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bucky-fricking-barnes · 3 months

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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wileys-russo · 5 months

Text

childhood sweethearts (11) II a.russo x reader

playlist one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

thought I’d be nice for once and give y’all something short and sweet

childhood sweethearts (11) II a.russo x reader

"thank you." you smiled appreciatively, taking your coffee and bag of food, making your way out of the cafe. you took a seat at a small table outside in the sun, dropping your sunglasses down onto your nose and basking in the warm glow of the early morning sun.

normally you'd take the opportunity of a saturday morning to sleep in, especially given the fact you'd hardly slept a wink last night. however this morning your body had been awake and coiled with anxiety far earlier than you intended.

so here you were hoping a coffee and a sweet treat might help to ease the grey cloud of nervous energy which hung over your body, and had done ever since your front door had slammed closed last night and the reality of your actions had sank in.

as much as you wanted to be angry at alessia for leaving you couldn't find it within yourself, knowing just as well that had the situation been reversed and you'd been at her home you'd have done the exact same thing.

the more you were left with your own thoughts to think it over, the more you began to realise you actually weren't angry with her in the slightest. if anything, you found yourself quite missing the feeling of kissing her and the way your head span.

you could still feel her hands as they roamed your body, your lips tingling at the thought of hers pressed against them soft and inviting.

the haunting memory of how it felt to have your skin touching hers and each inch of it feeling alight as if on fire, goosebumps peaking all over your body as your hair stood on end like bolts of electricity had ripped through you.

you missed her, you missed that feeling, and you wanted nothing more than to relive it over and over again. and that, that was much more terrifying a feeling than anything else at all.

finishing your coffee you pushed it aside, swallowing your mouthful of food and tapping on your phone, unlocking it and staring at the thread of messages, a million and one thoughts flitting through your head.

over and over again you typed a message to her, and then immediately deleted it with a shake of your head.

this routine continued until you'd finished your pastry, giving up with a sigh and slipping your phone into your pocket, standing up from the table and disposing of your rubbish, starting to slowly make your way back home.

you stopped by the market on the way deciding that you needed to keep yourself busy today in anyway you could and so without any real errands that needed to be done, and a small mountain of school work you knew you'd need to get to at some point you decided that a morning of baking might help to cease the unease which plagued your mind.

thanking the shopkeeper with a smile you slung the bag of groceries over your shoulder and slipped your sunglasses back down onto your nose, continuing your walk home and soaking in the warmth of a promisingly lovely weekend.

you hummed along to the tune which beat through you, one airpod tucked into your right ear as you rounded the final corner and headed home.

you found your eyes focused more on your feet than what lay ahead, a bad habit as you turned and suddenly looked up knowing you were now home, almost falling over at a sight you should have noticed a lot sooner.

"jesus christ!" you swore in shock, clutching at your chest in surprise as you almost tripped over alessia who was sat waiting on your front steps, pulling your airpod out and exhaling shakily.

"sorry! i thought you'd see me." alessia blushed bright red, scurrying to her feet and darting out of your way. "no sorry i was completely in my own world, that's not on you." you rambled out quickly, your own cheeks warm with embarrassment as you noticed a bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in the strikers hand.

"thought i'd wait around and hand deliver these in person this time." alessia forced an awkward smile at the memory of the last time she'd tried to apologise with flowers and been caught out trying to make a break for it before you'd seen her.

"do you want to...come in?" you offered, unsure really of how to progress as your head began to click into an overdrive of flurried nerves and uncertainty. "yeah okay." alessia nodded, seemingly just as flustered as you stepped around her and made a beeline up to your front door.

you dropped the keys and swore quietly to yourself, bending down to grab them and jamming them in the lock, twisting as the door unlocked with a sudden pop and you stumbled inside.

"seems we've swapped today." alessia joked, grabbing the back of your top to steady you as you forced a nervous laugh, unsure why your body was betraying you in such a way as she closed the door for you.

"do you want anything? tea? coffee? water?" you offered, dropping your bag carefully onto the counter and raising an eyebrow, trying desperately to calm yourself and even out your breathing. "i'm fine, thank you." alessia declined politely.

"for you." she countered quickly, again holding out the flowers as your face softened, now noticing of course she'd gotten your favourites. "they're beautiful less, thank you." you smiled, grabbing a vase from your cupboard.

busying yourself arranging them in the vase you cleared your throat, a thick silence occupying the room as clearly neither of you knew where to start.

"they aren't for anything either, they're well...they're just because." alessia broke first, cheeks flushed rosy pink as you spared her a glance over your shoulder, softening at the shy smile on her face at the confession.

"thank you." you repeated, your own neck warming up as again silence fell.

"about last night-" "we should talk about-"

you both stopped as the other started, sharing an awkward laugh at your shared intentions. "do you want to sit outside? shame to waste the sun." you offered gesturing to the small deck which lead out onto your backyard, alessia agreeing with a nod.

"i'm sorry i left." alessia started not long after the two of you had settled on the deck, a generous enough gap left between the two of you as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. "you don't need to be, i'm not upset with you." you clarified, shooting her a small smile of reassurance before looking away again.

"it was, unexpected." you continued, referring more so to the kiss you both shared rather than her leaving, hoping she would pick up on it without you needing to clarify much more.

"yeah." alessia breathed out, picking up on what you were insinuating, exhaling shakily. an awkward silence fell after that as you both ticked over in your own heads what to say next, but without knowing what the other was feeling you were both too hesitant to lead the conversation.

"i wish i could read your mind sometimes." alessia admitted, biting down on her bottom lip as her knee bounced a little bit, body coiled with a nervous apprehension.

"one minute you're kissing me and then saying you just want to be friends, and i understood why and i tried so hard to respect that because i know you gave me a second chance i didn't deserve and i wanted you in my life selfishly in anyway i could." alessia continued as you looked away, ears burning at the truthful words which fell from her lips.

"getting us back on track well seems to be going well but then we're kissing again and i have no idea what you're thinking about it all." her voice became quieter at that, conversation left open clearly hopeful that you'd pick up where she left off.

"i wish you could read my mind too because even i don't know how to decipher it sometimes." a small smile curled into your features before you sighed heavily and alessia braced herself for the rejection she expected to be thrown her way, having tried her best all morning to prepare for what you'd have to say.

"there's a part of my brain that's terrified from what happened and what it means, and all those feelings of rejection and pain and hurt come flying back. when you were so ready to just leave me behind, i felt like i meant nothing to you and i think the dismissal of everything we went through together." you started, a frown creasing into your eyebrows as alessia's stomach lurched.

"but then i also don't think its a fair second chance if i dwell on that. i know you're not that same teenager anymore alessia and it would be wrong for me to hold that against you or over your head for the rest of your life." your voice softened and you chanced a glance toward her, seeing a frown not too dissimilar to yours etched into her features as she looked at the ground.

"i don't regret the kiss." you stated boldly, your voice seemingly a whole lot more confident than you really felt as the blondes head snapped up in surprise. her eyes catching with yours and suddenly your stomach clenched and all that confidence melted away, tips of your ears burning.

"neither do i."

"can you tell me how you're feeling please?" alessia continued, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. but she was taken off guard as you suddenly let out a groan, laying down on your back and covering your face with your arms.

"that bad huh?" the striker winced, that fear of rejection returning as she looked away. "no its not that at all its just..." you trailed off, words muffled against your arms, unsure how to even put it in words.

"just what?" "i feel like a hypocrite." "and why would you feel that way?"

"well i'm the one who kissed you the first time, and then i freaked out and made a firm point that it wouldn't happen again. that we couldn't be anything more than friends again because of how scared i was to go back to feeling how i had, and i don't ever want to be that hurt again." you started quietly, hands dropping to your sides as you stared up at the sky, feeling alessia's watchful gaze on you.

"but you only kissed me because i ambushed you with that big speech and i turned up to your house an absolute mess and you had every right to set those boundaries between us. it doesn't make you a hypocrite." alessia warned softly, reaching out to touch you but thinking better of it as her hand settled back in her lap.

"and last night...you can't take the full responsibility for that. it just, happened." her voice dropped an octave lower, wrenching her eyes away from you. "yeah." you agreed with a small sigh, still trying to unpack everything.

"okay i'm going to start speaking. but if you want me to stop, please stop me." alessia decided with a heavy exhale as you sat up again and nodded, waiting for her to continue. "okay this is sort of embarrassing but can we do the thing again, like when we were younger." she pleaded, cheeks flushed red with shame.

"you mean when we turn and-" "yeah." "okay."

hiding the small smile which wanted to curl into your features at her request you shuffled around so your backs faced one another, jolting ever so slightly as she pushed back a little, her body pressing lightly into yours.

you waited for her to speak, not wanting to rush her as clearly by your current positions this wasn't something she was finding easy to say, and you tried your best to swallow the nerves that caused to bubble up inside you.

"like i said, you had every right to set those boundaries with us given what happened and the fact we were starting over." alessia started, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts. "but i don't think either of us can deny that clearly we aren't doing very well staying within them." she continued, your eyebrows furrowing into a slight frown.

"you can deny it if you want to but that kiss last night, it meant something, and i felt something. something that i tried to lock away when you said you wanted to be just friends because like i said, i'd rather have you in my life one way than not at all." alessia paused, again thinking out her next words as your heart started to beat a little faster.

"and i think you feel something too and thats probably terrifying given how things ended last time but i promise you i wouldn't ever dream of hurting you like that again. it scares me too just how much i care about you after so many years, how when i look at you everything that i thought was gone all just comes rushing back again and it makes my head spin. which is why i ran after the kiss last night, because i'd be lying if i said it didn't hurt to have to pretend i don't feel this way and that i don't want us to be something more." alessia continued confessing, biting her lip nervously.

"when i'm around you things make sense, we make sense. knowing how much i broke you the last time i had a chance to properly love you, it's the one thing in my life that I actually regret. seeing the pain in your eyes as you left, your inability to even look at me as you did. the not speaking to you or seeing you for so long, coming home and seeing you'd given back all my stuff, all the stuff i got for you, everything that symbolized us then symbolized that we were over for good, and of course i take responsibility for it but it hurt."

"you're the person i want to tell everything to, and the first one who comes to mind. when i got my first senior national team call up I just wanted to call you, text you, talk to you about it. but i couldn't, so i didn't. but now, now that feelings back and anytime something even tiny happens i find my mind wanders to what you'd think about it, what you'd say-" alessia paused again to take a breath as your heart hammered even harder in your chest.

"is this too much? god i feel like this is too much." the blonde stressed, doubt creeping in as you shook your head, forgetting momentarily that she couldn't see you. "no, keep going." you managed out once your senses kicked back in.

"okay, here we go.

"i like your eyes, i could look into them for hours and never get bored, they're comforting, they're beautiful and they're safe, just like you are. i like the little sun and moon studs in the corner of your ear, i like how the sound of your laughter can fill a whole room like a wind chime and how you stick your tongue out of that little gap in your teeth when you smile. i like the stupid little concentrating face you make when you think really hard about something, i like how you fall asleep during movie's, how you care more about other people than you do for yourself, you are a good person. a person better than i'll ever deserve another chance with, but you have no idea how badly i want to kiss you over and over again and for it to mean something." alessia's voice was barely a whisper as she finished, body riddled with anxiety as more time passed and you stayed dead silent.

"please say something."

"it is terrifying. when we kissed last night was different than that first time, all these emotions and feelings and memories came rushing back and suddenly i felt like that shy nervous lovesick teenager all over again. i was seventeen again laying in bed with you, both of us giggling like idiots and worrying about someone walking in on us." you started, trying desperately to make sense of how you were feeling despite how overwhelming it all was.

"i thought the kinds of feelings that came up when we kissed were long gone but its scary just how fast they all came racing back up to the surface. i think i really like you too lessi, no i know i do. but i think we still need to take things slowly, i don't want this to be something that crashes and burns out." you admitted, your stomach knotting over and over at the realization, your heartbeat now pounding in your ears.

there were no more words exchanged between you, and alessia jolted a little as she felt your hands inch backwards a little, seeking out her own. her every nerve tingled with a warm sense of calm as they found one another, your fingers intertwining with a gentle but now hopeful squeeze.

"okay, i can do slow. we can do slow."

with that said the two of you turned, again sitting side by side but much closer than before. "i know we just had like a big conversation but i really need to go or i'll be late for training and i don't particularly fancy running laps." alessia realised, giving you a guilty look.

"mmm i don't know, i'd kind of like to see you have to run some laps." you teased, a smile on your face as you tried to ignore the insane wave of emotions washing down on you, selfishly a little pleased she needed to leave which allowed you some time to sit and process them.

"could use them, might help you realise how long your legs are so you stop tripping over them." you continued, the blonde shoving you lightly before the two of you stood and headed back inside.

"so..." alessia trailed off, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet by the door. "so..." you mocked, crossing your arms as you hovered by your front door. "when can i see you again?" alessia asked, trying her best not to sound too eager, well aware you'd just had the conversation about testing the waters again.

"depends." you shrugged. "on?" alessia questioned, a little confused by your response. "you should get going, there's laps waiting for you." you reminded, opening your door and gesturing for her to go, the blonde stepping onto your front porch.

"depends on what?" the girl huffed impatiently, crossing her arms and staring you down. "whenever you ask me on a date. bye lessi!" you smiled, leaning up to softly kiss her cheek, closing the door quickly before she had a chance to respond.

you smiled at the good morning message on your phone, simple but sweet enough to have made your day just a little brighter as you texted alessia back.

she was quick to respond, making fun of you for the fact it wasn't technically morning anymore as you rolled your eyes, still still present on your lips as you sent her your own reply, wishing her good luck for the game today.

biting down on your lip your eyes scanned the contents of your fridge, willing some sort of inspiration to strike about what you could possibly cook yourself.

grabbing out some eggs you settled for those and a couple pieces of toast, your motivation low as you glanced over to the untouched pile of marking on your table.

you'd just finished cooking and hadn't even been able to sit down to eat before your phone rang. placing down your forkful of food you sighed and clicked answer.

"you better have a good reason for calling me on a sunday." you warned your brother. "wow its just so lovely to hear from you too." his voice dripped with sarcasm, and you winced at the loud music blaring behind him.

"what can i do for you dear harold?" you questioned, knowing him well enough that there was always an ulterior motive to his calls. "what are you doing today?" he asked, seemingly innocent as your eyes narrowed.

"why?" "always so suspicious! do you really not trust me?" "i could give you one hundred reasons why i don't trust you harry, need i remind of the santa incident? the how babies are made story? the sleeping bag accident?" "all just harmless childhood fun! lighten up. now are you busy today?" "not particularly, just have a small mountain of school work to mark through."

"perfect! we'll pick you up in an hour." harry cheered happily as your frown deepened. "sorry?" you questioned unsure if you'd heard him correctly. "alessia's game is at three and luca's sick so gio and i have a spare ticket, we'll be at yours in an hour. be ready!" and with that he'd hung up before you could even say another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

twelve

#alessia russo x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #alessia russo #woso imagine #woso blurbs #engwnt

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stayconnecteed · 7 months

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❪⠀🪐.⠀𓏔⠀types of kisses with stray kids⠀❫

☆ㅤot8 imagine (bf!skz x reader)⠀★⠀12.5k words

warnings: (slightly spoilers) mention of overworking in bangchan's. minho's type of kiss is french kiss (it's self explanatory: suggestive), and also mentions of blood and wounds, nothing too bad, just some scratches. changbin's soft hours, insecure reader, lonely time but fluff everywhere. brief mention of hyunjin's hiatus and covid on his part. nothing to say about han and felix, just fluff. mentions of menstruation on seungmin's, and a lot of insecurities too. a little bit of drama on i.n's, he ignores the reader but it turns out well. let me know if i miss something.

( hii! have a wonderful sunday ♡ )

chan (forehead kiss)

You had spent the whole afternoon locked up at your studio, focused on finishing the last assignment that was due before the end of the semester, avoiding the slight breaks you had promised you would made and returning immediately to collect information and write the final text. You knew the teacher was quite strict, and with your need to make sure your final score in the subject was high enough, you had spent the last days perfecting up even the last detail of the project. It wasn’t the first time you experienced this kind of situation, and since you moved with your boyfriend a few months ago he was now aware of your habits while studying, so after a lot of mistakes and excuses you managed to communicate with each other and get to a dynamic that would allow you to continue with some of your routines without Chris suffering from concern. The truth was that when you entered that state of concentration, little affected you what happened around as long as you were able to fulfill what you had proposed to do that day, and your boyfriend was worried that those habits would end up becoming hurtful for you in some way.

That particular afternoon you couldn’t help but notice Chris’ restlessness as your fingers pressed, fast, the keys of your laptop. Sometimes he had even made you crack a faint smile for his little antics, like filling your cup of coffee when he saw that there was nothing left or peeking through the door of your studio often to see how you were going. It made you feel a little guilty because you knew it was his free day and what he most wanted was to spend it with you, even it was only enjoying the company of the other cuddling in the couch. But you couldn’t allow yourself to put those moments forward when there was a project of such importance that you had to finish, no matter how much you wanted to cuddle with your boyfriend.

And you really wanted. That was your biggest motivation. It was the only reason why when all your work was finally rewarded and you downloaded the finished document, sending it to your teacher’s email, you exhaled a trembling breath and stretched on the chair, noticing how the muscles of your back relaxed after hours tensing over the laptop screen. You turned off the device and closed the studio door carefully not to make noise, deciding that you wouldn’t go back into that room for the rest of the week. You went to the living room with an euphoric smile on your lips, wishing to refuge in your boyfriend’s arms, but you stopped when you saw Chris laying down on the couch with his phone pulled over his chest, and his eyes closed, completely asleep.

You stood against the frame of the door, watching him. It was rare to be able to come across him at such moments of absolute peace and rest, since when you woke up in the morning he was already up and at night you fell asleep before him. You admired him in silence for a few minutes, letting your eyes glim over his relaxed factions, his partially open lips, and the pale freckles barely noticeable on his cheeks. You looked at the time and realized it was quite late, so you left Chris resting in the couch, slowly closed the door and went to the kitchen to prepare something for dinner.

