her warm, familiar voice in his ear.

“Carlos?” Andrea says sharply. “Mjio, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Carlos gasps and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he gives himself an instant headache, rocking back and forth just slightly against the flowerbed as he fights to pull himself under control – or at the very least to wrestle back enough control so that he can stop scaring her.

“Carlos!”

“It’s not me,” he manages to force out, with a cough. “It’s TK.”

Andrea inhales. “What happened?”

“He was … there was a little boy trapped under the ice.” Carlos’s voice shakes but he pushes through it. “His team was trying to rescue him, and TK went into the water. I’m at the hospital, he’s … they’re saying he might not wake up.”

“I – might not why?” Andrea asks. She sounds so upset, and it only makes Carlos feel even more like he’s about to throw up on the sidewalk underneath his boots.

“Hypothermia. They’re trying, but …” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Oh, mijo,” Andrea sighs.

“I can’t …” Carlos sniffs and shakes his head. “I just wanted you to know.”

“What hospital?”

“Austin General.”

“Stay right where you are, I will be there in 30 minutes.”

“No.” Carlos sits up a bit straighter and shakes his head. A few fractions of the anguish fall away. He wipes at the tears on his face and new ones don’t replace them. “It’s dangerous, there are people sliding into ditches all over the roads and the first responders are all slammed. Stay where you are.”

“Carlos – ”

“I mean it,” he insists, kind but firm. “This is bad enough without me having to worry about you stuck in a snowbank somewhere the paramedics can’t get to you. Okay?”

She’s quiet for a moment and Carlos thinks she’s going to continue arguing, but she doesn’t. In a heavy, displeased voice, Andrea replies, “Alright. Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

“Te amo. I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“Thanks. I love you, too.” He sniffs again and ends the call before he can catch her response. If he hears her voice for one more second Carlos thinks he might break apart into a million pieces, and he can’t do that right now. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and stands, scrubbing hands over his face one last time to make sure it’s dry and then heading back inside.

Tagging @theghostofashton @strandnreyes @reyestrandd @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @goodways @beautifulhigh @carlos-in-glasses @liminalmemories21 @redshirt2 @orchidscript @freneticfloetry @whatsintheboxmh @wtfuckevenknows

#wip wednesday #911ls fanfic #missing moments #paperstorm writes

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

masterlist

next chapter

Almost everyone in the Jackson community were in attendance at the barn dance tonight. Children of all ages were playing and running around the town hall and the streets of Jackson, the crisp autumn air filled with their laughter and the sound of country music playing. The adults danced in pairs on the hardwood floor space of the town hall as a small group of community members with different musical instruments played country tunes. Others stood around the floor drinking cider and beer and talking about the upcoming harvest, how mild the weather had been lately, and how Jackson needed more reasons to celebrate like this more often. It was 8pm and the festive spirit of the night had just begun.

You sat at one of the round tables dotted around the town hall with a glass of punch in your hand, your eyes following the couples gliding around the dance floor. The men and women looked so cheerful as they moved in sync to the music, their actions appearing automatic and effortless, the joy in their smiles and laughs undeniably infectious to the other town folk who were watching from the sidelines. Most of them were married couples but some of them were domestic partners, ranging in age from late teenagers right up to the most senior members of the community.

The courtship and reproductive aspects of the circle of life were crucial points of interest for many people in Jackson. Despite the hardships of the reality of the end of the world, life within the walls of the Jackson commune were quite simple; everyone was assigned jobs to ensure the town functioned successfully, people dated and married and had children, and everyone had a role to fulfil regardless of their skill level. As a young woman, your own dreams and hopes for the future were quite traditional; you wanted a life partner who would compliment you perfectly, someone to have children with and grow old with. Your desires were modelled on your own parents relationship and deep down in your heart, losing them at 12 years of age left you with a fear of abandonment and the need for the security of a family of your own. The yearning for this had grown vehemently recently, perhaps punctuated by some of the milestones achieved within your friendship circle - an engagement, a wedding, a new baby.

Your smile, small and sad, curls against the lip of the glass as you take a sip of punch. You had been asked to dance a few times and you enjoyed the company of your girlfriends, but there was only one person you wanted to dance with, and he was never going to indulge you in that desire.

He wasn't at the dance tonight. He hated going to events like the barn dances. He hated socialising any more than he had to, evident in the way he carried himself during day to day life living in Jackson; stalking wordlessly to and from his patrolling shifts and eating times at the mess hall, a scowl permanently etched on his face. Joel Miller arrived in Jackson several years ago and had never made any close friends or spoke much to anyone. His brother Tommy and his daughter, Ellie, seemed to be the only people who knew Joel well. You did, too, although you knew a different Joel to the one anyone else did. And you knew Joel wouldn't be at the dance tonight, nor would he be overly happy that you were there.

Noting the time on the large clock perched on the hall wall, you finished the rest of your punch and stood up to leave the dance. It really was so much fun to chat with other towns people and so entertaining to watch the others dance, but Joel would be waiting for you. Mumbling apologies and half hearted excuses of feeling tired to your friends, you slipped out of the town hall and trekked to Joel's house under the cloak of the night sky, making sure to avoid the main street and weave through the back yards lest someone see you.

When you approached the side door of his house, your heart was thumping with anticipation in your chest, just as it always did when you met up with him in the clandestine meetings that had been happening now for the past 8 months. It was a secret and always had been. You did not want it to be, though - your feelings for him ran deep in your heart and soul, and truthfully you had been in love with him for since the first night you stumbled into his home and and allowed him to devour you. You never voiced these feelings because you knew Joel never wanted a relationship, never wanted anything official, although your affection for him was clear. Clear in the way you cuddled up to him after sex, how you baked muffins and banana bread for he and Ellie, how you buried your face in his chest after he returned from a rough patrol shift, the mesmerised, pained look in your eyes when he pounded into you.

You wore your heart on your sleeve and Joel did not acknowledge it, somehow ignoring the depth of your affection with mumbles and pats on the head and gruff cuddles. Your heart was constantly on the verge of breaking, but you couldn't help being tied to him, your body and brain both addicted to him in the alluring and unexplainable haze of chemical, animalistic attraction, the innate need to be protected and fucked and owned by an older, domineering man. If only you could've chosen one more kinder than Joel Miller.

Just a few days earlier you had made the decision that tonight would be the night you confess your feelings to him. Tonight would be when you laid all your cards on the table and ask Joel to be with you, officially. Doing your best to swallow the anxiety rising in your chest, you stood infront of his door and paused for a minute to take some deep breaths, then you rapped on his door lightly. You only waited a few moments before he cracked it open for you to slip inside. You shut the door behind you and followed him into the living room, the space dark except for the glow of dull light emanating from a lamp beside his armchair, a glass of whiskey sitting on-top of a small table beside it. You stood in the middle of the living room and waited for Joel to face you, your hands clasped infront of you shyly, secretly hoping he would compliment your dress and the flower tied in your hair.

Joel picked up his glass and took a shot of the whiskey, placed it back down and then turned to look at you. He was in his usual attire of jeans and a flannel shirt, and from the small distance between you, you could already smell the faint scent of mahogany and sandalwood mixed with his natural smell. The curls of his dark salt and pepper hair sat atop his head like a crown, the expression on his tanned face not betraying any hint of emotion, the steady gaze of dark brown eyes travelling up and down your body making you shiver.

"Hi," you smiled at him.

Joel's eyes met yours and he took a few steps forward to close the gap between you, his figure towering over you. You bit your lip as you studied his handsome face, admiring the patchy growth of his beard and the masculine square of his jaw. He really was so handsome.

"Hey, babydoll," Joel murmured in his Texan drawl, a smirk forming on his lips as his large hands reached out to grab ahold of your hips. They moved up your waist and back down again as he stared into your eyes, the spark of lust already evident in his orbs.

"I went to the dance," you said quietly, your arms moved upward to wrap around his neck.

He hummed in response and you felt his hands trail up to your breasts, the callouses on his palms rough against the lace trimming of your dress. They settled on the plush of your cleavage and began kneading there, making you moan lowly. Joel leaned down and kissed your lips softly for a moment, the taste of whiskey and an underlying sweetness meeting your tongue as his slipped into your mouth. You stood on your tiptoes and tightened your hold around his neck, encouraging the kiss to deepen. One of Joel's hands shifted around to your back and down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze and pulling you closer to his body. You could feel his hardness against you.

"Joel," you gasped as you pulled away from the kiss. "I missed you."

Joel didn't respond, instead he just roughly pulled one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder, grabbing your bare breast in his big hand and groaning at the softness of your skin. His other hand kept a firm hold of your ass cheek, his grip leaving you without any strength to move.

"I...I missed you there, at the dance." You moaned as he bent down to kiss your neck, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

You ran your fingers through his hair and let yourself be enveloped in his arms, your body surrendering to the familiar dance of seduction that Joel would tangle you in, close to feeling totally helpless to the carnal rapture of attraction between you both. When he still remained silent, his mouth working gentle bites all over your neck, you tried to engage him again.