You couldn’t help but hum the last song you had heard your boyfriend work on as you pulled out the ingredients from the cupboard, willing to make jjajangmyeon as quickly as possible, knowing it was one of his favorite meals. You focused on the stoves, selecting the best pieces of bacon for Chris and spliting the food into two bowls. Once placed in the bowl you got the chopsticks after searching a little in the cutlery drawer, and you put two glasses with water. You made the mental note of buying some kind of storage method to separate knives, spoons, and forks, and be able to have the damned drawer somewhat neater, and you went back to the living room sliding your socks on the floor to avoid making any noise. You opened the door carefully and smiled as you listened to Chris’s slight snoring, feeling guilty when you left the bowls on the table in front of the couch, and sat next to him, with the mission of waking him up. You took his phone, keeping it safe next to the tray, and put one of your hands on his chest, feeling the calm beats of his heart.

You laid down slightly on him, caressing his cheek, calling him with a soft voice. “Channie…,” you whispered, sliding your fingertips along his cheekbones, delineating the shapes of his face, “Baby, wake up, it’s time to eat something…”

Chris began to open his eyes lazily, and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw his factions contract in a gesture of confusion, just as if you just had asked him to solve a very difficult math problem.

“YN? Did I fall asleep?” He asked, sliding his arms over your back and wrapping you in a hug. You raised your caresses up to his chaotic curls and mumbled a little assent noise, letting the warm atmosphere you two where wrapped in cover you completely. You loved those moments with him. They were the perfect reward for so many hours of work. And you knew he thought the same. “What time is it? I was going to prepare something for you so that you could take a break and we have some dinner together.”

“Don’t worry, love,” you whispered back, noticing how he leaned to your touch, resting his head on your hand, and enjoying your attention, “I delivered the essay a while ago, and I have an entire week for you before I start studying the final exams. The busy afternoons have ended, at least for a few days.”

His gaze lightened, and he broke into a genuine smile that caused you to stir inside. “I’m very proud of you, baby, you are going to have a very high grade on that test.” You changed posture, straddling Chris’ hips, hugging him, and rested your cheek over his chest, taking advantage of his body heat like some kind of stove. “What do you think, should we… plan something? To celebrate? You and I on a little trip, alone, as soon as my free days coincide with your holidays?”

You raised your head, delighted. “Seriously?”

“Of course. I want to have you all for myself,” he said, suppressing a laugh, and increasing his grip on you, still with his arms around you.

You made him squirm with tickles, “I also want you all for myself, as long as we can,” you said, leaning back on his chest. “Oh, the jjajangmyeon is cooling, we should eat it now.”

Chris closed his eyes and released a sigh, smiling. “You did jjajangmyeon? After all the afternoon working? God, I don’t deserve you.”

You let out a laugh that made your chest vibrate with his, and you rested your forehead on his, “You deserve this and more, Channie. You were sleeping, it was the least I could do after ruining your free day”

“You could never ruin anything,” he protested, running his fingers through your hair almost without realizing, just because he knew it calmed you as much as it did to him. “Can we stay like this for a while?” Chris asked, waiting for your answer. As soon as he felt you nod against his chest, he let his body relax, kissing your forehead softly, and he couldn’t help but think that he wanted to stay like that forever.

minho (french kiss)

Minho was tired. It was barely nine o'clock at night, but he had had to get up early to record a song that Han had proposed him to sing at the company, and the morning kept him busy with his MC job. If he had time to eat it was because he let himself be kidnapped by Felix with the excuse that he wanted to perfect an old choreography, but with the imminent concerts he ended up rehearsing for hours steps that he knew without the necessary practice wouldn't come out as clean as he wished. When the company car dropped him off in front of your apartment, it took him a lifetime to get out and walk the few meters of sidewalk, to reach up and force the key in the lock, and even to press the button for your floor in the elevator. But he was rewarded when he opened the door and was greeted by that atmosphere he so adored and was beginning to call home: the soft sounds of something frying in the pan, light notes of your favorite perfume that he inhaled as he hung his coat next to yours, and your voice humming softly from the kitchen. He let out a sigh, managing a faint smile, and set his backpack down in the entryway, announcing that he had just arrived.

He decided to take a shower first to make some time while you finished dinner, and couldn't help but follow the rhythm of the song you were crooning, walking down the hallway to your room and choosing some of the clothes you always had ready in your closet for these occasions. If his usual residence was the dorm he shared with Felix, I.N and Seungmin, in his spare time he divided his time between his parents' home, where his cats lived, and your apartment. Even so, he was usually able to sneak away for the occasional night to sleep next to you, and enjoy your company. He always gave you advance notice, but every once in a while you woke up with your boyfriend's cheek pressed against your belly, and his arms around your waist, protesting when you pretended to get up and muttering something along the lines that he didn't have a schedule in the morning. Those days you took advantage of your comfortable work from home and decided to give up, snuggling closer to Minho, and enjoying each other for hours talking about nonsense. Then he would take over your kitchen and prepare the latest recipe that had caught his eye while you rambled on about ideas you had for your future projects, giving him back hugs from time to time and kissing his shoulder blades with the greatest delicacy in the world.

As he washed his hair he couldn't help but miss the way you stroked it when you cuddled, an activity you practiced very often because it always relaxed him when he had had a bad day. He decided to ask you to do that when, after dinner, as he knew was going to happen, you begged him to watch at least one episode of that series you had started last week. It was in English, and although he was sure you would put the audio in Korean if he asked, he was content to program the subtitles in his language while you finished the dishes. He always fell asleep anyway. It's not that he wasn't interested, but your presence soothed him inside, and he couldn't help but enter a mental space of total relaxation when he rested his head on your lap at that time of night.

When he got out of the shower, he put the towel over his head, still without the energy to pull his arms up high enough to remove the moisture from his hair, and headed to your room to get dressed with the clothes he had left on your bed. The clothes felt extremely soft and gentle against his skin, and he let out the closest thing to a purr, which made him smile with his eyes closed. His clothes smelled like you, and he understood, with a pleasant warmth settling in his chest, why you were always asking him for hoodies and t-shirts: it was like taking you with him. Not just you, but everything you represented: warmth, joy, comfort. His steps were quiet and slow as he walked towards the kitchen, still absorbed in his thoughts. In was then that he registered the smell of japchae, your signature dish, which you made when you had had a good day, even if you did it unconsciously. Minho thought it was adorable, and he didn't plan to unveil your method of celebration, because he always felt better to see you so happy, and besides he was used to cooking it himself ーhe wasn't going to complain about enjoying a meal that he didn't prepare and that also came out so delicious.

Minho collapsed into one of the comfortable, cushioned chairs you had purchased relatively recently in an attempt to redecorate your apartment. He let out a sigh and folded his arms on the table, resting his head on them, with no energy to do anything but watch you dancing around the kitchen getting everything ready to serve dinner. Your boyfriend was an observant person by nature, and usually preferred to stay out of the way so he could get the full picture of any situation he was involved in. With his groupmates and loved ones he tended to loosen up more, and would bring out his bubbly, fun-loving personality. But at times like this, he was very grateful to have you in his life. With you he could spend hours laughing nonstop at a joke that wasn't even that funny, but you ended up fooling around so much that your eyes would sparkle with tears. And he would laugh with you because seeing you smile so genuinely made his heart fuzzy.

When he saw you approaching the cupboard to get the bowls, he rushed to help you, but you dropped them when you noticed the presence of someone at your back, with your pulse racing.

"MINHO!" you exclaimed, almost breathless, startled.

He was almost as surprised as you were, until he tucked a lock of hair that had come loose from your bun behind your ear and realized that all this time you had been listening to music with your airpods, oblivious to the fact that he had come home.

"How long have you been here?" you asked, after giving him a playful punch on the arm.

Minho gestured for you not to move as he went to grab a broom and move the pieces of broken porcelain away from your feet, and that's when you noticed you had a few cuts on your bare skin.

"Enough time to give me a good shower" he murmured, a smile playing on his lips, finding your clumsiness adorable. You both stood in silence, him picking up the mess you'd left on the floor, and you disconnecting your airpods. Once you saw that he had finished, you tried to grab another two bowls to divide the japchae you had left on the unlit stoves, but Minho took you in his arms, ignoring the silent protests of his exhausted muscles, and carried you over his shoulder, letting out a stifled chuckle at your surprised yelp. "I'll take care of the rest of dinner," he announced, ignoring your demands to let you be. Once he had gently set you down on the couch, you frowned at him in an adorable attempt to look angry.

"You know I didn't drop the bowls on purpose, don't you?" you told him, slipping irony into your words. "I think I'll be able to dish up the food."

"I don't think so," he replied, a satisfied smile plastered on his lips, "you're hurt."

Your frown deepened as you looked down at your feet and realized that as the bowls smashed against the floor, some pieces had scratched your skin, and you now had fine bloody lines on your skin. There weren't many, and you knew they wouldn't sting if you let them heal, but it was also clear to you that Minho and his eternal concern for you weren't going to let you get away with it. So you just sighed as he got up to get the first aid kit you kept in the bathroom.

He handled you carefully on his return, leaving a clean towel, the band-aids and a bottle of water on the side table, and resting your legs in his lap. His touch was gentle as he stroked your feet to check how much pain you were feeling, and although you had assumed the scratches were nothing, you did gasp when he put pressure on them. You rested your head on his shoulder and clung to his arm as he cleaned the cuts, and you closed your eyes tightly, hissing. Once he had placed a couple of band-aids over the deeper wounds, he stroked your cheek.

"Did you cry?"

"Oh, hush."

Minho managed an almost imperceptible smile, and moved his shoulder just enough for you to pull away from him.

"Not a word." you warned him.

"I don't know what you're talking about" he replied, looking away, "I was just going to tell you what happened today at dance practice..."

You nodded, as he spoke, both of you leaning back on the couch, and let his voice wash over you. You obviously had a good time when he talked to you about what he had done in his day, especially since most of the time you didn't even have time to eat together, so you took full advantage of the dinners, and the cuddle sessions in front of the TV, and the conversations you had snuggled under the covers. But there were times when you would delight in just looking at him. Watching his eyes sparkle as he talked about those boys who meant so much to him, and the new choreographies he planned for the songs composed by 3racha, or the videos his mother sent him of his cats. And not only that, but to have the freedom to look at him, openly, and absorb all the details of his face, which seemed so beautiful to you.

Without warning, you rested one of your hands on his cheek and brought his face to you, connecting your lips in a kiss. Minho let out a surprised squeak, but immediately followed through, moving his mouth along with yours, letting his hand wander from your legs over his lap to your hip. The position was slightly uncomfortable, but it didn't stop you from enjoying each other's warmth, in a slow, soft make-out session. You felt yourself melt against him as he gave your lower lip a little nibble which made you gasp, and he took the opportunity to make the kiss messier by slipping his tongue in, letting it dance next to yours, swirling around to the rhythm of your panting breaths. And just when you thought you'd run out of air, Minho pulled away from you just a few inches, gazing adoringly at you.

"What was that?" he asked, still stunned by your sudden actions.

"I don't know, I just wanted to kiss you" you told him, nuzzling back into his chest. He felt his ears turn slightly red, and was thankful you couldn't see it. "I love you, Min. Keep telling me what Hyunjin did next" you asked him. And of course, he was never able to deny you anything, so he continued with the anecdote, a lovesick smile plastered on his face.

changbin (hand kiss)

You had never been a morning person. If you had to get up early it was because of your job, and you could only face the day after a good cup of coffee circulating through your system. And on weekends you didn't get up until almost lunchtime, taking advantage of every last bit of rest you could get in bed. But that aversion to mornings changed when, after more than half a year of relationship, your boyfriend asked you to move in with him. Since then, just the thought of knowing that as soon as you opened your eyes you would be able to enjoy Changbin's beautiful features, every day was a day you started in a good mood.

That didn't stop the nights from being bad. That Friday in particular you had not been able to join the get-together that your friends had organized at that new club where they happened to play your favorite songs, and not only were you angry with your boss for having you working until late in overtime that you were not going to get paid for, but also your boyfriend was going to get home very late because he had a very busy recording schedule that night. So everything seemed to get worse when, after being the last one at the office to close, you missed the bus. And then you had to endure the fifteen-minute subway ride in rush hour, surrounded by people until anxiety made you get off at a stop that wasn't even yours. Walking back to your apartment calmed you down a bit, but your boots were killing your feet and you couldn't wait to get home to take them off.

Lucky you have an elevator, you think. And you let your tote bag slide down your shoulder until it drops to the floor, hurrying to slide the zippers of your new platform boots and let out a sigh of relief when you stop feeling the pressure on your heels. For sure Changbin is going to tease you for not listening to him when he told you to wear them around the home a bit to get your foot used to them, and also because he got mad at you (jokingly, of course) for buying footwear that made you taller than him. But he's not going to be around to greet you when you get home, so you pick up your boots and tote bag from the floor once the elevator reaches your floor, and you manage to get inside your home, leaning your back against the closed door and letting yourself drop to the floor, massaging your feet with your eyes closed.

You knew you were on the verge of a breakdown. You hated being alone in general, but after a day like the one you'd had, all you needed was a hug and words of reassurance, someone to tell you that everything was okay, and that even if it wasn't, you'd eventually get to that point. But the apartment was dark, and you felt an void in your chest. You had left the mental breakdowns phase when your college days were over, but every once in a while you would have those moments when you would start crying about the situation that made you explode and end up sobbing, almost unable to breathe, for everything you blamed yourself for in your life, and for every flaw that your mirror reflected. And it usually happened when you were alone.

You considered joining your friends, who must have been drunk by now, but even that made you too lazy. So you remembered what Changbin had recommended you to do when he first saw you this bad, and you prepared a bath. You poured in your favorite salts and dived in as deep as you wanted, knowing that you were in no hurry. When you got out you were more relaxed, and after doing your skincare and drying your hair well, you sought shelter under the covers of your shared bed. You soaked in the warmth and softness, and cried as you wished you could live in that moment forever, with no sunrises, no responsibilities, no negative thoughts about yourself. Just you, with a calm mind, those sheets that still smelled of Changbin, and the chance to start from scratch again and again.

But, like every new day, morning came, although this time as soon as you woke up you wanted to go back to sleep. You felt like your head was going to explode, and the crack of light coming through the blinds bothered you to no end. You sighed, knowing that hiding under the sheets was not going to do any good, and you made the attempt to get up, oblivious to the person sleeping next to you. As soon as you sat up, you saw yourself falling back onto the bed, and you let out an involuntary laugh. Changbin had you trapped in his arms and, even in your sleep, he kept you close to him, as if he was afraid that you would leave him at any moment.

You let him be, completely forgetting the light and your headache, and turned to face him, appreciating the delicacy of his skin, and how good it felt in contact with yours. You buried your face in the crook of your boyfriend's neck, enjoying the moment, knowing that you were feeding off these instants to survive when you were at your worst. You heard Changbin clearing his throat, probably with a slightly tired voice from the previous night's schedule, and waited for him to say something.

"Good morning, princess.”

You closed your eyes as you listened to his husky tone, and noticed how he loosened his arms around you a little when he realized how tightly he was holding you.

"Good morning, handsome," you said to him, your lips brushing against his collarbone while you spoke. "Were you very late last night?"

"I think it was like two in the morning or something," he answered you, still without opening his eyes.

"I got off work at midnight" you told him, shifting your posture slightly, resting your head on your hand so you could watch him.

"If you take a picture it lasts longer" he warned you, before opening his eyes and cracking a grin that made your heart skip a beat.

"You know that if you tell me I'll do it."

"I'm not willing to let you go get the phone, you're better off here."

And silence fell between you again. You had never felt as at peace as you did whenever you had Changbin around. And you knew he felt the same way you did, because he never tired of telling you that every time you doubted you were worthy of someone's love. Or whenever he got the chance, in general. You were perfectly capable of spending the whole morning like that, entangled in your bed, taking advantage of the quietness that you had on Saturdays when he had nothing to do. The rest of the week was chaos, with your endless hours of work and his practices and hours locked in the studio with Bangchan and Han. You had an even harder time in the weeks leading up to the comebacks, and remembering that just made you replay the night before on your head, and how you had felt when you got home.

"You're frowning," your boyfriend commented to you. "Do you want to talk about yesterday?"

You opened your eyes, surprised. Changbin had been tracing your features with his gaze.

"Y-yesterday?"

"When I came back, I noticed you'd used the bathtub and forgot to tidy up the bathroom. That only happens when you're in a sad mood. And your eyes are puffy."

Instead of letting shame eat you away, you felt your heart swell at your boyfriend's words. You weren't going to let your stupid intrusive thoughts spoil such a nice thing as the moment Changbin had just had with you: he knew you well enough to notice such things, he loved you, and he chose to stick with you every day because of it. Still, you felt guilty for not cleaning the bathroom, so you whispered a weak "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for anything, my love," he told you, "you know I love doing things for you. If it were up to me, my baby wouldn't lift a finger, especially if you have me to do it for you."

You let him hold you again, resting your head on his chest, and sighed.

"Are you okay?"

You took his hand and brought it to your lips, leaving a soft kiss on the back of it before laying it back on your belly, and replied, looking up at him with a smile and eyes sparkling with love:

"Now I am."

hyune (flying kiss)

Your mother used to talk about how much you and Hyunjin fooled around when you were little. If someone had to tell an anecdote in which either of you were involved, it was certain that at least 70% of them would mention the other. You were two sides of the same coin, and you didn't know a world where the other wasn't at least a phone call away. When he had a hard time, you had a hard time; and when you cried, he cried with you. You had been together from the beginning, and many times you had sworn to be together until the end. And that's why nobody could explain why it had taken you so long to realize how much in love you were.

You had lived through the whole process of Hyunjin becoming an idol, and he had been by your side even when his busy schedule didn't allow him just so he could comfort you when your father passed away, and when that boy had broken your heart in high school. The members of Stray Kids had learned early on to love you as one of their own, and they still remembered how Hyunjin had threatened to never speak to them again if they were unkind to you or hurt you in any way. You were extremely protective of the other one, and if people gave you a choice between anyone and each other, you were very clear that you would choose each other a thousand times over. You had been the one who had spent a month's salary on blank canvases and the most varied set of brushes and colors possible when Hyunjin had developed an interest in art, and he had been the one who had gotten VIP tickets as soon as your favorite singer had announced concert dates in Seoul.

And as obsessed as you were with each other, it had taken you years and the passage of covid through your lives to realize how much the absence of each other in your lives was hurting you. You had called him one day in the a.m. when he was practicing a dance for the Korean program his group was going to perform in, and you had confessed how in love you were with him. And he had laughed, understanding the idiots you had been, and reciprocated your feelings after running out of the company to your apartment. That night you kissed for the first time, and cuddled together in your bed, feeling complete, because you had finally understood what was missing.

After that night, Hyunjin practically lived at your dorm. When the bullying scandal was announced, he spent part of his hiatus with you and part with his parents. And you took a leave of absence from your job for the first few weeks so that he wouldn't be left alone even once. Every time you had the house to yourself and noticed the changes he had made in your absence, you smiled at the new mural on the living room wall, or the boxes the delivery man had left in the entryway that were probably decorations for your room or matching clothes, even though you had insisted you would rather steal his than dress the same. Your relationship didn't change at all since the confession. You still laughed the same, cried the same and argued the same.

That morning, like most mornings, you had struggled to wake him up. You had stayed up late the night before, finishing preparations for a presentation you were going to be giving at work, and you were very nervous. Hyunjin had insisted on staying with you, changing playlists when the songs didn't convince him and working on a track Bangchan had sent him to write lyrics to. You knew the next morning was going to be difficult, but you didn't mind because his mere presence relaxed you and helped you concentrate on the Power Point. Right now his presence (or rather, his absence) was getting on your nerves, because you were making breakfast and there was no sign of your boyfriend. You were both running late.

"HYUNJIN!" you exclaimed, pouring coffee into two cups.

Then he decided to come into the kitchen, still half asleep, and in his pajamas. When he leaned down to kiss you good morning, you refused.

"What's wrong?"

"I warned you twenty minutes ago," you told him, finishing your toast and wrapping his, because you knew he wasn't going to have time to eat it at home. "Now you're not going to have time to do anything but to get dressed, we were supposed to be out the door five minutes ago!"

"Honey, I told you, the boys already know I'm late, so you don't..."

"I know that, baby," you replied, interrupting him in the same tone but in an ironic way, with your index finger under his chin so he could see the way you were looking at him, "but I don't know if you remember that you asked me to drive you today specifically and that I have a presentation first thing in the morning."

"Oh, shit."

"Yep, oh, shit."

You repressed a smile as you watched him rush out of the kitchen to grab the first sporty outfit he saw in your closet and you picked up his thermos to pour his coffee in there and clean the mug you'd just used. You left his breakfast ready on the table once you drank your coffee, and ran to put your laptop in your bag, checking that you had everything ready. He was still locked in the bathroom for quite a while and by the time you left the house, you had already called one of your coworkers ーwho happened to also be one of your best friendsー to get you a few minutes if anyone was asking for you.

You opened the front door and almost missed Hyunjin running ahead of you, hurrying down the stairs two at a time towards the garage. You sighed, grabbing the breakfast you had prepared for him knowing he would forget, and went down after him, trying to match the speed of his very long legs. You put the car in motion in record time and drove through the streets of Seoul, respecting the safety limits, looking at the clock every time a red light stopped your race, until you arrived in front of the company where Hyunjin worked and quickly pulled into the parking lot. Your boyfriend opened the car door while it was still in gear and jumped out, breakfast in one hand and his bag in the other.

"Thanks for breakfast! I love you!" he exclaimed, walking away from the car.

"Baby! What about my goodbye kiss?"

Hyunjin's eyes formed two crescent moons as he smiled, and he slung his bag at full speed, to leave his hand free so he could blow a kiss at you. You pretended to catch it before leaving the parking lot, stuffing it in the pocket your blazer had on your chest and shouting "I love you too!" back.

Years later, your mother would still confirm to anyone who asked that you and Hyunjin were chaos whenever you were together, but since you were two dorks in love, nobody cared.

han (neck kiss)

You had told Han that you were going to be late, and not to wait up for you, although you knew he wouldn't listen. That night was a night of celebration, and even though you had to work the next day, it was worth it. Your best friend had gotten an amazing job offer in the USA a few years ago and since she had moved there, you saw her a lot less than you would like to. You had made some of your vacation days coincide with your boyfriend's American tour and the two of you had gone together to his band's concert after spending the whole day visiting the city. She had shown you her favorite places, and also those places she knew you would love.

This time she had traveled all the way to Seoul, the first time you had seen each other since her promotion had been announced, and although it was a business trip, she had set aside an entire afternoon for you. The plan was simple, and quite improvised. First you had eaten together at a very good restaurant that Changbin had recommended, and then you caught up at a coffee shop near your work that you frequented on your breaks. It was a very special place for you because you had worked there for a couple of years while studying at the university, and it was also where you had met Jisung.

You told your friend how he had walked in with Hyunjin and Seungmin and hadn't opened his mouth not even once while they were placing orders. At that time they had debuted less than a year ago, and you were more of a fan of girl kpop groups anyway, so you had no idea who they were. As you were heading towards their table with the three coffees, you heard how Jisung and Hyunjin were arguing, though you didn't know what about. What you didn't expect was that Jisung would suddenly get up at the same moment you picked up his cup and set it down in front of him. Two seconds later you both had your shirts soaked in coffee, the tray was on the floor and there was a mess of shattered glass at your feet, while he was apologizing. You heard Hyunjin say something along the lines of "Since you spilled coffee on her you could finally ask for her number, you have nothing left to lose", and Jisung turned to give him a murderous glare before apologizing one last time and practically running away. Seungmin went after him after letting out a tired sigh, and left it to Hyunjin to pay for the damage.

You remembered the conversation perfectly. The idol had followed you around the establishment asking you how much the broken glasses were worth while you were looking for what you needed to clean up the mess. You had made a dismissive gesture with your hand and told him that it was okay, that it was your fault. However, when he gave you the same order but for takeaway, you couldn't help but ask which of the three was for Jisung. Instead of putting his name on the cup, as you had done with the other two, you managed to write 'for the cute guy I spilled coffee on. next one's on me' and your number. Hyunjin's eyes sparkled when he saw it and asked you if you wanted him to record his reaction to reading it, because you were going to make his day. You let out a laugh, and six dates later you were together.

After a couple of treats at the mall and a cab ride full of laughter, it was time to say goodbye to your friend. You looked at the time on your phone as you walked up the stairs and smiled when you realized that your boyfriend had sent you a couple of messages throughout the afternoon asking how everything was going. You opened the door as slowly as possible to avoid making noise in case he was already sleeping. You left your bag and coat in the hall closet, halfway ditching your shoes and leaving the bags on the kitchen table. On your way to the living room, you saw the TV still on with the words "game over" flashing on the screen and Jisung slumped on the couch with the console controller on his chest. As usual, he had insisted on waiting up for you. And as usual, he had fallen completely asleep.

You turned off the TV and approached him, running your fingers through his hair, combing his bangs in soft caresses, enjoying seeing his features so relaxed, and the little pout on his lips that filled you with tenderness. You decided to continue with your nightly routine when you noticed that he was already in his pajamas, so he wouldn't have to fully wake up on the way from the couch to the bed.

You stepped into the shower to relax after such a busy day and smiled with your eyes closed as you felt the warm water running down your back. You didn't usually take long in the bathroom unless you had to wash your hair, but shopping always made you very tired and even though the company was to your liking, as you left the mall you couldn't wait to get home to curl up in your boyfriend's arms and rest.

Within two minutes of getting out of the shower, as you were taking out your skincare products, wrapped in a towel and with a few droplets of water still on your shoulders, the bathroom door opened and Jisung appeared with narrowed eyes. Without a word he stood behind you as you watched him through the mirror and wrapped his arms around you, clinging to you in a back hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Hey, baby" you called to him, your voice soft.

He nodded his head slightly, not fully awakening, but giving you to understand that he was listening to you.

"How about you wait for me in bed? I'll be done in a minute."

You felt him deny as you began to apply the products to your face, and paused when you heard an unintelligible mumbling.

"What was that, bubs? I didn't hear right" you asked him.

"I missed you today" he repeated, opening his eyes slightly and making eye contact with you through the mirror. "How did it go?"

"I missed you a lot too" you replied, your hands busy with creams and toners as you spoke. "We were talking about you, actually. We went to the coffee shop where I worked" You cracked a smile as you watched his cheeks turn a reddish shade, knowing what you were going to say next, "Do you remember the day we met?"

You heard a noise of protest while you washed your hands and how he tightened his grip on your waist, reluctant to let you go now that you had brought up a memory he considered as shameful as it was lovely.

"I almost killed Hyunjin that day," he whispered, voice somewhat hoarse from having been asleep. "Until Changbin told me to calm down and I read what the coffee cup said, I swear it nearly killed him for exposing myself like that in front of you." You put both hands over your boyfriend's on your belly and smiled when he continued with the sentence he always said, "Luckily the pretty girl at the coffee shop found me cute enough to date me."

"And here we are" you told him, closing your eyes at his warmth and the touch of his lips against your neck, as light as a feather, in an affectionate gesture that was part of your softer moments.

"And here we are" he repeated, uttering it so close to your throat that it felt like an echo of your own words. And I wouldn't trade it for the world, you thought as he guided you to your bed to snuggle together and sleep entangled, just like every night.

felix (nose rub/kiss)

That night you had gone to bed a little late. Not that it had been a special day or anything like that, but when you had entered the lobby of the company your boyfriend worked for with the intention of finishing a couple of documents while you were waiting for him, Minho was leaning against one of the walls with his phone. As soon as he looked up from the screen, he approached you with a smile and the intention of asking you how you had been. Of all Felix's group members, Minho was probably the one you got along with the best. At the beginning of your relationship with your boyfriend, when you had only gone on three or four dates, he had been the first Stray Kids member you had met. After spending the afternoon together, you had accompanied Felix to his apartment and Minho had caught you making out in front of the door. Instead of embarrassing Felix or giving you a hard time, he had smiled and invited you in to enjoy some pudding while you introduced yourself.

Hyunjin had always protested and defended that if Minho had adopted you as his protégée was because it was clear that Felix was very much in love with you, and because you shared with your boyfriend the sunshine privileges he had with the whole group. It wasn't until much later that you discovered, thanks to a Twitter thread, that the fact that Minho had shared a pudding with you meant that you were very important to him. And since you didn't understand why, as you barely knew each other, the next day you bought a box of puddings of the same brand he had given you and asked Felix to give it to him on your behalf. Of course, that gesture only enhanced Minho's image of you. Since then you had developed a beautiful friendship of which both you and your boyfriend were very proud.

But due to your work, you had been a couple of weeks with no signs of life. When you arrived, Felix was sleeping, and when you left, it was still some time left until his alarm would buzz. That weekend the chaos was over, and you wanted to make the most of every second by his side. That's why you had gone to pick him up from work unannounced. And that's why Minho was complaining to you that you had abandoned him. By the time Felix showed up, his hair still damp from the shower he had taken in the gym, you had already given Minho a summary of the last few weeks and he had told you how things were going and how his cats were doing. The older idol slyly pulled away when he watched Felix's eyes light up as he registered your presence and ran up to you to wrap you in a hug and shower your face with kisses.

"Hi, YN" greeted Chris behind the little ray of sunshine you held in your arms, "Long time no see."

You returned the smile he had graced you with, although without dimples, and replied "Work held me kind of hostage."

That made the leader let out a laugh, and squeezed your arm affectionately.

"Want to go to dinner? My treat?"

Felix asked you with a look, fearing that you would accept out of good nature, even if you didn't feel like it, but you stroked the back of his neck to reassure him.

"No problem" you said, smiling. "I'd appreciate a good distraction right now."

"Are we expecting someone else, hyung?" asked Felix, intertwining your hand with his.

"I think I.N mentioned he would be joining later, but the rest of the boys are in our dorm."

The walk to the restaurant was loud and lively, like every time Felix was involved in something, and for a moment you allowed yourself to take in the atmosphere around you. You knew you were a little quiet, and that it wasn't very like you, but you also knew that your boyfriend had commented on how exhausted you were, so you hoped you weren't worrying anyone. The autumn weather was making you sensitive, that was all. Seeing how the light was darker than usual, the trees slowly becoming naked, and the noise the leaves made under your feet when you stepped on them. You loved how cold your face became after a simple walk, compared to the warmth of your body under the layers of coats you had put on it before leaving home. And most of all you loved the mischievous smile Felix would put on when he would take your hand unexpectedly and put it in his coat pocket, trying to give you some heat, just like he was doing at that moment.

He made a surprised face when you made eye contact with him and you let out a soft laugh, clinging to him and whispering an innocent "I love you" in his ear.

The place Chris had led you to was quiet but cozy, and you got the feeling that the owners already knew the boys. Minho was the one who was in charge of choosing what you were going to have for dinner, and between bottles of soju and water, and delicious pieces of grilled meat you enjoyed a time full of laughter and anecdotes. You asked Chris to send you the location of the restaurant later, planning to meet up with your friends sometime in the following week, and decided to wait a bit until I.N. arrived, who entered in a hurry and almost out of breath. Dinner was fun, as it always was when you spent time with Stray Kids, and you were even sad to say goodbye when Felix realized what time it was and announced that he wanted to have you all to himself for the rest of the night.

You left the place still with your fingers intertwined, and decided to walk back to your apartment. There was a light breeze blowing that blew your hair all over, and you laughed when you saw that the same thing had happened to Felix. You tried to comb his hair a little with your free hand, but it was a bit difficult because you were wearing gloves. It didn't matter anyway, because the moment you managed to get the strands out of his face, the wind would undo your work. It was when it started to rain that you started to run like teenagers, while passers-by took the opportunity to find shelter in nearby places. When you got home you were soaked, and you shivered up the stairs. You ran to get blankets and towels, discarding your coats and clothes until you were in your underwear, and when you made sure you both had dry hair, you huddled on the couch under as many blankets as you had, trying to get warm.

With Felix you never needed to have big conversations, although there had been nights when you had gone to sleep in the middle of the night because you had started to ramble on about whatever topic either of you had proposed. It wasn't the first time your boyfriend had said that for him actions were more important than words, so you spent as much time as possible showing him through actions how much you loved him and how much he deserved that love. You knew he didn't expect the night to end this way, and that he thanked you for it.

"Thank you for being the way you are, Lixie" you murmured, sitting up slightly in his arms so you could watch his face.

"Thank you for always being there for me" he replied, looking up at you with a whole universe of stars compressed in his beautiful eyes.

"Rough day?"

"It got better as soon as I saw you together with Minho hyung."

You both smiled, bringing your foreheads together and gently rubbing each other's nose against the other's in a comforting way. This was, without a doubt, your favorite part of any of the four seasons.

seungmin (cheek kiss)

You'd been staying at your boyfriend's dorm for a couple of days, living with him and his three other group members. While they went to work, you were trying to catch up on your college notes from the comfort of the couch, still feeling too sick to attend class and with a stabbing pain in your belly every time the paracetamol stopped working, clear consequences of having missed the bus on a rainy day, walking home soaking wet, and the effects of your period.

Seungmin's manager had advised him not to get too close to you while you were ill, but he, far from listening to him, had simply asked his members if they cared, and upon their refusal had invited you to spend a few days with him in order to observe how your cold was progressing, making sure how you were feeling every second of the day and taking care of you as you deserved. And you, feeling so lonely in your apartment, had not hesitated to pack the essentials in a backpack and ask your brother to take you there.

That afternoon, however, you were alone in the dorm, as usual. Your nerves were eating you alive because a friend of yours had told you that one of your professors was going to upload, through your university's application, the results of your last exam. You had spent weeks preparing for that test, and for the activity that had to be presented on the day of the exam, and your boyfriend had helped you with both. You wanted to get a very good grade to make Seungmin proud of your effort and his own.

But when you opened the message, and saw that you had failed with one of the lowest grades in the class, you froze for a few seconds, not knowing how to react. "The teacher must have made a mistake with another student," you said, out loud, still in disbelief, "It's not possible that all that... I can't have gotten this after all the effort we put in." But after emailing your professor, his response was, if anything, even more hopeless. He told you that he too was surprised by your result, and that he was very disappointed with how you had evolved in the subject.

You threw your phone across the couch and burst into tears, your heart compressed, feeling that nothing you were doing was enough, that it was useless. Eventually the sobs stopped, though you continued to hide under the covers, staring blankly and breathing heavily. And that's how Felix found you when he came home, tired, at six o'clock in the evening, with a shopping bag in each hand, his backpack and an eternal smile on his lips that vanished when he entered the living room and saw that you didn't give it back to him.

As he noticed your figure curled up on the couch and how you were, surrounded by blankets, with teary eyes and remnants of tears on your cheeks, he didn't hesitate to drop everything on the floor and sit next to you, hugging you.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked you, stroking your back comfortingly.

"A bad grade," you explained, between sobs, trying to steady your voice, "Where is everyone?"

"You mean Seungmin, I suppose," he said, and your shy apologetic smile made him continue, "Today he was supposed to record the cover he was preparing, I think he's going to be late."

You stood silently, staring at nothing for a moment, and then wiped away your tears, faking a minimally cheerful face to downplay the situation, and sitting up on the couch, putting the blanket aside.

"It's okay, work is work," you told him, resting your hand on his shoulder and squeezing it affectionately. "Do you want me to help you with those bags, what did you buy?"

Felix's eyes lit up again, still slightly reluctant to move you away from your corner on the couch, but he flashed a smile and told you the latest story that happened between Changbin and Hyunjin, guiding you to the kitchen. You helped him place everything he had bought at the supermarket while he made sure that, for a few minutes, you forgot what had made you so sad. He suggested making brownies to take to practice the next day, and just as he was preparing the ingredients on the counter, you offered to play one of your Spotify playlists. You ended up jokingly discussing some of the songs, and decided to make a playlist from scratch just for when he went into baking mode. He even managed to make you laugh.

And then I.N. and Minho arrived, and while the latter prepared dinner, the former monopolized Felix's attention with questions about the last videogame they had played together with your boyfriend. So you ended up sitting back on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, rocking as you listened to the youngsters chatting and laughing, with Minho occasionally joining the conversation. And you kept wondering what exactly you were doing there. Living momentarily with those wonderful boys who didn't deserve to have you invading their space, who came home exhausted and didn't need to take care of you if Seungmin wasn't around. They weren't supposed to have that responsibility. God, even Seungmin shouldn't have proposed you to spend a few days with them. You were just acting like a parasite in their house, and they didn't deserve it. When was the last time you paid for something? You were not contributing at all.

With your eyes misty with tears you got up in a hurry, grabbed the keys to your own apartment, where you should have stayed from the beginning, and left. You went downstairs as fast as you could, putting as much distance as you could between you and the dorm, between you and the guys. You had nowhere to go either, really. You didn't feel like going back to your apartment yet, your friends were studying for their last exams, like you should be doing, and you had left your phone on the couch, with your laptop and your notes. God, you hadn't even been able to do that right. You were sure Minho would hate you when he walked into the living room and saw that everything was dirty and full of your stuff. As lucky as you were, you had probably even forgot to throw away the tissues you had used to fight your cold.