"Joel, I said I missed you."

"Missed you too, sugar," Joel mumbled against your throat.

He began to carefully move backwards toward the armchair, his hands still gripping your breast and ass possessively, shifting you with him. He sat down on the chair with an unceremonious thud that pulled you onto his lap to straddle him, making you squeak in surprise. Joel pushed you down to grind his erection against your crotch, his mouth still attached to your neck but now sucking on your delicate skin. You found yourself rocking against him, your fingers still tangled in his curls, now faintly aware of the wetness beginning to pool in your underwear. The skirt of your dress had bunched up to your thighs and had made it easy for Joel's hand to slip under the material and find the bare flesh of your ass. He squeezed it before giving it a firm smack.

"Joel," you whimpered. "Please stop for a moment."

He detached from your neck and leaned back in the chair so you could see the drunk look of lust hooding his brown eyes. You wanted to initiate the discussion before becoming entwined in his web, before you were too distracted by his skilled fingers and warm mouth and the deliciousness of his cock. It was so difficult to shift your focus from just how handsome he looked, but you had to do this now. You couldn't wait any longer.

You sat up straight in his lap, one leg kneeling on either side of Joel's thighs, your core nestled directly over the erection straining behind his jeans. Joel brushed your nipple gently with the pad of his thumb as he stared at you.

"What is it?" He murmured without a trace of concern in his tone.

Taking a breath, you sighed and idly toyed with the curls on the nape of his neck, working up the courage to formulate an opening dialogue.

"Okay, so...." You started softly, making a point to keep your eyes fixed on his. "Uhm, so...Cassie is getting married soon, right?"

Cassie was one of your best friends. Joel gave a small nod to indicate he was listening. His hand was still caressing your ass, the other was still cupping your breast.

"Yeah, well, I just...really I was wanting...," you stumbled over your words, the beating of your heart thudding in your ears now. "I wanted to ask you to go to the wedding with me. As my date."

You blurted out the last part and pressed your lips shut tightly, eyebrows knitting together worriedly in anticipation of his reaction. Joel rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

"I never go to those kinda things, you know that." Joel muttered, pulling his hands away from your body.

"I know, but--"

"They're your friends, not mine." He argued. "Why would I go?"

"Because the guests bring a date with them, to enjoy the occasion," you tried to speak confidently but there was a faint warble in your voice. "Like their boyfriend or girlfriend, or whatever....so I wanted to ask you."

Joel ran a hand over his beard, sighing once more. "Sugar, I hate that shit, dressin' up and bein' around a buncha people I don't give a fuck about," he grumbled.

"But they are my friends," you frowned. "And they mean so much to me. And well, I want you to meet them. I want you to come with me."

Joel looked at you and shook his head a little. Tears began to well in your eyes.

"Joel, I...I really like you," you whispered.

"I like you too, sugar," he said smoothly. His hands slid under your dress and up to the top of your thighs, his thumbs sitting at the edge of your panty line. "Like these sexy legs, your sweet little pussy."

He wasn't paying attention. He was distracting you. No, you have to do this now, no more sex, no more anything until you get it out. You retracted your arms and pushed away from him to stand up off his lap. You hurriedly fixed the strap of your dress back up over your shoulder and took a few steps back, needing distance between you in order to collect your thoughts. Joel watched you from his relaxed position on the armchair, a slight scowl etched on his face now.

"Joel," you sighed, looking at him with imploring eyes. Your fingers twisted together nervously. "I don't just like you. I...I love you. I want to be with you. For real. Like partners." You chewed your bottom lip while desperately awaiting his response.

Joel raised his eyebrows as if your confession were totally unexpected. And then, in a way that felt like a knife slicing into your heart, he slowly shook his head and exhaled a mirthless chuckle.

"Partner? Babydoll, I think you're confused about what this is."

Tears began to well in your eyes and slowly trickle down your cheeks.

"You are mine." Joel said in an eerily calm voice as he leaned forward in his chair. "Mine for me to fuck whenever I want and however I want. But I ain't ever gonna walk down the fuckin' street holdin' your hand. I ain't soft like these boys runnin' around after you and your little slut friends."

You can't help the small, pitiful sob that escapes your lips, or the tears that pour from your eyes and blur your vision. Joel stood up and stepped over to you, reaching out to seize your upper arm tightly. The sudden contact makes you gasp.

He gazed down at you with steely dark brown eyes.

"You knew the deal from the get go, baby. Always knew I ain't that type'a man. But you just kept comin' back to get fucked again and again."

"Let me go," you sobbed and tried to squirm out of Joel's bruising grip. "You're hurting me."

"Don't you like that, baby? Thought you liked it when I hurt ya," Joel snarled, momentarily squeezing your arm before releasing you with a force that makes you stumble backwards.

"Why-why do you have to be so...so mean?" You spit out, voice choked with emotion.

Joel turned back to pick up his whiskey glass and finish the remaining alcohol. You wiped away your tears with the back of your shaky hand, feeling pathetic and small as you sniffle.

"Thought you said you love me," Joel said gruffly.

He slammed the glass on the table and turned back to you, his eyes firey as they bore into you. You instantly recognised the cruel passion shining in them, a look you have seen many times, one that sends shivers up your spine with both excitement and fear, one that makes you wet yet causes a knot of apprehension in your stomach at the same time.

"I do," you replied in a small voice. You shrink back as Joel stepped closer, his hands balling into fists by his sides.

"Get on your knees," Joel said lowly.

His penetrating gaze was intimidating and the tick in his jaw told you he was holding back on unleashing the rage of emotion that swirled inside of him.

"What?" You whispered back, your mind too muddled to comprehend what exactly he was asking for.

"You heard me." Joel whispered back bitterly. "If you love me, you'll do as I say. So get on your fuckin' knees. Now."

You bowed your head and let more tears fall. You do love Joel, and while you had no idea what reaction you were expecting from him, his words were breaking your heart. You knew Joel could be harsh, seemingly heartless at times, and he could be downright sadistic during sex. But the level of Joel's ruthlessness in this moment wounded you deeply, in such a way that was profound and unprecedented in your relationship. You suddenly felt a weariness pass over you, the frustration and dejection beginning to dissolve. You loved him but you were so tired; of the aching left inside your soul after your nights together, of pretending the unrequited affection didn't sting, of allowing your body to be devoured, manipulated and abused in exchange for meagre crumbs of attention.

"No," you said, voice thick from your tears, your head still down. "I won't."

"What'd you say?" Joel grabbed your wrist and gave you a sharp tug toward him. "Fuckin' look at me when I'm talkin' to you."

You peered up at him from under your long lashes, feeling a renewed determination stir inside your chest. You lifted your chin and dated to stare back at him, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat.

"I said no, Joel."

Joel's brows furrowed at the audacity of your refusal, a flash of confusion passing over his features before being replaced with his usual scowl of displeasure. You both gazed into each other's eyes in tense silence for a few moments, as if challenging the other to initiate the next move. Joel's thick fingers remained wrapped around your wrist as you both stood still. The beat of your heart seemed distractingly loud in your ears and you hoped he couldn't hear it. You began to open your mouth but Joel cut you off.

"Go." He whispered through gritted teeth.

"What?" You asked quietly.

"Get outta here," he muttered, dropping your wrist and taking a step back from you.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and gave a minute shake of his head. You looked at him sadly, uncertain of whether to obey him or stay and try to resolve this, salvage whatever was left of the ruins between you, this absolute wreck of dysfunctional intimacy. But for the first time ever, you chose not to beseech Joel. Instead, you took a deep breath, exhaled, and turned to leave.

You didn't look back as you walked out his door and began the walk to your own house two streets away, wrapping your arms around your waist in an effort to stop yourself shivering from the panic coursing through your body. Your breaths came out ragged and unsteady as fresh tears pooled in your eyes. You promised yourself you'd never let Joel Miller hurt you again.

next chapter

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller dark #joel miller x reader #joel miller dark fic #the last of us #joelmillerdark! #dark!joelmiller

[anyseany]

Pineapple - Bangchan

Eng is not my frist language

Genre: fluff, established relationship.

Synopsis: Chan loves pineapple juice, but you're allergic, he accidentally kisses you.

You were cooking, back and forth in the kitchen, since the boys came to spend the day at your house, chan had helped you at the first time, but he was busy with some songs that the manager was charging him for the next day so he partially helped you in what he could, at that very moment he was on the kitchen counter, with his headphones on, his famous notebook open working on the new album, with his vision in the background, you were probably singing some music while cooking.

He interspersed the attention while drinking his pineapple juice filled with ice, since the day was more than hot, and even more because of the warmth of the room.

Your little clothes and agitated movement constantly made Bang look away from you, but he didn't feel uncomfortable and thought it was absurd to leave you alone at that moment." Babe, taste this. " You put some of the food on a small plate, and he promptly tasted it, not having a reaction other than raising his thumb happy with the taste of the food, you were great at what you did.