You began to wander around the city, regretting not having thought things through before running away, because the temperature had begun to drop with the arrival of night, and you were only wearing your sweatpants and Seungmin's hoddie over them. The painkiller was wearing off, intensifying your abdominal pain, and to top it off, you were really hungry. You ended up accepting the fact that it would be better to go home now. You needed to feed yourself, take a warm shower and get into bed, because after wandering the streets of Seoul, your cold would probably have gotten worse. You got up from the swing where you had decided to stop to rest for a while, and left the park, trying to find the street you were on and the quickest way home.

You felt your hands deathly cold against the fabric of your hoodie, and even colder against the metal of your keys, as you tried to open the door. Each step was an effort, and after you struggled with the lock, you were almost out of breath. Still, as you closed the door you leaned against it and sighed, feeling the weight of your decisions on your shoulders.

"YN?" you heard from the living room.

You frowned as you recognized the voice and hurried to the living room, bumping into your boyfriend halfway.

"Seungmin? What are you doing here?"

He grabbed your arms to steady you both and frowned.

"Why aren't you at home? Felix texted me super worried because when he arrived you were crying on the couch but you didn't want to talk about it with anyone and I finished the recording as soon as possible to..."

"That's not my home" you whispered, unable to hold his gaze.

"What?"

"That's not my home, Seungmin" you repeated, somewhat louder, and sniffled.

"Sure it is" he replied, running his gaze over your features.

"No" you mumbled, whimpering again, noticing how a shiver ran down your back.

"Hey, hey, come on, love, of course it's your home" he told you, softening his voice. "I live there, and you're more than welcome to come over anytime. The boys love you, you know that. And my room and the living room is full of your stuff!"

"That's the problem!"

You let out a sob, and rested your head on his shoulder, unable to continue sharing your thoughts. You felt Seungmin wrap his arms around you, and you took refuge in them, absorbing his warmth.

“Listen, love, we'd better talk about it after a shower, okay? You're burning up, and I'm sure you're hungry."

You nodded, still not looking at him, and let him guide you. Your boyfriend let you curl up under a blanket on the couch while he prepared the bathtub for you. Then he helped you up, carrying you to the bathroom and taking off your clothes. And you trusted him your safety, eyes closed, until you felt your body being submerged in warm water. You let out a shaky sigh, feeling better, and listened as he opened the shampoo bottle, then immediately felt his long fingers massaging your scalp.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," he began, his voice like a lullaby, "because I know it's hard to express certain things. But I think I know how you feel, and let me tell you one thing: you don't bother them, you don't bother us. Just because the boys and I trust each other so much or fit in so well doesn't mean that we don't need you, that we don't miss you when you're not around. Especially me, love. You are my favorite person. I would give everything for you, and that's why if I have a choice, when you are unwell, and even when you are well, I like to come home and see you there. You always greet me with a smile, and you automatically make my day. If you really don't want to be there because you feel uncomfortable, I'll help you bring your things here tomorrow. But if it's because you feel you don't fit in, or because you think you're a burden, believe me we don't see it that way at all. Felix knows you only do playlists with him, every time you ask him for music recommendations, he gets very excited. Minho loves to feed you because he loves the constructive criticism you give him. And he is very grateful when you offer to clean the kitchen for him, because he is very tired lately. And Jeongin trusts very few people to take good photos of him. He almost always posts the ones you take of him. You are important, YN. And you are loved. I love you. You can't imagine how much."

"I love you too" you managed to say, between sobs. At that point, the shampoo was long forgotten, and there was only record of the silence that enveloped you as you both looked into each other's eyes: he with the intensity of the one who intends to communicate with his gaze that which resides in his soul, you with the tears that show that you have opened your heart to his every word, and let them envelop you completely. "Thank you."

Seungmin sighs, sketching a smile of relief, now that he knows you are already feeling somewhat better, and strokes your cheek with his soapy hand. You close your eyes against his velvety, slippery touch, and feel his lips brush your other cheek, in a kiss as light as a butterfly.

i.n (peck)

It was odd for both of you to argue, or be mad at each other. He was in the stressful period of preparation before a comeback, with enough time to just breathe, and he had found space for you in his last free afternoon, discarding the idea of taking a break to be with you. And as a matter of destiny, just as you were about to sit down on the couch in your apartment to watch your Friday movie, enjoying each other's company, your mother called you.

The thing is, your sister was getting married. The ceremony was coming up soon, and you had confirmed your attendance, of course, but you only said you were bringing a friend –a male friend–, and your mother was curious about whether that boy was a posible boyfriend or not. The problem was that your parents didn't know you had a boyfriend, and you weren’t sure if you wanted them to. You hadn't found the right time to say anything about it, and you didn't have a great relationship with your parents anyway, so it wasn't something you had the need to tell. But obviously you wanted Jeongin to accompany you in such a nice and special moment, so when your mother asked you about who you were going to bring, you simply replied "Mm, all you have to know is that my friend’s name is Jeongin."

You didn't think much of it –not that you knew he was listening, since you had gone back to the kitchen to chat with your mother while he went to the living room– but since then, the maknae's smile faded and he adopted a somewhat absent demeanor for the rest of the evening. You didn't notice it because neither of you were big fans of skinship and you were curled up on one end of the couch under a blanket. He had crossed his arms at the other end, but due to the movie you both were watching was so interesting your eyes were fixed on the screen, absorbing every possible detail in an attempt to try to unravel the ending of the thriller before the story itself revealed it. You bent down often to pick up some candies that you and Jeongin had left on the table after dinner, and when you offered one to your boyfriend and he completely ignored you, you stared at him with a confused look on your face.

"Baby," you murmured, moving slightly closer to him, still holding the small package of Korean sweets, running your gaze over his features, "would you like one of these?"

Jeongin remained silent, eyes focused on the plot unfolding in front of you, and you frowned as you realized that it hadn't been a mistake, it wasn't that he hadn't listened to you, but that he was completely ignoring you. You decided to play for a while longer, just to assess how serious the situation was, and sat down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. You swung your legs up, placing them in his lap, and then rested your head on his shoulder, pulling the plastic off the candy and eating it noisily. Suddenly you had lost all interest in the movie. You'd have time to watch it again, some other time. After a few minutes you gave him a sideye glance, but he seemed really focused on refusing any kind of interaction with you.

You sighed, making a ball with the candy wrapper and tried to throw it on the table. Of course, you failed. You decided to change tactics, and posture, and rested all the weight of your body on his legs, trying to make it as uncomfortable as possible for him, but managing to accommodate yourself in such a way that you ended up practically on his lap, with your head resting on his arms. You couldn't deny that it would have been more convenient for you if your boyfriend didn't have his arms crossed, but he seemed to be aware of this fact as well, and tensed them on purpose.

In this silent war, which you had every intention of winning, you had an enemy of great strength. You had tried rolling over him, making noise while eating and making noise with the candy wrappers (so much so that you even felt reluctant to eat candy in the near future because you had had enough of it), you had gotten up, walked past the TV, gone to your room to change into something more provocative and even tried watching tiktoks at full volume. Nothing was working: the only sign of life on I.N's part was his blinking and the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You were beginning to get impatient, and to take it more personally. What was it that you had done that had offended him so much?

"Love" you tried, breaking the silence.

There was no response.

"Jeongin?" you called out to him, resting your hand on his arm, and moving it.

He remained hermetic, and your patience, which had been running out for a while, reached a critical point. You picked up the remote control and stopped the movie, standing in front of the TV with a frown on your face and your arms just as crossed as his were.

"What's your problem?"

"I was watching the movie" he looked up to look you in the eye, with that fox gaze that characterized him so much. The thing was, this time he hadn't softened it, as he did every time he saw you, but it was still as sharp as a dagger, as if you were just strangers in a bar.

"I don't care about the movie" you replied, trying to decipher the source of his behavior, "What's wrong with you?"

Jeongin looked away, and mumbled something between his teeth that you failed to understand.

"What?"

"Go ask your 'friend Jeongin', I'm sure he knows. That’s what I said"

You kept silent, trying to puzzle out his words, until you remembered the phrase you had used in the previous phone call, when your mother had once again tried to use her charms to pressure you into revealing the identity of your male friend. And you smiled. You hid the curve of your lips almost immediately, because if your boyfriend had reacted that way it was because it had really affected him, and you didn't want him to misundertand your reaction. You straddled his lap and, with great effort, got him to uncross his arms and put them around your waist.

"Do you want to know who the caller was?" you asked him, using a gentle tone, resting your hands on his shoulders and massaging that area, trying to help him stop tensing his body.

He nodded, finally looking you in the eye, sulking, which made you pout.

"Ever since my sister invited us to her wedding and I told her that I would be bringing a date, my mother has taken it for granted that I have a boyfriend and wants to meet you, to know who you are" you began, sighing at your mother's behavior, "Knowing her, she'll direct all the attention my sister deserves towards me, just because I've gotten a date. And I don't want to ruin my sister's day over a silly thing. I told her you were my friend because I know she will insist me on asking you out, but only when she’s alone with me. That way there won't be any public comments with unknown intentions. I'm not ashamed of you, my love, and I'm really sorry if it gave you that feeling."

Now you did let out a chuckle as you noticed the blush that had been spreading across your boyfriend's cheeks and ears as you spoke. He covered his cheeks with his hands, and you pressed your forehead to his lovingly, still giggling slightly, loving his reaction. You rested your hands on his and leaned in to bring your lips together in a chaste kiss. And then you had an idea.

"W-what are you doing?" your boyfriend inquired, watching as you managed to reach your cell phone on the other end of the couch.

You put your index finger to his lips as you unlocked the phone, shushing him, and searching for your sister's contact. You sent her a short message making sure she had a moment for you, while your boyfriend admired your face of absolute concentration, still wondering what you were up to. Then you smiled as you read your sister's reply, and hit the video call icon instantly.

"YN! How's everything over there?"

Jeongin's eyes went wide as he recognized the voice, and he looked at you with a panicked gesture, tensing up underneath you.

"Hello, sis! I wanted to tell you something about the wedding" you announced, triumphantly.

"Oh, no," she protested, pouting, "Mom's being a pain again? I'm terribly sorry, I warned her not to be like that, but she's just so excited."

"It does have to do with mom, but it's nothing bad, don't worry" you told her, alternating your gaze between the screen and your boyfriend. "Remember when I confirmed attendance?"

"Mm-hm," he nodded, thinking about the answer, "two people and no allergies, right?"

"Right" you affirmed, noticing how your boyfriend anticipated your intentions and cringed. "I told you and mom I was going to bring my friend Jeongin."

"Wait- you're not bringing your friend after all? You're bringing a boyfriend!" she accused you, excitedly.

"More or less, yeah haha. Jeongin is my boyfriend, actually. We've been together for almost a year, and we've been living together for a few months now. I wanted someone to know it there, but mom can't find out."

"Phew, you're telling me. We wouldn't hear the end of it in our lifetime" she concurred. "And tell me, do you have your Romeo around? Or can I gossip how do you two..."

"He's here!" you hurriedly announced, cutting your sister off in the middle of her sentence, a sentence whose end you didn't even want to hear, and moved until you were sitting shoulder to shoulder with him again, making him appear in the video call too. "Jeongin, this is my sister. Sis, Jeongin, my boyfriend."

"Hi, noona," he said to her, still embarrassed, but with his trademark bright smile shining on his face.

"Hi, Jeongin!" she replied, with the energy she had always had. "I have to go now, but I hope I can see you before the wedding. Although if we can't, I hope you guys have a great time!!"

You hung up, and looked at your boyfriend with a smile on your lips, teasing him a little at how tense he had been the entire call.

"You had nothing to worry about, I wasn't going to make a fool of you."

Jeongin rolled his eyes and pulled you back onto his lap.

"You love to make a fool of me."

You couldn't help but let out a loud laugh, noticing how your heart shrank at the truth you had just discovered: you were very much in love with this boy. And, knowing that this whole situation had happened because of your sister's wedding, you obviated the thought that at some point in the future, you didn't know when, you would be more than willing to marry him.

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eoieopda · 5 months

Text

one to ten | jww

summary: your roommate may not know how to help you feel better, but that won’t stop him from trying. pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader au: roommates to ?, pining, sick fic type: drabble (hurt/comfort, fluff) rating: pg13 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact with my content. cw: gn!spoonie!reader; downbad!best boi!super shy!roommate!wonu; chronic illness/pain is implied but no diagnosis is specified; hand-holding 👁️👄👁️; barely proofread because brain fog, lol. a/n: this is super self-indulgent and based on my own personal experience with chronic illness (fibromyalgia), so it may be different than yours!! wc: 1k

Wonwoo isn’t psychic, but he knows that something is up the second he gets home from work.

Walking through the door of your shared apartment, he moves immediately to deposit his keys on the nearby hook and finds that yours are already there. Odd, he thinks, given your habit of imposing your own overtime. Your commute is shorter than his, and you still never beat him back here.

He looks down as he toes off his shoes, carefully maneuvering them across the mat to avoid both your heels and your sneakers, which don’t seem to have budged since this morning. Wonwoo frowns. It’s rare for you to skip out on the gym at the end of the day, but it’s unheard of for you to miss work — even when you should, in his non-expert opinion.

That’s a bit of a red flag, he’ll admit.

Wonwoo locks the door behind him, pads off across the kitchen and through the adjoining living room, and eventually stops at your bedroom door. It’s cracked open — a secret code of yours, he’s learned. One that means you don’t want to be alone, but you feel the need to warn him about what’s on the other side. Usually, it’s you, deflated in your bed in a way that you find embarrassing. Still, even on your worst days, he’s never seen you look bad.

He’s not convinced that you could if you tried.

Softly, Wonwoo raps his knuckles against the doorframe to warn you. In response, he gets a muffled, “Hello?” It wraps around his heart and squeezes just a little. He loves that about you; how gentle your voice is when everything else you’re experiencing feels the opposite.

You lift your head up just enough to make eye contact with him as he slips through the doorway, and you smile. If it aches to do so, you pretend like it doesn’t.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Hey.”

Admittedly, this is the part that Wonwoo feels he’s worst at. He’s never quite sure what to ask or what he can do to help, always simultaneously afraid of being patronizing or too hands-off. It’s a balancing act; his equilibrium is off.

And, god, he’s so shy when it comes to you. He can’t make himself act on any of the comforting impulses he absolutely has, so he simply pauses at the end of your bed and sweeps his eyes over your frame. A triage of sorts, he supposes.

You’re on your right side, hugging a hot water bottle, and there’s a Munchlax plush between your knees to keep them separated. Your left hip hurts, he guesses. It’s probably safe to assume that the rest of you does, too. Crinkling his nose as he thinks, he asks, “One to ten?”

Another code.

Wonwoo has to adjust the scale when you answer — three — because your three is his eleven. The good news isn’t lost on him, though: Your pain was a six during the last flare. Things may not be great, but they’ve definitely been worse.

“Mostly just tired,” you sigh, as if you can hear the calculations he’s running in his head. “I was this close —” You lift an arm and pull your thumb and index finger in so that they’re almost touching. “— to making it out the door this morning.”

Dropping your arm again slowly, you pat the space next to you in silent invitation. Wonwoo’s body hesitates, even though his pulse doesn’t. It’s par for the course, unfortunately for him.

He wonders how many moments like this need to pass before his palms don’t sweat anymore. Will filling the spot next to you on your bed, on the couch, or even in your passenger seat ever not affect him like this?

Maybe not.

He’s okay with that, so long as you keep giving him the opportunity.

You laugh, and it single-handedly diffuses the tension in his posture. “I think the side of the bathtub got taller. I almost had to yell for you to haul me out of there, but I managed.”

“Proud of you.” He’s chuckling now, too, but that doesn’t undermine how much he means it. Getting your body to cooperate with you is always hardest in the mornings.

For what it’s worth, he would’ve come running if you’d called.

Carefully, Wonwoo sits down on the vacant side of your bed and scoots closer to you, knowing you’ll call him out for leaving distance and anticipating how badly he'll blush if you do. It’s so much easier for you to be close to people than it is for him, but he’s trying.

He hopes you see that.

There’s a microscopic wince when you wiggle your way towards him. It’s replaced quickly by a satisfied little grin once you settle, your body curving around his bent knee like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

“You always run warm,” you muse. “I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo blinks, a little dumbfounded that you’ve noticed — not that he should be, really. He’s obviously picked up on a lot of trivia about you since you took over his former roommate’s lease several months back. If he knows the order of your skin care routine, it’s not weird for you to know that he can’t sleep without a fan on.

Should he have noticed this about you by now?

Curiosity makes him bold, apparently. He pulls his palm off the mattress and touches his fingertips to the back of your hand. “Goddamn,” he whistles.

His hypothesis is proven the second he touches you — you’re freezing — but Wonwoo admittedly gets a kick out of the temperature disparity. He can’t help but run the pads of his fingers absentmindedly over your skin, tracing nonsense patterns. You can’t help the pleased hum that slips out of you as you watch his ministrations; or the way your heavy eyelids start to interrupt your view.

Even when he’s sure you’ve been lulled to sleep, Wonwoo keeps doodling. It’s got to be exhausting to exist in a body that always aches, and you deserve whatever rest you can get. Truth be told, he could probably stay like this for hours if that would help. He’d be doing the same thing at his PC, anyways, holding a mouse instead of your hand.

Yeah, he thinks, this is a much better set-up.

#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #svt #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo drabble #wonwoo hurt/comfort #jww #jade writes #jade’s drabbles #re: one to ten #kvanity

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cyb3rtarot · 5 months

Text

Pick a Pile: A Cycle You Have an Opportunity to Complete

Disclaimer: tarot readings are not replacements for professional advice. Take what resonates; don’t force a reading to fit! Readings are based on current energy; your future’s in your hands.

pile 1⇘pile 2 pile 3⇘pile 4

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Pile 1:

What’s the cycle? [the tower, ten of wands rx, the high priestess, Indecision (Venus in Libra, 7th house), the empress (bottom of the deck), Elk rune]: hello pile one! I feel like you guys take on too many burdens at once, both your own as well as others’. You give so much until you can’t take it anymore, and this leads to a cycle of burn out. You’re well aware of this. You know when you’re carrying too much or need to reprioritize. Even though you can see the burn out coming, you cling on. Some of you get so stressed that you take sudden, impulsive actions to escape, like quitting a job or lashing out at others. I feel like the fall out or consequences you endure afterwards tend to be good learning experiences that open up new paths, but the continuous crashing is not sustainable. A few people in this pile also experience this cycle through romantic relationships, for example not being able to commit to one person and eventually losing multiple people.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn? [two of cups, Change]: this pile has such amazing intuition, but you don’t listen to it! You ignore bad feelings and red flags and try to keep working through them. There’s a lot of people pleasers or recovering people pleasers in this pile which could partly explain this habit. You don’t have to immediately act on your feelings, but if something seems off, it’s important to note what your body and mind may be trying to tell you. It’s also important to balance out your giving and receiving sides, not only doing one or the other (especially giving).

The opportunity to close it [ace of wands, the emperor rx, ten of swords, Enthusiasm (Sun in Sagittarius, 9th house), Laguz rune]: this pile is going to get an opportunity to do something for themselves. This could be an opportunity for a personal project, to travel, or just something that will make YOU happy. However, it seems choosing yourself in this situation may feel hard, and it may upset others. You might have to pull your energy and time back from other commitments to take this opportunity. You might feel bad for choosing yourself, or others could try to manipulate you. This can include guilt tripping, passive aggressiveness, or using whatever method you usually respond to. It’s important to put your foot down against toxic people as well as your own toxic thoughts. This will also be a great opportunity to follow your intuition, and you may find it getting stronger if you don’t ignore it this time.

Extra details: fairy tale, carriage, tomatoes? You may feel like Cinderella, love the story, or similar movies. Or you may feel like you’re swept up in a fairytale when this opportunity comes to you (for some it’s meeting a new person). For those meeting someone new, they could be higher up in position than you. You may have people around you who try to attack your work ethic, morals, or credibility when you choose yourself.

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Pile 2:

What’s the cycle? [four of cups, knight of wands rx, the hierophant rx, Control (Jupiter in Capricorn, 10th house), Jera rune]: hi pile two! this pile feels very ambitious and capable. You guys have a lot of energy and talents that can be honed in many ways, but it feels like you’re put off by the actual process it takes to get to the end goals. You tend to daydream, contemplate, or brood about things you could be doing with your life, but then hesitate to actually do those things. For example, you may get really interested in certain fields of study, but then get discouraged by the academic or training process needed to work in that field. You want the end result but not the steps. You may feel stunted by society, like your dreams or creativity exceed the bounds of the “normal” paths you’re expected to take (like higher education, or a 9-5 until retirement). This cycle of piqued interest and disappointment leads to a lot of restless energy and melancholy; a feeling of wasted time, potential, and dreams.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn? [king of wands, New Vision]: this pile will not be satisfied with being bound by convention nor letting all their potential go to waste. You guys are being pushed to realize your capacity, your endurance, and that you have a lot of power to do what you desire. You already see the limits and shortcomings of how the world operates; you’re encouraged to use this ability constructively. Break outside the box set for yourself and don’t underestimate your ability to see things through to the end.

The opportunity to close it [king of pentacles, two of cups, temperance, Speculation (Jupiter in Cancer, 4th house), Mannaz rune]: there’s a few different things going on for this pile. It seems like most of you are currently in a situation that could prove to be financially beneficial or otherwise a good opportunity. It seems like a new environment where relationships are forming, for example (but not only) moving in with roommates, a family move, or a new relationship (romantic or platonic). If this isn’t current then I feel like it's on your mind. Either way, the main focus for you is patience! Patience is necessary to nurture the parts of your life you want success in. It’s especially important for this pile to support their mental health as they work towards what they want; your perception and willingness to be patient gets filtered through your mental state. By waiting when necessary, you allow sustainable avenues to channel your energy. For some of you who are entering new relationships or communities right now, I feel like one person in particular will be significant to you in these matters, such as someone who offers help in your business or creative ventures.

Extra details: Jupiter may be a prominent planet in the birth chart, as well as the signs of Cancer, Capricorn, Sagittarius, Pisces. Heavy oppositions or squares in your chart related to the push-and-pull feelings. Road blocks. Forests. Journaling, writing, or wanting to be an author. Traveling across a body of water. Feeling discouraged by travel delays (some of you may have travel delayed by family?). Wanting a career that needs a degree but not wanting to go to school. Family pressure to take conventional paths. Fear of life commitments. Some of you in relationships (or your partner) are wanting to step up the seriousness, like by meeting families.

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Pile 3:

What’s the cycle? [four of wands, wheel of fortune sideways, queen of pentacles rx, Harmony (Sun in Libra, 7th house), Protection (Moon in Aries, 1st house), Sowilo rune]: hi pile three! You guys seem to have a generational or family cycle; you may notice very similar themes or lessons throughout your family’s relationships. There’s a cycle of relationships coming together to a high level of commitment, and then ending very significantly. This may play out as a cycle of divorces or broken families, especially where one partner cheats or otherwise neglects the family. In particular, I feel like the feminine energies in these relationships (so if not you, your female relatives/loved ones) are usually left in worse positions than before. This feels like cycles where someone is ambitious, skilled, talented, or financially stable, but after they experience a relationship, it’s very hard for them to get back on their feet. I also see this could have played out as one parent or guardian taking on more work to offset the neglect of the other parent. With this popping up as you guys’ cycle, you may notice traits of your relatives manifesting in you, or you have experienced similar relationship cycles.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn?: [the devil, the fool]: much like pile one, you also seem to ignore red flags. You may be drawn to people and vices that you know are not good for you. Putting on rose-tinted glasses and falling into the thrill of something new. The enthusiasm and passion is wonderful, but you must still protect yourself. Be observative when things seem too good to be true. If something feels off, identify what makes you feel that way, and also what you’re going to do about it. You may need to reflect on how you self sabotage and why.

The opportunity to close it [the magician rx, temperance sideways, ace of cups, Status (Jupiter in Taurus, 2nd house), Friendship (Moon in Cancer, 4th house), Othala rune]: this pile seems to have went through an event that made them feel destitute or powerless, and for a lot of you this is a breakup (of any kind). There’s an emphasis on relaxing and being very gentle with yourself, especially if you’re trying to make some kind of quick rebound. This is a time to pour love into yourself and find what makes you feel balanced and stable. Many of you are being pulled back towards something you’re passionate about, whether this is personal projects or your career. You may be interested in self care through creating material stability and comfort right now, as these bring a sense of security. This might manifest as nurturing relationships with family, and those of you that are focusing on material comfort may find your family helps provide that at this time. Some of you are also focused on building generational wealth, and others are directing more energy into socializing. These are all great ways to create a strong foundation for yourself that is not so easily shaken. The important thing is investing in what makes you personally safe and fulfilled.

Channeled details: Europe (especially Southern), impatient, some may be getting drinks out a lot—especially with friends (this can include cafes), shadow work for harmful habits, gold, orange, crystals, working out, going to church (especially with family), returning to a religion, glow up, luxury, wearing a lot of jewelry or going to a jewelry store, family business, Mediterranean, dark brown hair and olive-toned skin, oceanside town, jogging/running, single mothers, generational cycles, talking to your mom or aunts more

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Pile 4:

What’s the cycle? [judgment, two of wands rx, queen of wands, Excitement (Mercury in Gemini, 3rd house), Mannaz rune]: hello pile four! Like pile two, this pile feels stuck in a cycle of wasted potential. However, it feels you have ongoing expectations placed on you; some of you may have to look after family members or are expected to “stay in your place.” This pile’s cycle feels the most directly influenced by their environment. You might feel trapped or stuck, maybe at home or even by your own self doubts. Deep down, most of you know you could succeed at what you want and this makes you more frustrated when chances pass you by. For example, some of you may feel disappointed in yourself for not going to school for what you actually wanted to do. There’s a lot of mental energy and anticipation with no outlet. A specific detail for a lot of people in this pile: troubles physically communicating or reading in school could have hindered your studies and contributed to your present day hesitancy. It feels like you want to change the world or feel called towards a bigger purpose, but as of right now this remains a feeling and not action.

Why is it repeating? What lesson do you need to learn? [six of pentacles rx, Sharing (queen of action)]: there’s two different groups within this pile. Some of you are very generous with your time and energy when it comes to taking care of others, and you must learn when to pull back and direct those resources into your own life. There’s a tendency to always put your self on the sidelines. Others of you are very reserved and closed, but on the inside you have a lot of ideas, love, and creativity to share. You might flip-flop between a lone-wolf stance and wanting community. Fears are understandable, but don’t deny yourself space to be intertwined and vulnerable with others.

The opportunity to close it [the magician, eight of pentacles, five of wands, Concentration (Saturn in Gemini, 3rd house), Tiwaz rune]: the overall energy for this pile is success, excitement, and talent, though I am picking up on a lot of different things going on here. For most of you, it feels like your opportunity is actually already here—or imminent. Some of you are finally going after something you’re passionate about or good at, whether in an institution (school, for example) or by yourself. Similarly, some of you may have gotten recognition for something, or been accepted into a program. There’s a strong willpower in you that’s been hampered, and I feel that something is triggering you to come out of your cocoon. For those of you that do have learning or speaking difficulties, I see you wanting to power through this. This might manifest very literally, like by having a long-delayed argument or conversation with someone that you feel you must do no matter what. Or, your opportunity may literally be working on your communication, like through speech therapy. Whatever your individual situation is, the energy got much lighter and more excited during this part of the reading; there’s a lot of positivity surrounding your pursuits! Please don’t feel you have to give up on your dreams!

Channeled details: bladerunner, “do it even if it’s hard,” boosts in confidence. Many different communication difficulties in this pile: anxiety, social/family pressure, neurodivergence, mental illness, speech impediments (this is the main one I was picking up on), language barriers, deafness, volume control. Vocal stimming or repeating oneself constantly. Sibling dynamics where one has to be taken care of by another. Unsupportive parents. Hyperfixations. Big arguments. Mediators (some of you are interested in diplomacy or law). Announcements, recognition. Returning to a hobby. Past difficulties in school. Perception anxiety. Overthinking. Strategy. Court cases. Finding things funny no one else does. Glasses, round face. Mami tomoe? Doing something for the greater good; social justice. Chess. Memes, vine. You may really like the Burger King foot lettuce meme lol?, courage the cowardly dog, Tinker Bell. Tea parties (or party planning). You may like things others find childish.

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gatitties · 9 months

Note

Weee could you write Kid pirates, white beard pirates and heart pirates with quite reader that likes to follow their captain around everywhere ? Just having their captain's little non-biogical bro/sibling following him around ( ok but replace white beard with Marco and/or Ace, that's a father not a brother )

tommorow is my last final exam, i'm just glad Byiee

—Kid Pirates, Whitebeard Pirates & Heart Pirates x reader

—Summary: you are a calm and curious person who prefers to follow around your captain or partner.

—Warnings: none

ohh, I guess you already know the note for that exam bc it took me so long to write this 😶 , but anyway, I'm sure you passed it! now it's time to enjoy holidays!!

─ Everyone watches in silence as you follow your captain around like a baby duck, kind of funny considering what kind of crew you're on.

─ Kid isn't a big fan of you following him everywhere, but at least you're not annoying since you hardly ever speak, he's started to develop the habit of looking behind him to check if you were there.

─ Maybe he'll end up taking it out on you at the end of the day because well, you spend most of the day with him, and sometimes he needs to take a weight off his shoulders, you don't mind that he yells at you, really, you just look at him in silence while he barks like a dog, waiting for him to give you some chore to do.

─ Everyone admires you, not only for your strength, but for your willpower in putting up with Kid's temper so easily.

─ Killer will probably tell you not to follow him for so long or you will slowly fall into madness, he doesn't want to lose crewmates that easily.

─ Heat thinks that Kid is a bad influence on you because you started to insult more than normal, also adopting bad habits from your captain.

─ But you don't give it importance, you like to follow your captain, at least this created a closer relationship between the two of you, spending so much time together made you both know every weak point you had.

─ And sometimes, in your most rebellious days you played those keys that irritated Kid the most, of course that was a double-edged weapon because he also knew what bothered you, so it ended in a silly fight between the two of you.

─ He scolds you a lot because whenever you help him in the workshop you don't know most of the objects that are there, so sometimes you just sit and watch what he does or play with the materials.

─ Maybe you're banned from his workshop because you once accidentally blew something up…

─ On those occasions you cling to Killer, you usually accompany him to do chores on the islands, so he can't complain that you follow him around like an abandoned dog when you are of great help.

─ Kid will feel strange not having your silent presence next to him, used to you being there, but he prefers not to risk his material.

─ You came to the crew when you were young and decided that you needed advice or someone to help you fit in more with that big family.

─ Ace was the closest person to your age and it was easy to get along with him, ending in which you began to follow him as an apprentice, Ace was helpful because unlike you, he was much more social and helped you get to know better some of your comrades.

─ Some make fun of you because you look like Ace's shadow, but neither you nor he could care less, you remind him of Luffy following him through the forest when they were kids and it doesn't bother you that he sometimes faints due to narcolepsy.

─ He doesn't mind at all that you follow him, although he would prefer that you talk a little more, but he understands that you are a person of few words.

─ Whitebeard finds it adorable, it's like watching two strangers become siblings from one day to the next, of all the people who were in his crew he could say that you two were the quickest to form such a close bond.

─ It's not always good to follow Ace, many times he gets drunk and you have to take him back to the ship, so maybe you take some nights for yourself, or rather to follow Marco.

─ Although you had a much closer relationship with Ace than with Marco, the doctor was also one of the first to accept you into the crew.

─ So when Ace usually goes out to a party, you stay on the boat since Marco doesn't usually sign up for that kind of thing, you help him with whatever he needs, most of the time he simply makes you move medical supplies from one place to another or order the drawers and shelves.

─ Marco will appreciate the silence more since you usually help him late at night and sometimes he has long days dealing with the crew, more than one day he ends up with a headache and thanks that you don't usually talk as much as others.

─ You probably won't take a good thing from both of them, as if the only thing you could keep were the bad habits of both of them, which means that you will be more daring and lose hours of sleep from now on.

─ Law is rethinking his life decisions at the moment he notices how you start to follow him throughout the submarine, maybe he accepted you too quickly in the crew.

─ You only got bored because you always completed your tasks quite quickly, and who better to tell you what to do than your captain?

─ Law appreciated his alone time very much, and you always broke it, although he couldn't complain much since despite everything, you didn't open your mouth at all.

─ The truth is that you liked to irritate him a bit, but then it was routine to follow Law in most of the things he did, as a consequence you ended up reading almost all of his personal library.

─ Shachi and Penguin will sometimes help you irritate Law by following him around the submarine, these two get bored too and seeing your captain upset with you all seems fun, at least it is until he separates your limbs and hides them.

─ You decided not to try to bother him so much because last time he hid your hands in the freezer and your legs in the oven.

─ Your discussions are totally silent, as if you shouted by gestures, at least you did most of the time.

─ You will definitely be losing hours of sleep because of Law, you will surely end up asleep in a chair long before him and wake up wrapped in a blanket the next morning.

─ The times you are not close to Law, you usually spend them with Ikkaku since being close to her will always give you advantages, you can choose what you want to eat if you help her in the kitchen, which also means that you can sneak some bread into the kitchen.

─ You'll end up running away whenever you do that, but at least you could laugh at the look on your captain's face when he saw a measly crumb of bread in his food.

─ Prepare for a revenge in the next few days, following Law daily also makes you weak against him, so just wait for him to use one of the things that bother you against you.

#op #one piece #request #one piece x reader #reader insert #xreader #kid pirates #kid pirates x reader #whitebeards #whitebeard x reader #heart pirates #heart pirates x reader #sfw #reader is not specified so...#gn reader #male reader #fem reader

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blue-jisungs · 3 months

Note

Helloo first of all merry christmas and happy early new year (or whatever holidays you celebrate)!!!! I don't know if your OPLA requests are still open, but i would absolutely LOVE a stabilished relationship sanji x (gn) reader where reader is kind of an ambivert who tends to be embarassed to speak their mind when they're uncomfy or when they need something, so sanji always keeps an eye on them to check if they're okay. Sort of like a couple who has their own language that no one else understands, just reallyyyy fluffy stuff

If you don't feel like writing it it's totally okay!!! Have a nice day<3

code

author's note. hi anonnie!! sorry for such a late reply <\3 i don’t celebrate but thank u hehe i hope u had a nice time too ^^ to be honest i’m not really happy with how this turned out but i couldn’t think of anything else :( either way, i hope you enjoy it even a little bit :D

it was no secret that you have the tendency to get shy, especially when asking for something. it’s been always a struggle of yours, more often than not ending up in a position you didn’t want to find yourself in simply because you failed to ask for something… or deny.

which you were fine with, technically. sure, no one enjoys being in uncomfortable situations but you got used to it.

however, dating sanji was a turning point in your life. previously, your family and strangers would ignore your needs or just assume that if you didn’t deny anything, you were fine with it. this bad habit of yours took sanji a while to crack.

just like when you turned in the baratie for the first time with a friend of yours.

“anything else, pretty?” the handsome (your future to be boyfriend, not like you knew) blonde man asked with a charming smile. your friend shook jer head while you blinked. sanji used this opportunity to persuade you into ordering more “may i offer something?”

you were absolutely full, no more space in your stomach whatsoever. it was sure you wouldn’t fit more but–

“maybe dessert? such a sweet person deserves a tiramisu to end their day” sanji’s pearly whites glinted in a warm smile. and you nodded shyly, almost awkwardly.

he didn’t pay attention to it then but at the end of the day, laying down before sleep… his memory recalled the resistance in your eyes but a fake smile of acceptance.

since you dined at baratie quite often (yes, he was one of the reasons) sanji started to recognize your habits. that you ordered even if you were full or didn’t like a certain dish… and how you sometimes even forced yourself to eat it because you didn’t want him or the cooks to feel bad.

which made his heart clench – both with worry and because of how cute you are.

with him being your boyfriend and lots of free time on the going merry, which you joined because you two couldn’t stand the possibility of being far away from each other and luffy not minding at all (“the more the merrier”, he said), sanji promised himself to work on it. for your own good because he hated the fact that some people could get advantage of you.

like usopp.

“hiyaaaa y/n! would you mind cleaning the crow’s nest for me?” usopp asked, the usual wide grin adorning his face. you blinked, embarrassed to deny yet…

“wh… um…” you started and the great captain put the broom in your hands, patting your arm

“thanks! i’m sooo tired, you know?” he stretched dramatically, eyes closing. you had plans – you were supposed to help sanji in making dinner… but now…

“they’re not cleaning anything, usppp”

the boy’s eyes shot open and he jolted upon hearing sanji’s voice. the cook didn’t look so friendly – arms crossed, cold look in his ocean eyes.