"Great love, give me some more." He asked, holding out the plate, but you crossed your arms and glared at him."No, why don't the prince eat later." You spoke and he pretended to be sad, leaving the computer for a bit and going to hug you.

"It's no use."

"Not even if I shower you with kisses?" He started with your neck, going up to your face, his laughter sounded through the kitchen, his arms wrapped around your body and leaving you with more heat than before was extremely tasty. "Chan, stop!" You didn't really want him to stop, but the soft lips tickled and the agony was inevitable."My kiss first." He said turning his body and taking her lips for real, pulling her waist against his strong body, their tongues danced and understood each other like never before, releasing the feeling of peace in both of them.

"Now leave me." You broke free hearing him chuckle and go back to work.It was about ten minutes, you scratched here, scratched there, strangely your tongue itched, but it was light so that's okay.

Hours later, while you chose a dress with just a bra and panties, chan was already wearing her clothes, but stopped to quickly appreciate you from the back."Love, what are those spots on your thigh?" You were surprised by the question and then looked for the stain, and found more on the inside of your arms, and on your back.

"Y/n, this sounds serious." Chan walked over to you with a serious tone, and touched the heavily reddened spots.

" I don't remember eating or smelling anything..." you stopped for half a second to think. " Ah! Pineapple. " chan frowned " You drank pineapple juice, and kissed me! I'm allergic to pineapple. " He automatically turned into an excuse machine. " love calm down-

" I could have i killed you y/n, for god's sake!" You laughed out loud at the bigger one. "Hospital, now!"

"Chan, I'm not going to the hospital." Going out walking around the room finding your bag, you grabbed a mini necesser, taking out a pack of medicine, swallowing two quickly. "In ten minutes I'll be fine."

"Why didn't you ever tell me you were allergic to pineapple?" Chan crossed his arms, still pale from the fright.

"I don't know, it was never important until now." Chan was angry at how careless you were.

"Any more allergies I need to know about?" he asked seriously making you laugh.

" Pineapple, and just dust, love. " You said hugging the big guy who continued sulking, but more relieved to know that you were safe.

#bang chan #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fic #bang chan scenarios #bang chan x you #bang chan imagines #bangchan fluff #bang chan x reader #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #christopher bang #bangchan #skz fluff #chan fluff #chan x y/n #bang chan imagine #chan x you #chan x reader #bangchan imagines #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you

[dark-romantics]

INTJ: empty elevators, old buildings and spirales staircases, puzzles, deep meaningful conversations, museums, alone time, any time between 12am-5am, sarcasm, earphones, science, big libraries, bookstores, the smell of books, rainy days, thunderstorms

INFP: Smiles directed at strangers, cuddles, vivid daydreams, sunlight streaming through windows, an autumn palette, messy buns, glasses that slide down your nose, half-written stories, sea-foam green, a large coffee mug filled with tea, constellations, window seats

ENFP: bulletin boards with inspiring quotes, humming along off-key beneath your breath, bare feet on hot sand, pinterest projects, improvised road trips, paint smeared on your hands and face, butterflies in your stomach, silly nicknames, sugar rush, compliments from strangers, good morning texts

INFJ: deeply meaningful conversations, contemporary art galleries, bookstores and libraries with high ceilings, writing and reading poetry, handwritten love letters, art-house films, psychology, stationery stores, the vastness of the universe, bottled messages, automatically reading others' souls

ESTJ: skyscrapers, railroads, a river that flows through a city, going underwater, iron bridges, old paper, vintage champagne, broken-down fountains, city limits, cathedrals, borderlines, Greek architecture, arches, windows, heavy wooden doors, locks, buildings overgrown with vines

-

ENFJ: the leaves as they change colors, comforting words in the middle of the night, swimming with dolphins, self compassion, dancing around the room with your friends at 3 AM, street photography, the way smiles are contagious, screaming at a concert, puns that are so bad you can't help but laugh, pranks, mirrors, a tight hug

ESFJ: sunflowers, your first kiss, cities during the daytime, standing art a crosswalk, art museums, running through sprinklers, dancing without music, bathing in sunshine, falling in love, streetlights, thick hair, smiling at a mirror, children's laughter, drawing words with sparklers, gold glitter, whispered secrets, flower crowns, flipping on a lightswitch

ISFP: curling up with a book by a fireplace, cozy blankets, charcoal drawings, hot chocolate, poetry, lens flares, cat fur, white sand, the night sky, original grimm fairy tales, ambiguity, acrylic paints, a crescent moon, photography, fingers flying over piano keys, liminal space, doorways, social activism, the line between thoughts and reality

ISTJ: finishing homework right away, instruction manuals, calm before the storm, hugs when you most need them, graphite streaks on your palms, polishing a sword, glass shards, brass knuckles, netting, methodical sketches, geometry, permanent marker, bold letters, metal-rimmed glasses, dark smoke, oxygen masks, cold showers, static, skylights

-

ISFJ: fresh baked cookies, light filtered through leaves, porch swings, disney movies, sketches in the margins of your notes, the sound of waves, oversized hoodies, holding hands, embroidery, down feathers, showing your bare back, seeing veins through pale skin, black and white photographs, a flute melody, touching a butterfly's wing, rocks in a stream

ESTP: bruises on knees, an adventurer through & through, adrenaline rush, a mischievous grin, spontaneous, party animal, likes to be center of attention, nurturing and selfless, fearless, spends 80% of their time online, big on physical touch, gets out of trouble very easily, flirty af

ISTP:

[frannyzooey]

In The Dark: 8

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, a tiny angst, mentions of drug use

a/n: Thank you to @mourningbirds1 who gave me so much help with this chapter, who encouraged me to stay the course and who is a delight in every way possible. Thank you also to @krissology and @charnelhouse who let me vent, and to @jazzelsaur who helped in the best way by sharing not only her advice, but her writing with us, which inspired parts of this chapter. I love you all!

Series Masterlist --

“Oh my fucking God, I can’t believe it.”

You look up from your laptop. “What?”

“You know that writing retreat? The one that only so many people get invited to, at that professor’s cabin in the woods?” Her eyes devour the words on the screen of her phone and you wait, chin in your hand. “Well I got in.” She looks up at you, beaming. “I got an invite.”

You grin back, an automatic one, and do a little dance in your chair at her table. She’s been pretending for weeks not to care that much about this retreat (“It’s not a big deal, really”) while chewing a hole in her lip and pride fills your chest at seeing her unrestrained expression of excitement right now. Sometimes she’s Cee: the girl you first saw on the subway, the one with an aloof wall put up that mirrors so many other people in this city, who pretends not to care about anything with a learned, blank expression. But with you, she’s Cee: her face open and youthful, caring deeply about things that matter to her, and currently dancing in her kitchen, her socks sliding on the hard floor. 

“Ezra!” She yells for him, grabbing a can of water from the fridge, along with the lime juice and vodka. Kicking the door shut with her socked heel, she sets the ingredients in front of you and you laugh, closing your laptop. She grabs some glasses from the cupboard and he walks in, stopping with raised eyebrows when he sees the liquor. 

“What’s all this?”

“I got into that retreat! That weekend one I was telling you about!”

You keep your eyes on Cee, even when his immediately flash to yours. Without even looking at him, you can feel his mind working. 

“That’s amazing Cee, I’m so proud of you.” He pulls her in for a hug. “Was it the Streamer Girl? Was that the one you submitted?”

She tells him about it while you crack open the water, pouring half into each ice filled glass and you’re adding the lime when she says she’s going to run to the bathroom. “Don’t take the first sip without me,” she yells, heading down the hallway. 

Ezra comes to sit across from you at the table and you peek up, meeting his bright, playful eyes. You can’t help but smile, a tiny one that curls the edge of your mouth when you twist open the vodka. 

“So,” you say, carefully pouring in a shot of the clear liquid. “A weekend.”

“A weekend,” he repeats. He sits up straight, looking teasingly concerned. “I mean, I shouldn’t assume. Are you free, Birdie? Or do you have plans?”

“You know,” you frown, twisting the top of the bottle back on. You take the spoon, gently swirling the cloudy mixture. “Now that you say it, I think I do have plans that weekend.” You look up at him, your face shifting into one of mock pity. “I’m sorry.”

He says nothing, his eyes narrowing and it takes everything you have not to break your straight face as he assesses you. He takes you in for a moment, slowly leaning forward on the table and you hold one of the chilled glasses tighter in your hand, waiting. 

He’s so good at this - catching you unawares, leaving you dangling on the precipice in anticipation. Your body always freezes, your mind scrambling for coherent thought as he makes you wait and just like he did it last week in your bedroom, with your bare form stretched out on the mattress while he knelt between your spread thighs and undid his belt so slowly you wanted to scream, he’s doing it now, his face hovering a foot from yours. 