“oh yeah, right! no problem… it was a joke you see!” usopp chuckled nervously and took the broom back.

“joke my ass. do not use them like that or next time the broom is getting shoved–”

“woah, woah, woah… i got the message” usopp squeaked and ran away to the crow’s nest. you pouted.

“sorry…” a sigh escaped your lips and sanji stepped closer, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“no, no. don’t apologize, there’s no need. but we need to work on that, darling” he smiled tenderly and pecked your forehead.

one day after telling sanji that you’re just too embarrassed to say no or speak your mind, he came up with an idea – that you have a secret code. obviously if you were too shy, you’d just tap him or wink twice. at first, you thought it was silly. but sooner than you imagined, you came to a conclusion that it’s a pretty brilliant idea.

additionally, even if you didn’t know about that, your boyfriend always kept his eye on you. scanning your face and reactions so he could barge in anytime; as creepy as it sounded because of that sanji knew you like the back of your hand and sometimes even without using words, he knew that you were uncomfortable.

“so, so, so! we should head out! there’s no time to lose!” luffy announced on a random monday morning, almost jumping off the walls “we’re going to y/n’s family island!”

your eyes widened as you watched the captain terrified, sanji instantly tensing.

“w… what? why?” you stuttered and luffy stopped in his tracks.

“it’s famous for its sewing arts, right? we need new clothes… and it’s gonna be fun! we’ll meet your family!” luffy grinned.

you felt sanji’s hand on yours, tapping your thumb twice. “are you okay?”, that’s what the gesture meant. you looked at him, hesitantly shaking your head.

“d-…” you didn’t even manage to choke out, puffing your cheeks.

“do we have to? we can get clothes everywhere” the blonde asked, moving his thumb in a soothing motion. sanji asked exactly what you wanted to. maintaining eye contact, he nodded. “i’ve got this”

“but y/n’s family…” luffy whined, pouting.

“y/n should speak for herself on this matter, luffy. maybe she doesn’t want to see them?” sanji hummed.

luffy has a golden heart and pure soul but sometimes could get a bit too much… and doesn’t understand some human reactions. and it’s not like you hated your family – you just left in a hurry, a tense atmosphere in the household. and you just weren’t ready to return.

“so?” luffy asked, rising his eyebrows. sanji squeezed your hand, encouraging you.

“i don’t really want to… see them. right now.” you mumbled shyly “sorr–”

“no, no. don’t say sorry, i just… wanted to surprise you” luffy smiled, his eyes twinkling. he came up to you and patted your head “we’ll go there once you’re ready. just tell me!”

nodding shyly, you watched luffy leave. sanji grinned and cupped your face.

“what? was it bad?” you asked, blinking.

“no, darling. you were very brave” he cooed and placed a soft kiss on your lips “i’m proud”

then sanji moved his hand to your back and drummed a melody, signalling that usopp is coming. you snickered and pecked his cheek, being met with a loud whine coming from the boy who just entered the room.

masterlist <3

taglist. @eternalgyu ,, @haecien

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seravphs · 9 months

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

wc — 6.8k

tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood

Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you.

He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.

There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos.

That’s not your thing.

You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.

It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone.

You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image.

Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch.

It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow.

That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry.

“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender.

“Why, you scared?”

“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”

He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.”

That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice.

That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place.

Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices.

It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do.

The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis.

“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!”

The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job.

As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs.

He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you.

To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything.

“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.”

“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.”

“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?”

Gojo makes a face. “Pass.”

“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“

“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.”

You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination.

The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.”

It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge.

Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions.

“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate.

“What do you mean?” Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish.

“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.”

“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?”

“And that means?”

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.”

“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive.

“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”

You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people.

“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself.

“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?”

“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”

It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest?

This makes you respect him more.

He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show.

The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.”

“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”

You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.”

You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.

So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what?

It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head.

The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start.

You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl.

“Hey. Want to get dinner?”

You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason.

His manager frowns behind him.

“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.”

“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says.

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”

“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car.

“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?”

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.”

You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road.

Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options.

“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.”

You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on.

It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.

The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision.

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise.

“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance.

“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly. “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke.

“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?”

Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president.

He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table.

Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for.

It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely.

The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it.

It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”

You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again.

That’s not quite how it works out.

When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“

A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing.

Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase.

He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more.

It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more.

Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes.

“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him.

“But that’s what I’m best at!”

“You’re so weird,” you laugh.

The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks.

“Stop staring,” he says.

“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality.

Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have.

At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet.

A speech bubble pops up.

Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats.

Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well.

VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more.

Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word.

After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in.

He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able.

“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Then why’d you send me tickets?”

“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking.

“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.”

His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you.

The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet.

He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if-

There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call.

“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”

It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one.

You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god.

Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol.

Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last.

You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege.

Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you.

The second message comes a second later.

Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes Attachment

You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen.

Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken.

He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee.

You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount.

What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers.

“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.”

“I’m early, though?”

“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?”

You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.”

Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.”

There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all.

“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.”

“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.”

Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that.

Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways.

Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.”

“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?”

They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead.

“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.”

“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you.

“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.”

“You’re very confident,” you note.

You have a weakness for confident men.

“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?”

You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.

“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him.

“So?”

“So it can get dangerous.”

“Aw, you do care about me.”

“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.”

“You scared?”

“No, but maybe you should be.”

“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.

Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however.

A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is.

He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him.

“What’s with you?”

“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled.

You fight a smile.

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.”

You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t.

When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage.

This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it.

The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood.

Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music.

The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it.

It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now.

You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you.

The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm.

People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all.

In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on.

A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops.

It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red.

Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash.

“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!”

He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!”

You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him.

“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.”

You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”

“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.”

“You can’t-“

“Get out before I make them drag you out.”

When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?”

The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand.

“What?” He says.

“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face.

“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“

“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now.

“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”

This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles.

You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes.

It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet.

You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space.

You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic.

“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing.

When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time.

His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat.

When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you.

Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later.

For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel.

You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage.

“Well?” You demand. “How was it?”

He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly.

“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter?

“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”

“Huh?”

“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.”

He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.”

“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose.

“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”

Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him.

It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.

“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“It was really hot.”

“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”

“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”

“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.”

Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out.

In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then.

“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.”

Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”

“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.”

Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”

Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.”

It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for.

“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.”

“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him.

You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you.

“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges.

“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says.

“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in.

“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.”

“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.”

“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.”

“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him.

“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee.

“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath.

You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it.

“Sure,” you say.

Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face.

“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader

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cybunii · 2 months

Text

HIDE AND SEEK

“Let's play a little game and have fun”

a/n: so glad this is finally finished >< I do have a part two planned but I have NO idea when that would come out. this is the longest thing i have written so far- pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader tw: stalking, dub/non-con, slight mentions of somnophilia, intercrural sex/thigh fucking, gaslighting, murder and drugging, Leon is a prick :3, obsessive and manipulative behavior, possible kidnapping, etc.

It was safe.

You lived in a relatively small town, and never seeing any reports of kidnapping or murders on your TV made life easy to live. The worst things to happen were food shortages because of the slow drivers, or maybe the power going out because of the awful storms.

You never had to worry about anything. You worked at the little grocery store on the corner, going between the deli and the floral department when needed. After working there for years, you knew everyone who lived there, eventually knowing their names and where they lived. You had made it a point to talk to everyone you saw, wanting them to feel welcome and seen, it was just a small habit you picked up.

It wasn't the most exciting job in the world, but it was nice to be able to pay rent and have a routine. The days when partners would come in gushing about who they were buying flowers for were your favorite, let it be birthdays, holidays, or just a random event. It made your day, and you weren't even the one receiving the flowers.

It seemed like you were the outcast in the town, not because no one liked you, but because you didn't have kids or a partner. It didn't bother you about the kids, you were never too fond of having them. Cute, but not for you. The partner subject was a harder thing to explain, you were used to living and being alone so it didn't bother you much.

You always thought of that as you made the arrangements, the feeling of someone putting their heart into making something so special for you.

This puts you to right now, placing together an arrangement while Mrs. Green talks about her grandkids. You often wondered if she actually liked them with how much she complained about them. They were bad kids though, and got into trouble every week.

“…And of course Parker has to follow in Taylor’s footsteps and tear up the place, knocking over my expensive vase- the one you got me for my birthday-” She explains, covering her mouth as she realizes what she said. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry…”

You shake your head and put on your best fake smile, holding up a hand to ease her worries.

“It’s quite alright Mrs. Green, you know how kids are.” You shrug, but internally your wallet dies. You hunted for that vase for hours, finally getting one on sale for roughly $260. Damn those kids.

She wraps up the conversation maybe a few minutes later, rattling off some reason about cooking her famous chicken again.

You lived next to her and smelled whatever she cooked while you had your windows open, if the smells were any indication, she was a damn good cook.

I mean anything smelled good to you. You weren’t a 5-star chef or anything, but you could cook decent meals. Better than the college route of sandwiches and noodles. Those were the days.

It doesn’t take long for the day to end, only having a few people working in the store meant shorter closing hours, and getting to go home earlier than most was a perk. You walk out after closing up, locking the door, and practically crashing into Mr. West, basically the head of the events committee for this town.

“Woah! Be careful there sweetheart.” He said, chuckling like he wasn’t the reason of you almost falling on him.

“Sorry, what’s up?” You asked, actually interested this time. The last time he planned something, the entire town showed up, it was one of the most exciting things to happen in this town in a while.

“Well, I came to formally invite you to the little get-together I’ve been planning for the new neighbor, I want to help make them feel welcomed here.” He grins, clasping his hands together as he talks, I guess that makes sense, everyone here knows each other so a new person joining may feel out of place, almost like a new kid joining a new school. Possibly horrifying to experience.

“A new person? Where at?” You ask, not seeing any empty buildings near your house. Then again it had been a while since you last looked, and the Gold family has been strangely absent.

“Right on the corner, lil white house with the blue shutters?”

You nod in acknowledgment, suddenly knowing where that one is and frowning at the fact.

That house has been abandoned for years, I mean long before you even moved into your little place. The blue didn’t look as vibrant and the white was a sad and dirty grey.

The inside of the house is just as run down as the outside was. Broken furniture litters the house, most have fallen from their resting places and piled up on each other. The walls are cracked and the floor is covered in dirt and grass that have grown inside the house.

“Ah, yeah. That one…”

Mr. West nods, almost uncaring about the state of the house. “Yup, been meaning to sell that house for ages. Nice to see some new meat round here.”

“Guess so, but I’ll be glad to take you up on that offer. What’s the details for it?” You ask, taking out your phone.

He practically swats your phone away, shaking his head in disappointment. “Ah don’t worry about that old thing, I got letters to send out, you’ll see it when it arrives!” He bids his goodbyes and quickly walks off down the sidewalk, assuming he’s knocking on the door of your neighbors next.

On your journey back home, you take an extra second to look at the house, it being the same way you remembered it. You thought they’d at least try and clean it up, but maybe the person isn’t here yet. The mailbox at least looked new, a nice shiny baby blue color, the black numbers on the side reading “205.”

If first impressions mean anything, the entrance having some pop to it makes it easier on the eyes and matches the house too.

But something about the house seems off. You can't put your finger on it, but something feels...wrong about it.

But maybe that's just the strange aura the abandoned house brings. You continue the trek to your house, thinking about the invitation that the city council member gave you previously before reaching your street. The quiet road is mostly void of any human activity, with the occasional leaf floating down on the wind and the birds fluttering through the air.

Having no information on it so far makes it hard to plan anything out, especially if the letter gets sent too late.

You stop in your tracks at the small glimpse of color resting on your doormat, squinting your eyes at it and deciding it’s too far away to actually tell what it is.

You make small strides to your front porch, your pepper spray in hand when you pause, almost laughing at the fact that you almost pepper sprayed a bouquet of flowers. You frown and pick it up, the display of flowers similarly close to the arrangement you made earlier that day.

You suspiciously inspect it with squinted eyes, turning it around before finding the note secured by a ribbon that’s wrapped around the middle.

“Thought you deserved these more. <3”

That’s nothing short of weird.

Not only did the note have some sort of…stain on it, the handwriting is damn near illegible, barely being able to read the poorly attempted cursive on the small note.

You don’t even know who sent these but it already seems annoying. No return address and no name means there’s someone too shy to approach you, a loser in your eyes. Could be a cute loser, those are fun.

You shrug it off and walk in your house, flowers in hand as you place them on the kitchen counter, scouring your cabinets for a vase that’s suitable for them. You know it’s your work, just strange on how it ended up back in your hands. You grab the glass from under the cabinet, putting fresh water in it as you trim the bottom of the stems, carefully setting them in the vase on the counter. You’d have to pick up flower food later, but you can always do that tomorrow, not like you don’t already have a shift at the grocery store in the morning.

It’s a weird, possibly fucked up scenario, but It’s almost sweet in a way. Maybe in a school girl way, with your crush or secret admirers sticking notes or love letters in the slots of your locker. Grinning as you show your friends, the ecstatic look on their faces as they encourage you to go over to them, to thank them or ask them out on a date.

You’ll have to think of consequences later.

But now? You’ll happily sip your drink and stare at the flowers, daydreaming about who could possibly be your secret admirer.

The next day at work is just as boring, but this time your manager Beck did assign someone to your department, so now you’ll only have flowers today. She is in the office today, and you being her favorite employee, she often hangs around, picking up scraps and putting together some of the orders.

“You hear about the new guy?” She asked, lazily throwing together another order of red roses.

New guy huh? Guess Mr. West didn’t mention who the new neighbor could be.

“Somewhat, already got an invite to that huge gathering West is planning.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes at the mention of both the gathering and West. They were together at some point, could be rumors, but you can’t deny seeing her knuckles turn white on occasion as she clenches her fists together. Just hearing about him must make her angry.

“I heard. Can’t wait for that.”

“It won’t be so bad, maybe it’ll be nice to get the town together again. Especially for the all-famous new guy.” You offer with a shrug, knowing you could care less about all of it.

It’s not like you hated the poor guy right off the bat, but with every conversation being centered around him? It makes him seem like the next Jesus Christ. With even you knowing about him, the entire town is probably waiting for his arrival. And you know these people, already have assumptions based on his name, of which you don’t even know. You’d almost feel bad if you didn’t already have your own assumptions.

He better live up to the hype, or these people will eat him alive.

“…you know, I actually saw him when he was touring the house,” Beck says with a grin, and you already know the look on her face. She’s a romantic at heart, can’t really blame her.

“Oh yeah, panty-dropping?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes, but you know it’s true. She’s attractive, but her college days will never leave her. You cannot forget the drunken stories she’s rambled to you about them practically lining up outside her dorm, and honestly? Good for her.

Only action you get is from whatever you watch on television, or recently that weird-ass admirer situation. You keep your mouth shut about that, not that you don’t trust her, but she’ll make it a much bigger thing than you need right now. The last thing you need is more attention for this weird display of affection.

“Well, he’s kinda tall, intimidating but has a cute baby face- Oh! And the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” She smiles, practically glowing red.

“Sounds boring, there’s like a million of those already.” You shrug, crossing your arms after putting down the completed order.

“This one is different! There’s something about his eyes, he’s mysterious.” She nods, a mischievous expression on her face.

“Right, I’ll see for myself whenever this party happens.”

Beck waves you off with her hand and goes into the break room, maybe to smoke again, it has been a while since her last break.

It’s been a while since your break as well, and no one is near the counter, and you’ve finished all your orders for today. What harm could a break do? You follow in her footsteps and walk back to your locker, opening it and sifting through your bag. After a few moments you forget what you’re looking for, but the lack of your lighter makes you pause.

Very small thing, but still noticeable. You step outside and eye Beck up and down with a suspicious look, squinting your eyes at her.

“What?” She asks, blowing out the smoke.

“Did you grab my lighter? It’s gone.”

She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, pulling out her bright yellow lighter. “Nope, got mine right here. Anyone else smoke?”

“Nah, just us. Damn, I liked that one.” You feel your pockets one last time and lean against the wall, now having to buy yet another lighter.

“How do you keep losing yours?” She laughs at you, and you shrug, not like you have any idea. You have a good memory but misplace the small things, you think it’s only natural.

“No clue, maybe I’m being haunted.”

The woman laughs again and shakes her head. "Haunted by who? A ghost with something to gain from you? I heard that is an incredibly rare phenomenon."

It doesn't seem crazy, in fact, the idea feels...plausible. The spirits that haunt this area are mostly vengeful, but that still doesn't explain why they would send you things. What would a vengeful spirit have to gain from giving you gifts?

“Yknow, I’ve got this other guy, names L? Supposedly runs a business catching ghosts, people eat that shit up. He’s basically swimming in money.” She nods with a serious look, pointing her finger at you.

And? Yeah okay- Sometimes you can’t tell if she’s actually serious or just fucking with you.

You don’t offer up a reply, instead staring at her with a disappointed look. She shrugs in response, taking a drag off her cigarette.

She continues smoking, blowing out a puff of grey smoke that wafts up and drifts away in the wind. It has a pleasant smell, the scent of flowers and honey-like fruits. It is soothing. The woman's expression remains as nonchalant as it was previously.

“Might head in, heard someone at the counter.” It’s cutting your break a few minutes short, but not like you can do anything else.

Have to add that to your list of things to do later.

Care about the consequences of keeping the flowers, buy a new lighter, and use your break time wisely.

You make a mental note of those three things. The rest of your shift goes as smoothly as expected, though you have a nagging feeling that there is something off about the house you saw earlier. That feeling, mixed with the strange gifts and Beck's strange comment has your mind racing.

That night you had to close late, the customers obviously not understanding closing hours. You get people need food, but they could’ve cleared their schedules or something- Maybe even get there the next morning when you first open. Beck couldn’t close because her cat sitter said he got sick, so she had to rush home and get him to the vet- which is unfortunately hours away.

You make your rounds through the store, jotting down the few things that need to be stocked in the morning. And also make sure no one is trying to stay overnight, kicking those people out is the worst. The last time someone had hidden in the break room, practically scaring the poor new girl to death, she didn’t stay long after that.

A small clang gets your attention, the sound only being noticed because of the dead silent- and hopefully empty store.

Two things could happen here, either someone is here and fucking with something, or it’s an animal of some kind.

You don’t want to deal with either.

You unhook the pepper spray from off your belt, gripping it in your hands like it may fall, almost like a greedy spoiled kid with anything. Unable to let go, and won’t without a good reason.

Your reason?

Nothing being here.

You stalk around the corner with quiet steps, frowning when you hear the small taps of your shoes as they carefully touch the ground when you walk. Damn these shoes and this slick ass floor. You’re hyper-focused on any noise that your ears can pick up, but of course your brain has to imagine hearing footsteps all around you. Another clang has you looking towards the break room, now registering the sound as the locker opening and closing. Walking towards the sound makes your heart race, the loud thumping beats filling your head as you take more and more steps towards the room.

Rushing around the corner has you panting and hyperventilating, aiming your pepper spray at the lockers - seeing a masked figure quickly slip out the back door, completely dressed in black.

You run after them, knocking the door open and running into the parking lot. After a quick and very thorough search, it was like they disappeared. There’s no one walking or anything, only the sound of the wind filling your ears.

A quick walk back to the break room and you’re searching the lockers, praying that they didn’t steal or break anything. Everything is perfectly fine, until you step towards your locker. Nothing seems out of place, but your gut tells you something is in there, something’s wrong.

You take a deep breath and swing the locker open, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you start seeing shapes. Nothing popping out at you has you opening your eyes again, glancing down at your once empty locker with an expression of disbelief- and maybe a small hint of…disappointment?

It’s your lighter. A small note attached to it reading, “Sorry :(“

…

What?

You know it’s whoever gave you the flowers, I mean they find your house, your workplace, and locker, steal your stuff, and then return it?

You were barely angry about it, only annoyed, and that’s all it took for them to give it back to you? Especially in the weird way that they did.

They had to be nearby to hear that conversation you had with Beck, whether outside or inside the store. But no one being there makes you pause.

It makes you wonder how long they’ve been watching you.

The chill that runs down your spine and makes your entire body shiver makes you consider finally setting up those security cameras around your house. You may not be able to do it at the store, but damn this stalker being able to free-roam your own house.

Makes you consider buying another weapon as well, pepper spray is temporary at this point, people can still fight with their eyes closed.

It being almost midnight puts a stop to enacting any of your plans, you'll just have to invest a pretty penny in the morning to get those cameras, then spend the entire afternoon planning out and placing the cameras around your house.

Even if you are the only one to see the footage, the thought of having cameras watch you is almost creepy in a way. Like an instant goosebumps kind of feeling. Just gross, can't explain it.

A quick walk back to your house has you calming down some, despite it being night, the street lights do good work to light up the streets, and hearing the small buzz come from them is soothing in a way.

You stop by your mailbox first, your morning shift crossing with the path of the mailman's schedule. A glance through the letters and you stop at the bright pink one, immediately knowing it has the details of the gathering.

Ripping the top off and skimming through the small writing makes you want to crumble the letter up in your hands, just tossing it out into the street. Of course, it's tomorrow, well technically today since it's well past midnight now.

The only good part is that it's around five, which gives you time to sleep and prepare some weird side dish. It's much better than trying to pick out a gift for the random guy, that's a hair-pulling kind of stress that you definitely dont want to deal with right now, or ever.

That night you actually managed to have a full night's rest, no randomly waking up or any nightmares to scare you half to death. The bright lights peaking through your blinds make you immediately cover your eyes, stretching your legs out and hearing the small pops.

Sitting up makes you jolt a bit, and the sudden realization of something wet between your legs makes you groan. A quick look under the covers has your mind reeling, it's definitely not your period, and it's all over your thighs and underwear.

You dont remember having a dream that good to literally come everywhere, let alone have it look like this. Tossing your clothes and sheets in the washing machine and taking a hot shower has you relaxing and not paying any attention to it.

You have better things you need to worry about today.

The letter only contained the dishes already being brought to the event, a small note at the bottom explaining to try and bring a dish everyone can eat. Could be easy enough, you could just go to the store and grab a fruit plate or something. Doesn’t take much time to get and is somewhat inexpensive.

Plus-

Everyone knows this main event is not about the food.

Around roughly 4:45, you pull up to an awfully crowded building. With most of the parking spaces being filled and people having to stand outside due to the inside being packed, you dont have high hopes for a stress-free night.

These people are good people, and you get along with them just fine. But having to be at an introduction party is the worst. Having the same conversation over and over again isn't exactly your idea of fun.

And with how many people are here?

You should practically have sorry on speed dial anytime you may bump into someone, I mean- god forbid you dont apologize for what they did. Of course, everything is fine, you might explode if someone elbows you again but it's all chill! Complaining and daydreaming have you slowly exiting your car, fruit plate in hand as you try to find the food table.

A reunion. Always something to complain about, whether the food is too dry, the children are annoying, or the awkward moment when that one neighbor drinks too much and starts to talk about his latest conspiracy theories.

A lot of families have those members you wish you didn't know. But, hey, that's the price you pay to be related to someone.

And two conversations later you finally set it down 20 minutes later.

You glance up at the poorly taped banner on the wall, holding up a nice welcome greeting.

Leon, huh?

Puts a name to the face you haven't seen yet.

There's something ominous in the air about party's dedicated to a single individual.

Maybe because everything is out of your control, with every person here dedicated to making the honored person the center of attention.

Of course, that is exactly why he might enjoy their party. But for a newcomer, it feels like being thrown into a lion's pit, surrounded by a pride of unknown beasts.

In moments like these, you wish it was just a normal party, where the stakes were lower, and the random people and neighbors were your friends.

It's not that they're rude people. You're just more of an introvert, wishing you had some kind of anchor for yourself, a familiar face or a friendly voice.

Beck hasn’t even shown up yet, leaving you standing in the corner watching the others, sipping on a champagne that tastes like perfume.

You push yourself off the wall and crash into someone, the champagne spilling all over your neck and outfit, the sounds of their apologies drowned out by your thoughts.

The smell of spilled champagne fills your nose, and the apologetic sounds from the stranger fills your ears. You are sure to apologize as well, as the liquid stains your clothes and spills onto the ground as well.

The stranger seems nice, though unfortunate that the two of you crashed into each other, and both of your outfits are now wet and sticky.

The stranger doesn't seem very upset or annoyed by your spilling your drink over them, and you apologize profusely.

A moment passes, and you lock eyes with this strange person. The two of you laugh, the embarrassment fading away as both of you realize that it was an unfortunate accident.

Both of your attention is focused on each other now. The two of you lock eyes, and you can't help but notice how attractive this stranger is. It’s not about his overall appearance or personality, it’s the eyes that are drawing you in. Like a siren call, they practically pull you in, drowning in a sea of the most beautiful blue shade you’ve ever seen.

“What an awkward first impression, kinda ruined that. I’m Leon, by the way-“

He chuckles, extending his hand out and shaking yours with a firm grip, the feeling of rough and calloused palms against your own is almost calming in a way.

“I’d stay and chat for a bit but I should get cleaned up…” You chuckle awkwardly, gesturing towards the champagne that nearly drenched you.

“Ah, I am sorry again. I should’ve paid more attention.” Leon frowns, looking you up and down, almost analyzing the mess he made of you.

A quick nod and you’re off to the bathroom, staring in the mirror as you dab your neck and chest with a damp paper towel. The odd but familiar scent of the towel fills your nose, almost like a wet stale cardboard smell.

You toss them in the trash when you’re done, admiring your appearance in the mirror before stepping back out of the bathroom. As you step out of the bathroom, your eyes are quickly met by the stranger you met earlier. Leon seems to be making a quick beeline towards you, the two of you catching up after the awkward spill.

Leon eyes you with interest, his shy but flirty demeanor becoming increasingly obvious to you. “You clean up real nice.”

You feel your cheeks flush at his comment about you cleaning up nicely. It seems that your efforts paid off after all. You didn’t dress up for him, let alone dress to impress. But god do those words make you happy.

You smile at him, unsure of what to say next. He seems a bit flirtatious, which is certainly intriguing.

You can't help but feel your heart pounding like it never has before. The two of you lock eyes for a moment, and your breathing grows shallow as you take him in fully.

He stands a bit taller than you are, his dirty blonde hair framing his face just right. The way that he stands gives you a sense of security, and his expression is one that speaks volumes. The lights reflected off his soft features, almost making him glow. Maybe Beck was right, he may be average, but there’s something else there.

There is something intriguing about him, something that attracts your attention, almost begging you to investigate more. While he might be average-looking, his presence is anything but, and you are sure to discover what hides below the surface of those gorgeous eyes.

You find yourself caught in conversation with Leon for so long, that the moments start to slip away as you talk away the night. The feeling of being energized is almost invigorating, as the two of you laugh and enjoy each other's company. It's hard to imagine that only the champagne is causing the buzzing feeling in your body, it is certainly more than just that.

The night continues on, and the two of you keep talking, enjoying each other's company. The more you engage in conversation, the feeling underneath your skin starts to grow almost intense, and it becomes harder to ignore it, or how you feel about this stranger. You can’t tell if the pounding in your head is because of the alcohol or him, his gaze towards you sending chills down your spine, goosebumps trailing their way down your arms.

Leon seems to notice something is off, and the expression he presents is one of concern. "Is something wrong? You look sick..."

It takes every ounce of willpower to keep yourself collected, and your shaking heart under control. "It's nothing, just had too much to drink... maybe," you finally say, giving a half-smile and trying not to show how nervous you are.

You can't help but feel your heart beating like an angry drum. You're almost certain that he can see the signs of your drunken affection for him, and you are sure to grow more and more embarrassed with every passing moment.

It seems like Leon is trying to offer support, but to you, this just feels like a game of hide and seek, each side trying not to show their cards too early. A cat and mouse chase, the game only ending when the other party gives in.

“I’m fine, promise.” You wave off his concern, swirling your drink around in your glass in an attempt to focus on something other than his face.

"Okay, if you're sure..." Leon says, his tone expressing that he sees right through your bluff.

He seems to notice you trying to distract him from the situation, and his expression softens slightly. He seems to pick that up, and the conversation continues.

You can't help but feel a tad bit awkward, so you focus on your drink to avoid looking at him. The swirling glass keeps your vision occupied, but your mind is still focused on the face you tried to avoid.

The conversation continues, and there is little to distract you from the awkward situation between you and Leon. The buzz has only grown more intense, almost making it hard to think straight at moments. Your heart is beating and your mind is reeling, tiny specks of black spotting your vision.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,“

As the words begin to leave your mouth, his features shift to one of confusion, disappointment, and hints of something else that you can’t quite place. "... you're leaving?"

"I'm just...." you try to reply, but the words get caught in your throat. "I'll be back, just need some fresh air," you finally manage to stammer out, the expression on his face adding fuel to your lie.

He only nods in response, and you stagger off to the exit, trying to escape the overwhelming feelings flooding you.

You rush past the other partygoers, ignoring their looks and questions as you try to escape to the privacy of your car. The air is refreshingly cool compared to the crowded party inside, and you can finally breathe. You don't bother leaning against the wall, and instead make a dash for your car.

The freedom is refreshing, and you open your car door to find a quiet space where you can collect your thoughts. You still feel a weird mix of emotions inside you, but in the car, you have some time to calm down.

The drive back home is a surreal experience, as the intense feelings of embarrassment and concern start to settle in. You get home and flop onto your bed, letting the plush pillows and soft blankets ease your mind as you fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

You fall into a deep sleep, but the feelings still linger. However, the soft embrace of sleep makes the feelings more bearable, and you finally allow yourself to rest.

The hangover is the first thing that hits you as you wake up, along with the pounding of your head and the aching pain in your body. Itchiness washes over you, feeling like a lingering reminder of the previous night. No wonder you woke up with a headache, considering the amount of alcohol you probably put away last night.

The little bit of alcohol seems like it affected you more than it should have, given the fact that you aren't a lightweight. Why did you have such a strong reaction to a small amount of alcohol? Was it the stress of the situation, or was there something else going on?

You take the pill killers and swallow the cold water with some difficulty, the scratching in your throat making it difficult to swallow. You hope and pray that the pills will kick in soon, as the pounding in your head is unbearable.

The feeling of the pills finally kicking in makes the headache much more tolerable and the itchy feeling under your skin shifts to something slightly less unbearable. You still feel the heat beneath your skin, and you know that the strange feeling hasn't gone away, but it's certainly become more manageable.

As the pills take effect, you're able to gather yourself for a shower. The hot water pours over your body, and it's heavenly. Not only does it bring the pain of your hangover down to a much more bearable level, but it even helps to calm the strange feeling that has been creeping underneath your skin as well. The heat from the water feels divine, and you find yourself lingering in the shower far longer than you intend to.

You step out of the shower, all clean and dressed with a light snack eaten. The lingering effects of the strange feeling are finally bearable, and you're ready to face the world again.

You leave your house and make your way to the hardware store, hoping that they will have the security cameras that you're looking for. The walk there is pleasant, and the breeze is helping to clear out the last bit of the strange feeling you experienced the night before.

As you enter the hardware store, you are relieved to discover that they do, in fact, carry the security cameras that you're looking for. The person working there is super friendly and knowledgeable, helping to guide you to the right section of the store.

It's nice to be able to get some answers about what happened a few nights ago, and the purchase will certainly make you feel safer in your own home.

You're staring at the two boxes, considering one white shade or the other, when a familiar voice breaks your concentration. It's Leon, and it seems he followed you to the store?

He seems to recommend one shade over the other, and you take his suggestion to heart. The ghost white seems to suit the color of your walls much better, although the seashell has a nice pinkish hue to it.

"I'll take the ghost white, then," you say, and turn to give him a smile.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you turn around, spotting his empty basket in hand.

"I, uhh..." he falters for a moment before continuing. "I was actually headed here to buy some things as well." He gestures to the store, but his eyes seem to be fixed on you instead.

He seems to have something else to say, but he's hesitant. You get the feeling that he's trying to find the right words, and he seems to be avoiding making eye contact.

“I hope you find them all right, they seem to have everything here!” You quickly reply, snuffing out any hint of awkwardness.

He seems to relax a little, as if relieved to shift the topic away from anything tense. "Yeah, they really have everything here. They've got everything I was looking for."

The awkwardness between you seems to have faded, and you feel a bit more comfortable. The conversation is back to being a bit lighthearted, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of both of your shoulders.

You bid your goodbyes and walk back to your house, holding the bag of freshly bought security cameras in your hand. Hopefully, they’ll blend nicely into your walls, Leon seemed to think so.

You arrive back home with the two boxes of security cameras in hand and start to consider how to best set them up. You quickly decide the two outside and one in your bedroom, with the last remaining one being a bit of a mystery.

The living room would be a natural spot, but it's pretty open, and doesn't really make sense to have a camera there. The kitchen and dining room are an option, but those rooms could be considered too far away from your bedroom to really be effective at helping your paranoia.

You sit there for a moment, considering options of where the last camera could go. There are so many rooms, and so many different areas to consider, and you can't help but feel overwhelmed.

Finally, you make a decision. The last one will go in the basement, and the basement could use something to watch over it. The basement is an eerie place, with a large variety of odd and old items. The basement is not the neatest place in the world, but that works in your favor.

You just make sure that it isn't pointed directly at any one thing, but rather in a way that you can watch everything.

You download the app on your phone, which allows you to view all of the cameras at any time. The basement camera is running smoothly, and the stream is clear. You can see the entire room at all times, though you can't detect any obvious signs of intruders or anything out of the ordinary.

It's a relief to have the cameras installed, and the house feels a bit more secure.

Back upstairs, you toss the empty box and paper away as soon as you return. You won't need the physical reminder anymore, as the code is easy to remember.

You sit on the couch and feel a feeling of peace wash over you. The cameras are set up, and the inside and outside can be monitored now. It feels comforting, and you hope the cameras will help deter any intruders from targeting your home, or better yet- whoever that one person was.

A few days pass without any issues, and you feel your stress levels ease. Each peaceful day that goes by brings relief, knowing that the cameras are doing their job and nothing strange is going on.

It's weird to think the strangest thing to happen is tourists flirting with you at your job, it's the truth. Every time you have to deal with one, you wonder how dumb they can really be. You wish you could smack them with the bouquets you sell, and make them regret ever coming over to your counter. But of course, you can't because that's not "Customer Service Friendly.” Ugh.

You almost start to forget about your worries, and life seems to return back to normal. The cameras are doing their job, and it seems like everything has been sorted out.

Leon has become a frequent person in your life, and you find yourself seeing him in almost every place you go. It seems that your paths often cross, even when you aren't necessarily expecting it.

Despite your issues with Leon earlier on, he has turned out to be an alright person. He hasn't done anything malicious like you had assumed, and he seems to be an honest person at this point.

Beck still hasn't messaged you or anything, so it's been quite lonely without anyone to talk to. Leon has been the only person keeping you distracted from loneliness, and it's kind of refreshing to have someone new to talk to and hang out with.

Getting to know him in such a short time has been a bit of a surprise, as he's shared quite a bit with you.

You learn about his life as a retired police officer, that he lives with a German shepherd named Lola, and that he currently doesn't have his family. The only other aspect about him that you haven't learned yet is his romantic life.

It's certainly understandable that he would keep his romantic life to himself. You don't go around advertising the fact that you're single either, so you get where he's coming from. It's just a private part of someone's life, and it's not something that needs to be discussed unless it's brought up by the person directly.

It feels like there's more to him than just the police officer part, the German shepherd, and the lack of family. You kind of feel like there's more to the story when it comes to him.

Which leads you to now.

You had invited Leon over for dinner, hoping that the house setting would make him feel more comfortable to open up and share more with you. You don't know what it is about him, but there's definitely more to his story than just his career and lack of family. He has some kind of wall around him, and maybe the more peaceful setting of the house will help him relax and share more.

The doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of Leon. You take one last glance in the mirror, making sure everything looks perfect before heading down to answer the door. You open the door, greeting Leon with a smile and leading him inside.

The dining area is all setup, a delicious meal waiting on the table. The candles are lit and the mood is quiet and peaceful. The smell of the food you cooked wafted through the air, mixing with the warm and light scent of the candles.

Leon seems to be a bit sheepish as his eyes reach the table and linger on the candles and expensive dishes. "You didn't have to do all this for me..." he says, his tone of voice soft but a bit anxious.

You smile and reassure him, "Don't be ridiculous, It's nothing. I just thought I'd make you a nice meal. I've been wanting to cook for someone, and it seemed like a good opportunity."

He seems to relax once you assure him, though he still seems a bit nervous. He is not used to this, the kindness that you're showing him. It's more than what Leon is used to. He almost looks uncomfortable.