“Your only plan for that weekend,” he begins, voice smooth like syrup, your eyes fixed on his mouth, “Is to stay naked in my bed and let me fuck you until –”

The bathroom door opens, and he immediately pulls back, the two of you sitting up straighter in your chairs and you resist the urge to press the cold glass to your heated cheek, forcing yourself to breathe normally. 

“You gonna celebrate with us, Ez?” Cee asks, oblivious to the tension in the room and he looks at you for a moment, liking the way he can see you almost vibrating with want. Just where he wants you. 

He considers her question for a moment, and then seems to abruptly make up his mind. 

“Okay.”

–

It’s torture and you can tell he loves it. 

A knowing look every time one of his touches hits the mark, he’s been around you all night and the want you feel for him is suffocating. It’s consuming you, creeping into your flushed cheeks, trembling through your restless limbs, dampening the crotch of your underwear. 

Making you a drink, he takes a sip of it first before he hands it to you. Sitting down next to you at the table, his thigh presses against yours. Standing to retrieve a beer, he brushes past you, dragging his fingers over the nape of your neck. Twisting the cap of that beer off, he uses the hem of his shirt to do so and when you see the peek of a mottled mark rounding his hip bone, the taste of his skin floods your mouth in memory. You gave him that mark just two days ago right before you, as he so eloquently put it, “sucked his soul out of his dick.”

Deciding to watch a movie, Cee curls into one side of the couch and you sit down next to her, assuming you’re safe - until he bypasses the spare chair and sits next to you. The clean, masculine scent of him pressed into his cardigan fills your senses, and when Cee turns out the lights, you feel the need between your thighs hit a peak. That is, until she drapes a blanket over your laps and his hand reaches for yours under the fabric. 

You shouldn’t have drank around him. You always get handsy and affectionate and aroused and he knows this about you, which is why he stuck around. Every time his hooded, mischievous gaze meets your own, you have to resist the urge to surge forward and press your mouth against his. Giving up concentrating on the movie, you’re so turned on between the dark room and his closeness that you instead start to wonder, if you move slow enough, if you can get away with guiding his hand between your legs under the blanket. 

Cee rests her head against your shoulder, interrupting that train of thought and his hand squeezes yours, his knuckle a light drag against the outside of your leg that makes you clench. The weight in your belly moves up to your lungs, making it hard to breathe. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you announce, needing to just be away from him if you can’t touch him. He looks at you, smug in his victory, but when Cee announces that she’s going to follow you, disappointment flashes across his face. You almost hesitate, but you’re stuck now, having declared your intention and walking towards her room, you mentally scold yourself for breaking early under his pressure. 

You could be out there fucking him on that couch right now, you think, crawling into bed and the mental image of that alone is enough to keep you awake until Cee falls asleep. You open your Books app, hoping to follow her shortly…..but you don’t.

Not with him just down the hallway. Not with the magnetic pull of him winding across the distance between the two of you. You contemplate getting up to go to him, but then you hear the TV turn off before he walks past the open door to her room, and you lay there, listening to his bedroom door shut. The house descends into silence around you, and disappointment floods your body. 

You couldn’t have done anything anyway, not with Cee right here. 

Going back to the book you’re reading, a text comes through at the top of your screen. 

Ezra: hey

You bite your lip, grinning in the dark. 

Ezra: come here 

You think about typing something back about how you can’t, but your thumb stills above the letters, waiting. Cee’s heavy, slow breaths come from behind you, steady and comforting. Listening to her for a moment more, you shut the screen of your phone off, slipping slowly from her bed to pad down the hall. 

“I thought you didn’t text,” you tease in a whisper, slipping into his bed after shutting his door with a quiet click. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna come,” he replies lowly, reaching to drag you across the mattress and into his arms, rolling you underneath him. His greedy mouth finds yours, the need in it surprising you. “I was about to come down there and tell you to your face that I needed to fuck you, but I thought maybe a text might be better in this case.” 

You laugh into the kiss, reaching to pull his shirt over his head. “You should have texted me that, so I could keep it.” Your hands slide down the firm length of his back, slipping under the band of his black briefs and you push them down over the curve of his ass while you flex your hips up into his. His cock is a stiff weight, pressing tight along your seam. 

“So I could read it over and over,” your hips rock forward with each word, matching the grind of his own. “And make myself come.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, quickly pulling back to sit on his heels. His fingers tug impatiently at the waistband of your sleep shorts, sliding them down your legs. “Take these fucking things off.”

His hands push your thighs open, his broad shoulders flexing when he dips his head down to put his mouth on your spread cunt and you bite back a moan when his tongue delves deep, your hips arching into the slick warmth. Immediately riding his mouth just like he likes, you give into the pleasure sparking through your limbs at the glide of his tongue over your clit and when he pulls away, you let out a soft sound of protest. 

He’s too impatient tonight, tasting you only to get you wet enough for him and when he guides you onto your stomach and shoves one of your knees up, pushing his briefs down just enough to pull himself out, you grin in victory. That is, until you feel his mouth on the curve of your ass and then the harsh bite of his teeth, digging into your flesh. 

“Hey,” you reach back and push at him, his hand catching your wrist to pin it to the bed and his other hand comes down with a gentle swat in reprimand. His movements behind you are rough, rushed and when the weight of his body settles heavy on top you with a drape, it presses you deep into the mattress. His hot breath ghosts over your ear as he lines himself up, before shoving himself inside and taking him way too easily with a slick stretch, the both of you try - and fail - to hold back a relieved moan, his fingers now pushing their way between yours in his hold.

He was trying to work you up, but it wasn’t like he was immune to your presence on the couch. Everytime you shifted, he thought about pulling your leg over the top of his. Thought about slipping his fingers snugly into your tight warmth. Thought about you kneeling between his spread thighs or pushing you backwards on the couch to eat your pussy or making you ride him; the TV a halo of illumination around your curves in this mind. 

He reaches with a stretch to wrap his fingers around a slat of his headboard, and you can feel the flex and shift of the lean muscles in his torso with every punishing thrust inside. His other hand drags down to your hip, tugging you up higher, so he can slide in deeper, fuck you harder.

“Ezra,” you gasp, trying so hard not to make a sound, but with every filling push of his cock, you break, releasing a flood of them into his pillow. His hand leaves your hip and comes up, clamping over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

“You gotta be quiet for me, Birdie. You gotta – fuck,” his breathing shuddering when you feel the fit of his hipbones tight against the curve of your ass. Again, again; his hold tightening on your mouth with every jolt forward. “You gotta take it, okay? I need you to take it.”

If anyone had their ear pressed against this door, they would hear something filthy, something almost desperate in its need and it’s an hour later when you slip back out of his bedroom; slick and sore between your thighs, yet finally relaxed enough to get some sleep. 

–

The whole weekend. 

Starting at 3pm on Friday when Ezra dropped Cee at her ride’s house and stretching until Sunday night, you skipped your last class of the afternoon and let him pick you up at your apartment; a thrill when you tossed an overnight bag into his backseat.  

The novelty of the situation has him endearingly handsy, something you noticed he did all the time before anyway with his causal, affectionate touches, but it’s even more now when he’s allowed to be free and stake his claim to you in his own home. 

His house, a place you’d been countless times before, was brimming with possibility without her presence. It felt like a different place altogether, with the ability to wander into his bedroom, or curl up with him on the couch. 

“So, what do you wanna do?” You turn to face him, the silhouette of your body lit with the incredible brightness of the sun reflecting off the snow outside and when he comes closer, he pulls you away from the window. 

“I think you know what I want, Birdie,” he hums, his mouth finding the corner of your jaw and you circle your arms around his shoulders, leaning into the solidness of his hold. 

“Hmmm, I want that too.” His hand slips down your back, pressing into the base of your spine to push you against his hips and you can feel him half hard already under his jeans, his hand moving down over the curve of your ass with a squeeze. “But I mean, what else?”

“I was thinking,” he nips at your skin, eliciting a giggle from you, “what about watching a movie? Order in some food, stretch out on the couch.” He’s walking you backwards towards it now, his hand shifting from your hip to between your thighs, cupping you through your leggings. 

“Fuck, Ezra,” you breathe softly, closing your eyes with a frown. You’re already wet, the pressure of his hand building in an immediate spreading heat and he looks down at you with a smile, watching your face slip into pleasure. His hand slowly works against you, his fingers a gentle dig into your entrance. 

“Wanna get high with me, Birdie?”

Your eyes open, trying to focus. It’s hard though, with how hungry and dark his own are right now, looking down at you. Like he’s trying, and failing, to hold back a sort of hidden fierceness masked in the deep brown depths. 

“I got some edibles. I thought we could do them together, if you want?” He leans closer, placing his mouth next to the shell of your ear. “I wanna fuck you so bad. Right now, on this couch. And then we could take them, and fuck again later, right here on the floor. You wanna ride me again down there?” 

You shiver, remembering when you did it at your apartment - the way he called out for you, the way his neck was taut with strain as he arched against your rug, a deep groan slipping out beneath your palms as your nails dug into the meat of his chest. 

You reach for his belt, working it open. “Let’s do it.”

–

Winter winds blowing snow drifts outside, he had fucked you right there on the couch, and then laid with you while you picked something to order together. He held the phone aloft, your finger tapping the screen in between tender presses of your mouth against his whiskery jaw and when the food was delivered, you laughed from your place on the couch as he answered the door without a shirt on. 

He set the plastic bag down on the table, a shriek sounding loud from you when he crawled onto the couch and pressed his icy skin against yours, and he kept you underneath him until your feverish warmth bled into him, dissipating his chill. 

A forgotten movie plays now in the background as the two of you stretch out on his couch, the edible you split over an hour ago flowing heavily through your limbs, and it feels like you have been making out forever, but neither of you could stop. His mouth opens yours, his tongue dipping inside to taste you and your lips are swollen and plush against his, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek to keep you in place. To kiss you, for as long as he wanted, out in the open on his couch was something he didn’t know he wanted so badly until he started.

His hands map your soft skin, sliding under your shirt to splay over your side, or down the back of your thigh to hitch your knee around his hip and when you start to rock your hips against his, he tucks you into the crease of the couch, shielding you with his body before breaking the kiss. 

Closing your eyes, your mind is wandering, focusing on the sensation of his body under your touch. Everything feels like so much more - his shirt softer, his warmth intoxicating, his voice deeper and richer when he speaks to you and with your eyes still closed, you smile lazily.

“Did you ever think about this, before?” You ask the question so sweetly, almost hesitantly even though he knows you know the answer and he slips into his own head for a moment, not answering. Images rapidly flash through his mind: you, in so many ways he’s both seen and dreamt of you. He rests his head on his crooked elbow, leaning forward to kiss the curve of your chin. 

“All the time, Birdie. Every night.” His eyes slipping shut,, he delights in the way you dig your fingers into his lower back, but he opens them when you give a petulant, playful whine. Your face is tipped back in a silent encouragement for a kiss, and when you thread your fingers through his hair with a delicious drag of your nails against his scalp, he takes it, tasting the line of your throat. “What about you? What did you think about?”

Your mind is moving too slow for the question, and when you start with “On the train once –” and then stop yourself, his mouth also stops, and he waits. You tense underneath him, turning your face away and he becomes instantly both intrigued and determined to find out the truth. 

“Tell me,” he grins. 

“No, it’s so embarrassing.” You cover your face with a throw pillow from the couch, and he laughs, tugging it from your hands to toss it on the floor. “Hey! Stop!”

Your protests are mixed with laughter, growing in volume when he pins you down into the couch cushions and climbs on top of you. The credits of the movie start to roll, your takeout dishes littering the coffee table and his fingers dig into your side while you squirm, shrieking. 

“I’m not gonna stop until you tell me.”

“Okay, okay,” you concede, breathless. You stretch out underneath him, an indulgent, feline motion and when you notice him watching you, you bite your lip and then lift your head in request for a kiss. He comes back down, his mouth finding yours and your tongue slides against his, deepening it, the movement both slowed down and intensified. When you wind your legs around his waist, he groans, almost getting lost in it.  Almost. 

“Fine. I had a daydream once,” you start, not remembering how the hell this subject even got brought up, “that we were dancing….and that it turned into something more.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up. “Something more, huh?”

“Oh god, don’t make me say it,” you laugh again, and he laughs too, pulling your hand away from your face. . 

“All this shyness from someone who called me for a video strip tease? Who convinced me to download Snapchat so she could send me pictures of her tits?”

You laugh renewed, and then it dies down, your smile remaining. “They are nice tits, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t answer, instead holding your gaze for a moment before abruptly pushing himself down your body to lift the hem of his shirt that you’re wearing and when he shoves his head underneath it, you start to squirm, laughing again. 

“I think they are more than nice, Birdie.” He mouths as them, his whiskers scraping against the sensitive valley as he nuzzles his face closer. You feel his lips catch on your skin as he keeps going, the words slightly muffled and you push on his shoulders until he pops his head back out, his hair a curled mess.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” he repeats, palming the weight of one through the threadbare cotton, “I want to eat them.” He grins boyishly, but with a carnal look to it. His fingers squeeze tighter, his face dropping to breath through the fabric. “I wanna taste them. You make me want to fuck them when you send pictures like that.”

Your fingers wrap around the nape of his neck when you pull him in for another kiss, your bodies entwining on the couch to get even closer and it’s several minutes before he pulls away, asking you again to tell him about your daydream. He listens carefully while you tell him, his mouth molding around the knuckles of your hand and when he lifts his weight off you, you resist the urge to pull him back down. 

Switching the TV off and turning the stereo on, he pulls up “Redbone” on his phone and when the dulcet tones of it fill the room, your face heats with embarrassment when he holds a hand out for you. 

“Come on,” he encourages, pulling on your hand. 

His arms enveloping you in a slow dance, the music sounds richer, deeper, more consuming as his feverish body presses against yours and your long ago daydream becomes real as he slowly peels your clothes off, slipping out of his own.  The song plays on repeat, your skin chilled from standing bare in his living room before him, but when he looks at you just like he did in your mind, you can’t even feel the cold. 

“Did I do it like this?” he murmurs, his fingers trailing down the length of your spine, lighting a path of sensory sparks along the way. 

“Did I do it like this?” he asks, somehow now kneeling and kissing a warm, wet path up the front of your leg. 

“Did I do it like this?” The words are muffled against your skin, his mouth worshiping the petal soft skin of your inner thigh and you squirm in his hold, your laugh sliding into a soft moan when he bites you in reprimand. Your foot comes to rest on his coffee table, his hand wrapping around the underside of your thigh to hold you open there. 

“Yes, Ezra,” you sigh, threading your fingers through his hair as his tongue dips into you. “You did it just like this.”

—

It’s so decadent, being alone with him. Being open with him. Fucking him when and wherever you want and then being able to revel in each other’s nakedness as you get a cup of water, as you walk to use the bathroom. 

He had you spread out in his bed early this morning, the door wide open as your moans spilled down the hallway for anyone to hear and he demanded you say his name louder — a luxury neither of you are often afforded. He ate your pussy yesterday in the living room, then fucked you on the kitchen counter, woke you up early this morning with his hand between your thighs and it’s like he’s filling every room with a memory of you; painting it onto the structure of the rooms for when you have to leave.

Right now, he has you in the shower — the sounds of your shared efforts and pleasure sounding against the slick tiles. It’s like he’s everywhere all at once: surrounding you, against you, inside of you. Those hands you’ve seen smooth over wood, polish brass to a shine, uncover layer after layer of dirt to find treasure underneath — those hands are grasping and stroking and sliding against your wet skin, seeking purchase on the flushed heat of it. His palms cup the weight of your breasts in their spill forward into his hands, his thumbs stroking and catching on the peaked buds and you pant into his open mouth, a delicate frown between your brows. . 

The steam billows around the two of you, the fogged shape of your bodies moving as one from the outside of the stall and inside, they are one too: his strong arms lifting you against the wall, your back slipping up the soaked tiles with every push inside. The stark white patch in his hair is extra pronounced against the slick dark strands, red creeping up his cheeks with the heat of the shower underneath the patchy scruff that covers them and when he tips his head back with a long, filthy groan, you trace the line of a vein with your thumb before resting your mouth on it with a kiss, then a suck. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, adjusting to bear more of your weight and the snap of his hips becomes harder, faster, deeper. Your thighs are pushed open wide, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders and when he begs for you to cum so he can do it too, you let go and do it.

—

He’s so open with his affection — crowding you from behind with a hug, delicate kisses on your temple or hand, nuzzling into your head on the couch like a cat begging to be petted — and he’s doing it now, sitting beside you at the kitchen table.

“Wanna go out today?” His mouth finds the juncture of your shoulder, like he couldn’t stop touching you with it if he tried.

“I don’t know. Maybe a bookstore? Records?” It’s late morning, the weekend half over and you push against that thought, bringing your heel up to rest on the chair seat while you take a bite of toast. He runs his eyes appreciatively over you — your thighs on display while you wear nothing but your panties and one of his T-shirts. He likes the way he can see your breasts shift and move freely under the fabric, a memory of the way they felt under the threadbare cotton as he curled around your back last night in bed. 

“Wait,” you chew thoughtfully, swallowing. “I have an idea.”

–

Central Park, you decided. 

You had come here almost immediately upon moving to New York, wanting to see the marvel of the park for yourself and you had spent an entire afternoon walking the paths, sitting on the grassy mounds, taking in the sheer number of people. It was your favorite place to come and read, or think, or walk while you listened to music and when Ezra asked you what you wanted to do during your weekend with him, it was the first place you thought of. 

Winter time was especially your favorite time to visit. You liked it the other times as well - the lush, sloping hills of green in the summer, the bursts of orange and red in the fall - but there was a crisp, starkness to the beauty of it in the winter that you liked the best. 

Every time you stepped foot into the park during the winter, you thought about Holden Caulfield and his obsession with the ducks in the ponds:

“You know those ducks in that lagoon right near Central Park South? That little lake? By any chance, do you happen to know where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know, by any chance?”

And you’re thinking about it now; puffs of icy air hovering in front of your mouths. 

His cheeks are pink with cold, his dark hair stuffed under a navy blue knit cap and the two of you walk along, snow crunching under your feet. His gloved hand holds your mittened one, icy fingers of bare branches arching high over the path to form a veined extension across the blue sky and when a jogger passes you on your right, you wonder how more of them don’t slip on the ice during their winter runs. 

“So, Central Park, huh?” He smiles down at you, and you lean into his shoulder, pressing your cheek against the soft wool of his coat. 

“Yea. Kinda basic, right?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, squeezing your hand in his.  

“I always heard about it,” you continue, “in books, in movies, in shows. And it’s like I couldn’t picture such a thing? Like the concept of space, almost. I couldn’t comprehend it.” 

You step to the side, making room for a dog walker. “I mean, how the hell could they fit a park in the middle of this city? Why would they do that? In a place where space would be at such a premium, it seems strange that they would allow it? That they would preserve it?”

He says nothing, letting you continue and you look at the edges of the city skyline peeking over a snowy hill. Children wait at the top, the iconic peaked skyscrapers and hotels at their backs with their sleds in hand as they watch others careen down a path carved into the side of the mound. As one slides straight across the paved path and continues going with a shriek of joy, you smile. “But then I saw it, and now I get it.”

He smiles at you, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “I used to spend a lot of time here too.” 

The way he phrases it sounds nostalgic, with a hint of sadness threaded into the words and you stay silent, hoping he’ll continue. “When I first came to the city, I thought the same thing, so I thought - or we - we thought we should check it out. It was one of the first places Damon and I came when we got here.”

“We would come to talk about our terrible days at our terrible jobs,” he grins, looking sideways at you. “I was working nights with this crew that did excavation on job sites? It sounds so weird, not like a real job, but in order to keep the timelines of some construction projects you gotta have people there around the clock. Anyway, he was working in this shit hole kitchen, which is where he met Cee’s mom.” He looked down at you, his eyebrows raised. “She tell you any of this?”

“No, she’s never really talked about it.” You silently urge him to continue, not only wanting to know more about their background, but feeling like he wants you to hear this story. Like he’s been waiting to tell you this..

“Yea. He met her there, things got serious and I didn’t see him around as much. I was used to seeing him all the time, but I mean, I got it. When you meet someone, you wanna spend all your time with them, doing…..other things.” He looks back down at you with a smile and you match it. 

“They got pregnant with Cee around the winter time, I think?” He scrubs his hand over his jaw, thinking. “He still worked in that kitchen, but when he took on another job, I didn’t see him as much after that. I don’t think she liked me very much, and to be fair, I don’t think I was someone who tried to make myself very likable.” 

His shoulders slump slightly, though his tone stays resigned as someone who knows his truth. “I was nice enough, polite when we saw each other, but I didn’t always do the most….honorable things. I was in with sort of a rough crowd at that point, some of the other members from the crew that I worked on and I think she wanted better than that for Cee?”

He keeps his face forward, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. “Anyway, a couple of years went by, we saw each other once in awhile, and one day he asked to meet me here. He had Cee with him, it was the first time I met her. I can still see her small face peeking around from behind his leg.” 

He laughs at the memory, looking down at you. “She didn’t trust me. I think she still makes that face, sometimes.” 

He pauses for a moment, continuing his slow pace and you watch his jaw shift, hardening. “I could tell he wasn’t good, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. When I asked him how Cee’s mom was, he told me she died.”

Your heart aches in your chest for the image of little Cee, without a mother and his expression seems pained, yet resigned to keep going. “Birdie, I swear to God, I just stood there and I didn’t know what to say. I just kept looking from her, to him, and I thought that he looked so terrible because he was still grieving, but it wasn’t until too late that I figured out it was something else. 

His voice gets softer, his eyes looking at the ground. “And then one day, he was gone. Tried to steal from the wrong person.”

He takes a deep breath, looking up at you and the ambient sounds of the park seem to slowly creep back into your surroundings, so transfixed you were on his story they had faded into the background. 

“I’m sorry,” you begin, “I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I knew –”

“No, no,” he interrupts you, stopping to tug you closer. When he turns to face you, your lips are too chilled and numb to kiss him, but you do it anyway.  A slow, lingering meeting of your mouths that makes them pliant and warm and when he pulls away, he continues. “It’s nice to be back here with you. Now I’ll have a much better memory, don’t you think?”

You say nothing, a rueful, yet hopeful smile on your face and he takes your hand in his, pulling your mitten off. He takes his own glove off, lacing your fingers with his and then stuffing them both into his jacket pocket, he tucks you into his side and starts walking back down the path. 

You go to MoMa next, the museum a short walk from the park. Your wet boots squeaking on the polished floor, small clusters of people walking slowly around in their whispered observances and there among the white washed walls of abstract art, he kissed you. Deeply, softly, his mouth moving tenderly against yours like it had the potential to turn into something more — but it doesn’t. His hands cradle your cheeks, rejoicing at the ability to kiss you in public; his need to let you know spilling out of him and into you. 

Dinner at La Bonne Soup, a tiny Parisian cafe with delicate bowls of soup, crusty bread and a rich eclair that you share. He swipes the cream from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, a wink at the shared memory of when he did that before and when the waiter comes to refill your wine glass, you let him. The small, airy room is full of other couples, the chatter of conversation filling the brightly lit, inviting space and when he makes you laugh - which he does repeatedly - it fills the space around you. 

A glass of wine over dinner, another to keep you warm for your walk to the station and when you tuck yourself into his side on the train ride home, you close your eyes and try to press the memory and feeling of this into the depths of your brain, to preserve forever. 

Inside his house, the wine has made your movements syrupy and slow, your touch lingering on him. When you undress each other in his dark room, there’s a weight to the silence you’ve not felt before — feeling it in his hold, in his touches. In his mouth, on yours.

Guiding you towards the bed, he pushes you backwards and onto it, bending to kiss his way up your body and you wait patiently for him, your thighs parting to make room for him. When his mouth reaches yours, your limbs twine together: the top of his thigh pressing into the curve of your ass, your arms winding around his neck while his wrap around your back, your mouths meeting over and over. 

His skin is bare, velvety, the sparse hair on his legs sliding against your smooth ones and he takes his time tasting everything he can: the hollow of your throat, the divot below your ear, the plane of your chest. You are aching and ready, slick with anticipation but there is something in the way he is moving tonight that stops you from demanding more, and so you wait until he’s ready. Until he’s so hard he’s weeping along the inside of your thigh, until his kisses start to steal your breath. 

When he notches himself against you, you splay your hands over his lower back, reaching down to pull him inside and he cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you deeply, rocking into you until you’re full to the brim. You’ve been with him so many times, in so many ways, but this one feels different. His touches are tender, delicate, careful. Like he’s trying to press his feelings into you with every stroke of his palm over your curves, every consuming, open mouthed kiss, every push of himself inside you. 

Your thighs hitch higher, welcoming the weight of his body and whereas normally the two of you are more frantic and feral in your movements, this is slower; something to be savored. His hand finds yours, palm to palm, pressing it into the bedding as his hips push forward and you meet each slow grind of them with a flex of your own. 

Usually vocal in his love, tonight he’s quieter. His nose resting along the curve of your cheek, his husky groans softer when you hook your heels over his back and urge him deeper and his hand tightens in his hold when his body tenses above yours, trying to hold out long enough for you to come. 

“Please, Birdie,” he whispers, and when you do, he does it at the same time with a stilled, hard press of his hips against yours, your body trembling underneath his. He takes his time easing out of you - his mouth a slow, sleepy path along your jaw, down your neck, resting on your shoulder and you think he actually falls asleep for a moment on you, to the relaxing drag of your fingernails between his shoulder blades. When he eventually lifts himself off, you stay awake while he goes back to sleep. 

It’s so different, being with him at night. You roll on your side, facing his back and take in the breadth of his shoulders, the line of his spine. Dark locks of hair wave and curl over the nape of his neck and you reach out and finger one, twisting it. You let it slip through your grasp, resting your hand on his skin instead. The slow movement of his breath moves under your palm, your thumb brushing against a mark your nail left in the round of his shoulder.

You can’t stop thinking about Cee’s little face and though you should be floating on air right now after having this weekend with him, for the first time since this started, it feels more wrong than it’s ever felt. 

You think about them, since you’ve met them: in the kitchen, cooking dinner together. On the couch, watching TV. In the car, bickering or laughing or singing along to music.

You think about little Cee, in this house.

Little Cee, going to school with Ezra holding her hand.

Little Cee without front teeth, or learning how to read, or the painful growth through adolescence and how it’s always been the two of them. 

Something pushes against what you know is right, and you wonder if he’s ever dated anyone serious. Did he ever want to? Did he feel like he couldn’t?

You want to give him everything; everything that he must have had to give up for her, in order to provide her with as much attention as possible. You want him to be selfish for once, and selfishly on your own end, you want it to be with you. 

But then you see her face in your mind again, and that part of you shrinks back.

Fuck. 

He stirs, and you watch him roll to face you. His eyes remaining closed, his arm drapes heavy over the side of your body, tucking you against him and his voice is husky and intimate, still on the edges of sleep.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” His mouth finds your temple, and pressing there, it stays. 

You know you should, but you don’t want to. Who knows when this chance will come again? To have dinner, to go out, to fuck and crawl into bed sated and sleepy. To stay with him in his bed, surrounded by his scent, his linens, his life. 

Watching the snow drift silently past the window, you listen to his breathing for a moment and then tuck your face into his chest, closing your eyes.

#ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra/reader #ezra/you #ezra prospect #pedro pascal

[jjungkookislife]

Sunday Drabble

pairing: bartender!jungkook x f. reader

genre: f2l, coworker au, fwb [18+]

summary: Jimin stops by your end of the bar for a chat, and accidentally reveals something he shouldn't have.

wc: 624

warnings: alcohol mention, mention of anxiety

date: August 1, 2023

The moment the back door opens, Hoseok is raising his head as he pauses counting the drawer. 

Yoongi leans over the railing on the second floor, rolling his eyes. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he says with a grunt. “Though I should have known you were fucking when I spotted your cars.”

“Fuck off,” you grin, flipping Yoongi off as you head for the stairs. The door shuts behind you with a slam, automatically locking. Jungkook grins, following you up the stairs. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi waves you toward the locker room. “Get that stench off you and get to work. We open in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, sir!” You salute him, running off with Jungkook, giggling when he presses you to the wall to kiss you. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, looking down at his husband, who shrugs and continues his task. At least you’d shown up somewhat on time. 

Jimin stops by the bar to say hello, a smirk on his lips when he sees you eyeing Jungkook. 

“You got a bit of drool right here,” Jimin teases as he presses his thumb into the corner of your mouth. You startle, stepping back and wiping your mouth as Jimin cackles. 

It’s a slow night, with a few people showing up for the half-priced drinks and Jungkook’s heavy hand. He smiles at a customer, his laughter following soon after as they place a twenty into his tip jar. 

“Fucker,” you curse at your friend, who grins proudly and looks over his shoulder. It’s pretty tame, with a few people here and there dancing, others sitting or standing at tables and a few standing by the bar chatting. 

“How was your pre-work romp?” He asks with a raised brow as you hand him a water bottle. 

“How do you know about that?” Your eyes widen as you quickly turn to glance at Jungkook, who is bopping his head to the beat of the song, filling a glass for another regular. 

Jimin pauses, confused. “Everyone knows about you two. Did you not know that?”

Jimin feels a little bad now. He only meant to tease playfully, not make you anxious. 

You clear your throat. “No, I didn’t. Jin and Joon too?”

Jimin nods solemnly, apologizing, but you shake it off. Besides, if the boss knew, it was bound to get around. It was hard to keep secrets in a small establishment, much less when you all formed friendships that went past work hours. You just didn’t like everyone knowing who you went to bed with at night.

“There’s no rule against it,” You shrug, cheeks still hot as you try to forget about it and plaster on a smile when a customer comes up to the bar. 

Jimin chugs his water, waiting for the customer to leave with their shots before leaning against the counter in front of you. 

“It’s no big deal. We all thought you were dating secretly,” he shrugs. “Not that it matters if you aren’t.”

“Thanks,” you wave him away as Jungkook approaches you with a sweet smile. People chat in front of you and Taehyung squeezes by with Hoseok after him. Another employee works the other side of the bar, giving you a minute to gather your thoughts and warn Jungkook of the info you just received. 

“They know we’re fucking,” you whisper-shout into his ear. 

His eyes widen in that cute way that has your heart doing somersaults. His pretty lips make an ‘o’ shape and you resist the urge to plant a huge kiss on him. 

Jungkook schools his shock, smirking. The duality makes your head spin as he places his tattooed hand on your lower back, his lips right by your ear. 

“Good, they should know you’re mine.”

next >>

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bartender!jungkook #fwb!jungkook

[olderthannetfic]

Escapade Dance Party 2023 Writeup 3/3

Second Half

Jaskier has no more fucks to give by Gondolin AMV

Obviously, having just shown the other Witcher, I had to open with the more familiar one.

Vids under 2 minutes also aren't actually danceable no matter the tempo, so this makes a good upbeat intro to a section.

Grandmaster of Troublemaking (The Untamed) by NKZephyr Edits

I love the enthusiasm and goofiness of this vid.

Goncharov (1973) | Read the description! by Etoile

Come on, we had to have Goncharov!

TBH, there were other vids, but basically none of them were danceable.

【HIStory3-圈套】On a daily by Nerjaveika

Trapped's moment seems to have passed, but the combination of great use of text and this fun song made this one a perfect fit.

Ego | AMV | Mo dao zu shi & Heaven Official's Blessing (CC Lyrics) by Nitisha Donghua Productions

I was more looking for Heaven Official's Blessing alone, but most of the options I was finding weren't really danceable. I love this song and was looking for a vid to it anyway.

trouble in my head | lan jue & zhang ping | a league of nobleman by Victoria

I have no clue what this is. I probably found it in the sidebar while searching something else, but it's such a pretty vid.

История Бай Ци (AU, Bai Qi/Shen Zui) by Kemriko

What is this? Who knows. I liked it, and it was m/m, so people got to watch it.

BTS Jhope • Gasolina• |FMV|• by kookie taex

In a concession to how many people the previous song would inevitably chase from the dance floor, I wanted to follow it with something much more booty-shaking. I fucking love Gasolina and am always looking for more vids to it. Tragically, a lot of English-speaking vidding fandom has No Taste and does not vid this kind of music.

Yes, this is a vertical vid of J-Hope dancing to Daddy Yankee. No regrets!

Мания Хирото by Fausthaus

Ah, my favorite source of vids: Russian fandom combats. Are they on AO3? Yes. Have English speakers gone anywhere near their vast stores of battshit content? No, absolutely not.

No one at the con, including me, knows anything about this fandom. Too bad. The music is great, and I wanted to dance to it.

Отступники by fandom Vampires of Central Russia 2021

This is another fandom I spotted in the fandom combats. The vid is shorter than I'd normally show, but I wanted to showcase this interesting vampire fandom that I didn't think most people at Escapade had heard of yet.

Sex and Violence by bironic

Another one breaking my rules. Nandermo was a must-have for a vampire-themed year, but mockumentaries are shot like ass on purpose, and that makes them hard to vid, so my options were limited. Bironic's always a sure thing, if not exactly obscure to an Escapade audience.

Sadly, the embed seems to be dead at the moment.

Sex Drive by Franzeska

Yes, I will always play my own vids when I need to fill a hole in a playlist.

Night Watch was such a passion of mine for a while and the source of my ill-fated attempt to learn Russian. I always meant to go back and add text to this vid to echo the weird subtitles they did for the movie, but I never got around to it. Oh well.

【盾冬衍生】no body no crime 黑暗爽文利刃出鞘兰森/我们一直住在城堡里表哥 by 蜜桃奶霉包

Batshit AUs are my favorite. When I found this, I knew I had to inflict it on everyone.

The Hunger - Say Yes To Heaven by themaybatatter

I had a long list of vampire fandoms, most of which I never did find a vid for, but The Hunger was at the absolute top of my list. After scouring the internet, this was the only arguably danceable vid I could come up with and one of the few in general. What the hell, internet? What the hell?!

“你不了解你的妻子，我吻过她” by 没饭呲了

This would be a lot more danceable if it weren't quite so plastered with show audio… but too bad. As usual, sufficiently horny femslash gets an automatic pass. Everyone swayed vaguely on the edges of the dance floor staring, so I still consider it a success.

【巍澜】这可是极限拉扯的鼻祖！！！ by 甜飞惹

Guardian is another fandom where I'm spoiled for choice, but the Chinese vidders do like to include an awful lot of dialogue. This vid stood out for great dance party music and no audio clips.

Morpheus & Hob | The Night We Met by WolfPhoenixWriter

A lot of people were into Sandman this year. I liked this vid for making me feel a lot of feelings despite never having seen the show and barely remembering the comic.

It's a bit slow dance for Escapade, but I loved the emotion in the song too much to not include it.

Boyfriend | FMV | Yan Wei X Xu YouYi by Nitisha Donghua Productions

I guess this was my horny femslash year.

Lee Soo Hyuk - Gwi (Scholar Who Walks the Night) Savage by Serendipity

What's this? Dunno, but it's got a vampire and this great song.

The Monster by frayadjacent

This one was pure self-indulgence on my part. It was made for a con by a vidder everybody knows, but the vidder felt it required too many content warnings and didn't send it in the end. I, however, reserve the end of the dance party to show more content warnings-heavy things if I feel like it. I despise how fandom has turned into a "compromise" where anything that reaches into my soul is never on the table while pabulum always is. Fuck that. I am the arbiter of what's normal.

This vid lit me up in places I'd forgotten.

Ahs Hotel :| Tear you Apart by xxxxxx

This song was used in the show and there are a billion vids to it, but this one is far better than the others aside from how it just cuts off.

AHS isn't a fandom most at the con are in, but I just had to include its vampire season.

A Shot for the Pain by Franzeska

I honestly did go looking for other Penny Dreadful vids. Sadly, the selection was not impressive, and most of it was not to anything danceable, let alone goth club-appropriate music.

【拔杯|暗黑慎入】你是我奇怪的瘾症 by 两只阿夏跑不快

I've seen a lot of Hannibal vids. Almost all of them are gross. Few are as interestingly edited as this one.

Twilight Zone by hmmyeahokay

Okay, this one is a massive blast from the past. Do people outside of Highlander fandom even remember this bad 2001 movie?

I loved the song, and I appreciated that there was a black lead. That and vampires trump the fact that it's a het vid (ish).

Supernatural ►Cry Little Sister by Gwen

I scoured Youtube for vids to this song. I thought this was a particularly interesting take out of the extensive genre of horror set to Cry Little Sister. (No, seriously, it's a genre.)

【荣耀向我俯首｜kinnporsche】没长出恋爱脑前的少爷们怎么能错过这首BGM by 旧城与笙Zz

Kinnporsche hit big this year. I wanted a really fantastic vid that people hadn't seen. I love that this one is by a Chinese vidder (probably) to a French song.

Sadly no longer online, probably for being of a horny BL series and posted on a Chinese site

Kingdom come by fandom ATEEZ 2022

Okay, ATEEZ isn't a big fandom at the con, but this vid is some sort of kink AU, and I'm always weak for that. It's also to a Taylor song everybody loves.

Last of the Real Ones by colls

I cheated again and included a well-known vidder, but do you know how hard it is to find stormpilot vids? Kylux has like eight billion genius animatics and fan art vids. Finnpoe? Bupkis!

I don't know if people still care about this part of Star Wars, but all of the Bandom trash immediately rushed the dance floor when the song started playing.

louis & lestat | take my breath away (interview with the vampire) by ScribbledDreaming

I have ended with this song before, with finnpoe in fact, so that's a little in-joke for myself.

What better way to end the vampire party than the new IWTV and the most over-the-top vid I could find?

[miikishii]

To Hold the Sea | Ch. 8

main masterlist

series masterpost | previous chapter | next chapter

Synopsis: Something changes.

Warnings: reader experiencing self-doubt, romance (ew)

When you return to your apartment, Dazai is laying on the couch, something plays on the TV, but he’s not paying it any mind. When you walk in he looks at you, waiting for something to happen. You sigh and walk toward the kitchenette.

“Rough night?”

You look over at him, an aggravated look on your face,

“Something like that.”

“What happened?”

“I’m sure you already know.”

He gives you a sideways smile and a shrug,

“I just wanted to hear it from you.”

You escape to your room, rather, the only other room in the apartment that isn’t a bathroom. He doesn’t ask you about it again, but part of you wishes he would. You wanted to confide in him. You wanted him to confide in you too. After a few hours pass, he asks if you’d like to watch a movie with him. You agree and he lets you choose.

“We should probably buy a few more movies, I’m not sure how many times we can watch the same 5 over again…”

He hums in response as you slide the disc into the player. When you turn to the couch he’s barely left you any room, but when you walk towards the only empty space he opens his arms wide. You smile and fall into his arms,

“Thought you were just gonna be a couch hog.” he feigns an offended look, 

“I would never!” he scoffs.

You don’t pay attention to the movie. Your mind is locked in on the way his arms cross over your waist, how he leans his head into the crook of your neck every so often, how it feels so loving.

“I was at Ango’s last night.”

“What happened?”

“I think I got tired of walking so I called him. He picked me up.”

“Nothing else?”

“Well, I was mad when I woke up. He just scolded me for drinking too much, said he cares about us.” Dazai gives a bitter laugh. A heavy silence falls between you and lingers for the rest of the movie, at least, the part where you were still awake. When you do wake up, you’re still laying with him, the TV now off, and Dazai likely asleep behind you. You go to move to your bed and you hear him stir.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, go back to sleep,” you whisper. He takes a deep breath in and gets up, following you to your room and tucking himself in comfortably. You take your time to look at his face, even in darkness you think he’s beautiful. In darkness metaphorical and literal, he has always been beautiful to you. You wouldn’t lie and say you fully understand him but, in your own way, you know him, and he knows this. You think back to the two of you dancing in the living room. You think back to nights at Lupin. You think of moments you figure he was truly happy, even just a little, something you always hoped for him. You wonder if you alone are enough for him. A new kind of fear fills your heart. Without opening his eyes, Dazai reaches a hand out to your shoulder and pulls himself closer to you.

“Go to sleep,” he grumbles. Something strange washes over you at this. Who knows if it was what he intended, but his actions foster comfort within you. 

“Are you glad to have me?” you half hope he doesn’t hear you.

“Of course.” His response is automatic.

“Are you sure?” he chuckles,

“When am I not? Do you need me to reassure you?”

“A little bit.” He clicks his tongue,

“I am glad I met you. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

You nod slightly and finally lay down fully. When you wake again it’s morning and Dazai is still beside you, not asleep, but beside you. He stares blankly at the ceiling, thinking about something. He notices you’re awake and glances your way,

“Good morning,” he smiles peacefully. You close your eyes and nuzzle into your pillow, 

“Mornin’.” he rolls onto his stomach next to you, his face close to yours,

“Dream of me?” he laughs

“You wish.”

“Sometimes I do.” You peek an eye out of the pillow fluff at this,

“Dream of me? Or wish I dreamed of you?” You raise a brow.

“Both,” You give him a playful thwack on the head and ruffle his hair,

“Shut it.”

“We should do something today.”

“Like what?”

“Dunno.”

You groan into your pillow.

“Go get something at a cafe, see the light of day for a while?”

“Mhm, sounds nice.” He rolls out of the bed and the sheets pull you toward him,

“Shall we?”

You lift your head to look at him; his hair disheveled from sleep and your teasing, his face a little puffy, the clothes and bandages he wears in a twisted sort of mess. You’re brought back to your thoughts and worries from last night. He is beautiful. The way the sun sneaks into the room through the curtains makes his eyes glow. 

“Five more minutes?” you ask. He nods and walks away. You don’t have the courage to ask him to stay. When you get yourself together and meet him in the kitchen, the smell of tea catches your attention, he made a cup for you. You smile to yourself and join him on the couch. You drink your tea quietly and he asks you out to breakfast. The two of you get ready and walk to a cafe a few blocks away. He pays.

“Such a gentleman, aren’t you?”

“When I want to be, yes,” his smile evident in his words.

You both watch the people outside. Some making their daily commute, a few on their daily runs or walks, and couples wandering into the cafe you were in.

“A bit of a romantic place for you, huh?” you question,

“You don't have to think of it like that.”

“I don’t have to? So I can.” He smirks and sips his drink

“You can.” his eyes bore into yours with such gravity it takes you by surprise. 

Butterflies swarm in your stomach. You take another bite of your pastry and he relaxes in his chair. When you met Dazai he wasn’t so… flirty. He loosened up a bit over the years as anyone does, but it was something that became more obvious with his friends. With you. It was something you were proud of. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, still looking out the window.

“You.” You giggle and he turns to you, leaning his head in his hands,

“I hoped so. Where should we go next?”

“I thought the park would be nice,” he stands up and offers you his hand. When you take it he smiles and winks. As you walk he swings your hands lightly. When you comment on it he just laughs and says, “Am I not allowed to enjoy myself?” You roll your eyes and continue walking. Your day goes on like this, playful, relaxing; you feel the best you have in a while. You feel loved. From that day on, the days you spent in hiding were a little more pleasant. You realize how completely lost in thought you are when Ango pokes you on the shoulder. It’s funny how much comes back to you in the blink of an eye.

“Are you alright?” his voice is soft as he rouses you from thought. 

“Oh, yeah… I’m fine.”

“I should get going now, it’s pretty late.”

“Yeah- sorry- Um, get home safe.” You blurt,

“I will, I will. Thanks,” he laughs.

You follow him awkwardly to your door and close it behind him. You haphazardly put your bowl down in the sink, more focused on the nostalgic feeling Ango resurfaced. You walk sluggishly to your room but when you look to your bed, it’s not empty like you’re expecting. You freeze, a little startled to see Dazai lying down and reading peacefully.

note: hehe I'm causing problems

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #ango x reader #bungo stray dogs #ango sakaguchi #bsd imagines #bsd ango #dazai bsd #dazai angst #dazai fluff #dazai imagines #bsd dazai #bsd fluff #bsd angst