You take your seat at the table, motioning for him to take his as well. The candles light the room with a warm and dim glow, adding to the pleasant atmosphere of the dinner. Leon sits down at the table, looking at the food with a bit of a smile. He looks nervous still, but there is some kind of small enjoyment on his face. The dinner looks inviting, and Leon seems to be slowly growing comfortable with the situation.

You continue to chat over the delicious dinner, and the conversation flows smoothly for both of you. Leon is enjoying the food and seems to actually be enjoying the conversation. It's the first time you've gone this deep into your friendship with him, and you can't help but feel glad that he is enjoying this night so far.

You both finish eating, and you start putting away the food. You're now standing at your sink as you start washing the dishes, Leon coming over to help and washing the rest of them.

"Let me help you with that, I don't mind at all," Leon says, taking the dishes from you and helping to wash them. "I'm used to doing housework, so I can help finish these with you."

You feel a bit of resistance to the idea, wanting to handle it on your own. But, it seems like Leon is not accepting refusal as an answer.

Instead, he is taking the dishes from you and helping to wash them himself. There is a sense of kindness and politeness in his voice as if he is offering a helping hand, and you can't bring yourself to deny him. You're not exactly sure what you did to deserve this level of kindness, but you're certainly not complaining.

"Well, thank you. I appreciate the help," You say, giving in and washing the dishes alongside him. "It's no problem really," Leon says, washing the dishes. The two of you scrub away at the dishes, and for a while, there's nothing but the sound of clattering dishes as the water washes over them.

Leon seems more comfortable now, and you notice that he's smiling a bit more as the dishes are cleaned. He does seem a bit restless though, unable to stay still for a long time. Messing with his clothes, bouncing his knee, fiddling with the dishes. The silence is peaceful though, and it's nice to have this small moment with Leon.

You glance over a few times and see Leon's gaze landing on the sharper cutlery, and you notice that he seems to be running his fingers along the sharp edge as if he is contemplating something. It's like he's considering whether or not he should be allowed to use those utensils, as if they're forbidden fruit or something. You can't help but feel a bit uneasy about the way he keeps looking at them. You watch cautiously as he continues to run his fingers along the sharp edge as if testing it out. There's a bit of worry in your mind when it comes to letting him hold these knives, as he seems to be entranced by them in some way. The thought of letting him get near them is making you feel a bit uneasy, but you don't want to be too controlling and tell him he can't touch them.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should say anything at all, but your worry over the situation is too much for you to let go. You finally ask, "Is everything okay?"

Leon stops and turns to face you, his attention returning to you. "Hmm?" Leon hums, and you notice he's snapped out of the trance he was in. "Oh, yeah, everything's alright. I'm just cleaning the knives," he says, holding one up and scrubbing it.

You furrow your brows a bit at that comment, not wanting to push it further than that. If he says things are alright, then you might just have to take him at his word. It's no use pushing it further if he seems to be content, and you don't want to make things awkward or uncomfortable now.

As you finish up your portion of the dishes, you head over to the counter to dry your hands off with the hand towel. You keep glancing over at Leon, and he's still washing the dishes too. You're feeling ready to rest, but it seems like Leon is just finishing up his portion now. You watch him for a few moments as he finishes up the cutlery, wondering how much longer he'll take.

"I really do want to thank you." Leon suddenly says, the shift in his tone causes you to freeze a little bit, your brow twitching slightly at the ominous undertones it brings with it. You wonder what could have caused this change in the tone of his voice. The sudden seriousness that has come over him is unsettling, and it's almost as if he sees you in a different light now.

"You've been so nice to me, I can't help but feel touched," he says, still looking down at the dishes he's cleaning. This shift is alarming, especially with the way he's not even looking at you anymore.

You laugh awkwardly, trying to pass off his words with a joke. "No need to get all sappy on me," you echo back, hoping that he'll laugh along with you.

"Just wanted us to talk more, have a nice dinner between friends…" You repeat back in an attempt to be lighthearted and not make the situation too awkward.

"A friend, hm?" he says, finally taking his eyes off the dishes and looking up at you now. His gaze is almost piercing, and you can feel that he is studying you with his full attention. The way he's looking at you now makes you feel exposed, almost like he can find some hidden flaw with just one glance. His stare is almost piercing, and you feel like you're being studied from every angle. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you, and what he could be thinking right now.

"Well, we are friends," you reply back, feeling quite uneasy with the way he is looking at you. You don't like the way he's studying you like this, as if he's trying to find something wrong with you.

"That's what I've considered you as this entire time," you continue, trying to keep the sour feelings at bay.

Leon's gaze shifts and his entire demeanor changes in a jarring way. One moment he was focused on the dishes, and the next he was looking at you with an intense gaze that sends chills down your spine. You stare back at him with hesitation, and in just a split second you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of uneasiness wash over you when you see him looking at you like this.

The silence between you two is thick as you stare at each other, and it's as if everything else in the world has stopped. You can't help but feel a sharp feeling of nervousness building inside you, making it feel almost as if you're in the presence of danger. You can't place exactly what changed about him, or what caused this shift in his demeanor.

His laugh echoes in your ears, but the low and rumbling sound only serves to further distress you. This whole situation is unsettling and it's making you question everything. The whole time you thought you were simply having a nice dinner with a friend, but it appears the situation is a bit more intense than you thought.

"Is that what you think this is?" he asks you, raising an eyebrow.

"This friendship?" you ask, and you feel a bit taken off guard by the question. You stare back at him, your eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.

"What do you mean?"

"Is that what you think this is?" he asks again, and this time his tone is darker. You can't help but feel uncomfortable with the way he's looking at you when he says those words. It's as if he's challenging you in some way, and the vibe of him seems to have changed.

You can feel a mixture of confusion and anger wash over you as you narrow your eyes at Leon. You feel like he is implying something different, and you don't like it at all.

"That's all I think you are at the moment, nothing more," you reply, trying to keep your cool. You don't like the way this conversation is going, and you don't want to get too frustrated and ruin everything.

"Well, I'm sorry if you aren't satisfied with that outcome," Leon replies, his tone taking on a more ominous feel to it. Your confusion is growing at this point because everything he's saying seems to carry a deeper message. "But I dont think you understand what you're saying..."

"What do you mean by that?" you reply, feeling like the conversation is getting a bit intense now. The way he's talking has taken on a more ominous feel to it, and you can't help but feel a bit uneasy now.

"I dont understand what I'm saying?" you echo back, looking at him with a cautious expression. You're not sure what he means by that, but you're starting to get a bad feeling in your gut.

"I think you're just confused is all." He replies nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

You can't help but feel a moment of frustration when he replies with a casual shrug. Was he just messing around with you? Was that threat in his words supposed to be some kind of joke?

"Confused?" you repeat back, but there's a bit of a frown on your face now. You're starting to feel more than just a bit confused, as he seems to be toying with your emotions. You're not sure what game he's playing at, but it's starting to bother you.

"Okay, I dont understand what's going on here. But I'm not comfortable with you being in my house anymore, I think you should leave." You say, shaking your head, shifting your weight back and forth as you speak, the motion soothing you.

He seems taken aback by this sudden dismissal, his expression darkening somewhat as he looks at you with a look of surprise and something else. It's like he's trying to hide his anger, but you can't help but feel the threat of it lurking in his eyes.

"I'm not leaving," he replies, his tone shifting back to one of arrogance. He doesn't care that you're not comfortable with this situation, instead, he's demanding that this conversation continue.

You feel like you're being backed into a corner, and the thought of being forced to engage with this anymore is making you feel uneasy.

"I said you should leave." You repeat yourself, doubling down on your decision.

"No, you should think things through and realize that you want me here." He says, his tone shifting from one of arrogance back to a threatening aura. It's a bit unsettling how quickly he shifted to this, with such a demanding tone. The conversation shifts in tone once again, and he is back to being arrogant and demanding. He doesn't plan to leave just because you told him to, and you're starting to feel uncomfortable with being in this situation with a person so hostile and unyielding.

You quickly size him up, your eyes widening when you spot the tightly gripped knife in his hand. The sudden change in his attitude and that tight grip on the knife make all the pieces click together for you, and suddenly everything makes sense. Your instincts take over, and you become alert to being in a potentially dangerous situation.

Leon notices your shock and tries to take advantage of it, lunging at you with the knife, aiming for your stomach. The sudden lunge catches you off-guard, and you flinch at the action. You can't help but start to feel a rush of fear as the knife aims for your stomach.

You react quickly, dodging out of the way and punching him square in the jaw, sending him flying towards the floor.

You scramble away and run as fast as you can in the direction of your bedroom, closing the door behind you and locking it tight.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes your heart beat faster with every step, and you can feel your breath coming out in quick, shaky breaths.

You look around your room in a frenzy, using your new found strength to push your dresser in front of the door. You’re sure any police officer knows how to pick a lock, especially the basic ones that are in these old houses. In a panic, you try to find a place to hide and scan the room for somewhere to hide, your eyes landing on your closet.

You move toward the closet, and you're careful to open and shut the door slowly. The inside of the closet is dark and cramped, making it feel more creepy than comforting. You try to ignore the feeling of claustrophobia that is creeping into you, and you duck down as you pull the door closed behind you.

The moment you duck into the closet, you hear the sounds of footsteps rushing up the stairs. You realize that your bedroom is the last room in the hallway, which means it could take him a while before he reaches you.

But, he's going to get to you eventually and you start feeling a bit of panic in the back of your mind.

Would anyone find you when he reaches you? Could you be recognizable to the poor neighbor who finds your body when he’s done?

You begin to get more and more anxious as the footsteps draw closer, the tension and fear of waiting for the inevitable reaching a fever pitch.

You sit there in the closet, hiding and waiting in the darkness. You know that the longer this goes on, the more danger you're in, and you can't help but shake slightly at the thought.

You hear the slam of the guest room's door as it burst open, followed by the quiet sounds of rustling that fill your ears as he searches the room. It's an eerie noise, and it sends shivers down your spine as you realize he's getting closer to you. You clutch your hands, trying to keep your breathing quiet and steady as he gets closer.

The silence is overwhelming, as you try everything you can not to make a sound. You hold your breath as you hear Leon searching in the bathroom now, the rustling sound of the curtain pulling back catching your attention, your racing heartbeat growing stronger and louder as he gets closer. The tension is building, and the thought of him finding you is causing you more distress than you would like to admit.

You can hear the chuckle of Leon's voice as he reaches your bedroom door, and you hold your breath even tighter. He's getting so close now, and you can feel yourself starting to tremble with fear. His voice carries with it a sense of dominance and arrogance, and you can almost imagine the smirk he's giving you right now.

You clench your fists tightly as you hear Leon's voice talking to you through the door.

"I know you're in there. Why are you hiding? Do you think it'll help you?" he says, his voice sounding smug and superior. He sounds like he's enjoying this situation a bit too much, and your heart starts pounding in your chest as you hear the confidence in his voice.

The silence is almost deafening when you don’t respond, and you sit there listening to your rapid heartbeat and your slow breathing. There's so much tension in the air, and you feel like your heartbeat is going to explode out of your chest.

The silence lasts for what seems like an eternity, but you close your eyes tight, hoping that he'll just give in and leave you alone. And, it seems your prayers are answered, and there's only silence for a few moments before the sound of footsteps heading down the stairs makes you sigh of relief.

You sit in the closet, letting out a sigh of relief when you hear the footsteps heading down the stairs instead of coming toward your closet door. The tension is starting to ebb slightly, and you feel an overwhelming sense of relief wash over you. You feel like you can finally breathe again, and you start to slow your breathing as you try to calm down.

The sound of the dresser scraping against the floor escapes your notice as you try to take deep breaths and calm yourself down. You miss the sound of the footsteps moving toward the door, letting your heart beat faster as you bury your head into your hands. You miss the subtle noises that would have warned you of what was coming.

When he rips open the closet door, you let out a sharp gasp and freeze, staring up at him in fear as he stares back with that smug expression on his face.

"Found you."

word count: 10k

If you wanted the dinner to go differently :)

#cybunii #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #suggestive #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #leon scott kennedy

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discordantwritings · 3 months

Text

Distractions (Benn Beckman x Reader)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, minor talks of cuts and blood, Benn has a hair pulling kink you can’t convince me otherwise, PiV sex

WC: 3.5k

Summary: As the doctor for the Red Haired Pirates you know there’s only so much you can do to curb their bad habits. But maybe you can help your favorite patient, Benn Beckman, kick his smoking habit with a bit of distraction.

Notes: for the lovely @fanaticsnail who is correct, Benn needs more love

“You already know what I’m going to say.” You tap your pencil on your clipboard, looking up at the grey haired man on your examination table.

“Doc, don’t start this again.” Benn’s tone is only slightly annoyed as he looks back at you.

“All that smoking is going to kill you.”

As a doctor on a pirate ship your life was all uphill battles that you were not going to win. Telling pirates to be less risky, drink less, and as is the case with this particular first mate to smoke less- all of these were battles you know you were not going to win. But it sure doesn’t stop you from trying, determined to be the annoying thorn in their side to at least make them stop and think before doing something stupid.

“Being a pirate is going to kill me, not the smoking.” Despite his tone a smirk sits on his face, he’s familiar with this song and dance you two engage in at the end of every regular check-up.

“I’m just trying to make sure you die of plain old age, alright? You know I expect the most from you Beckman, you’re the only responsible one around here.” You swivel around in your chair, placing your clipboard on your desk before standing.

“I think you’re wrong there.” Benn stands up as well reaching into his pocket to pull out his carton of cigarettes.

“Don’t you dare- not in my office!” You playfully hit him on the arm and he laughs.

“See- you’re the responsible one.” He twirls the carton in his hand, movements you’ve seen him use to spin his guns.

You roll your eyes but you can’t muster up any actual annoyance. “Maybe I am. But you’re a close second.”

Benn moves towards the door out of your office but hovers before he opens it. After a few seconds he turns back to you.

“But if I wanted to cut down- not quit mind you- just curb it. What would you suggest I do?” It takes all your professionalism not to grin from ear to ear that you had finally broken him down.

“Well, since we don’t have any nicotine substitutes one of your best bets is developing new habits.”

“You’ll have to explain a little more for me Doc.”

“Well, smoking is a whole ritual, right? You have to cut out the ritual around it and the best way to do that is to from some new rituals and habits. It’ll be good to think about some good distractions for when you feel cravings.” You explain, happy to see that he is actually listening to you.

“That does all make sense.” He shoves the carton of cigarettes back into his pocket. “I’ll try out your advice, but no promises, okay?”

“Just you trying means a lot to me.” You say honestly.

“Alright, alright. See you later Doc.” He waves and leaves you to take your next patient.

It’s only two days before Benn is back in your office, hovering in your doorway right after sunset. When you really look at him you sigh. A rag is wrapped around his hand and red is seeping through the white fabric near his palm. He gives you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for coming in right as you should be getting off for the day but-“ You are already right in front of him, delicately unwrapping the rag to assess the damage.

“Beckman what happened?” You tilt his hand to look at the deep gasp across his palm.

“Well, really it’s your fault.” He says as you guide him to sit before grabbing your supplies.

“My fault? Really?” Laying out your salves and antiseptics you shoot him a curiously look.

“I was trying to distract myself by sharpening up my daggers and, well…” He trails off but you can put two and two together.

“You’re not normally on the list of people I have to tell not to use weapons while they are of not sound mind.” Carefully you clean the wound, impressed with the way he doesn’t flinch as you do so.

“I didn’t think I was that out of it.”

“It’s your first day of cutting back.” You sigh as you get a clear view of the wound. “You’re really lucky this wasn’t any deeper. You still need stitches though.”

“Whatever you say Doc.”

Despite today’s events he was your best patient, never saying no when you tell him something needs attention. You thread up your needle and begin your work.

“Well, I guess pain is a distraction.” He jokes and if you were to look up you’d bet good money he was smirking.

“Don’t make this a habit Beckman. I can refuse to help you.”

“You would never. You’re too nice for your own good doll.” You have to bite the inside of your cheek to try and tamper your reaction to the pet name. It’s not often he uses them for you, almost always referring to you as “doc” or “doctor” but when he does it always makes your heart lurch into your throat.

It’s stupid, you know, having a crush on a pirate. Having a crush on someone you work with. But when he’s so kind and thoughtful and helpful and so damn handsome… well who could blame you?

“You really should let me teach you how to shoot one of these days.” He says after a few more moments of silence.

“You know my answer.”

“You really should know how to protect yourself.” There’s serious concern laced in his voice.

“I’m a doctor, I took an oath to do no harm.” You explain to him, like you have many times before.

“And you’re the only doctor working on a pirate ship who takes that oath seriously.”

You pull the last stitch tight before looking up at him. “I know but, the thing is I’ve never felt the need to protect myself on this ship. Sure I’ve felt in danger due to the sea but from other pirates?” You shrug. “I’ve never had any doubts you’d be there to protect me.”

There’s a few beats before you’ve realized what you’ve said.

“And Shanks and all the other crew.” You quickly add, darting your gaze away as you grab a bandage. He chuckles and you hope to whatever gods are out there you aren’t completely flushed.

“Well, can’t say I don’t like that answer.” He keeps his hand open as you wrap the bandage securely around his hand, wrapping it around a few more times for security.

“Now do your best to not break your stitches, alright?” You finally look up at him, matching his gaze.

“I’ll do my best.” He promises and you believe him. “But I’ll probably need a different distraction.”

“Yes you will.” You laugh. “Look I know it might be boring but I do need help sorting through the supplies I picked up last week when we were docked.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” His serious tone has you concerned for a second but you see that sly grin. “You’re just using me to do your dirty work.”

You gasp, mock offended. “You really think that low of me?”

“I would never think low of you. In fact, making me do your grunt work is very smart.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“No, seriously you do so much to help us all it’s only fair I help you.” His uninjured hand covers yours it’s in that moment you realize you never let go of his hand after bandaging it up. You freeze and feel your skin heating up somehow more than it already was.

“That’s- I mean- it’s my job you don’t owe me anything.” You don’t meet his gaze directly but don’t move your hand away either.

“It’s your job to help us if we get sick or injured in battle. It’s not your job to help us every time we get drunk and accidentally shoot or stab each other.”

“Very good point.”

He pats your hand before pulling both of his away and standing up. “Again, you’re too good. But I’ll be around tomorrow, alright doll?”

There was that damn pet name again and you fought the urge to melt into the floor. “Thank you Beckman.”

��Thank you Doc.”

It’s embarrassing how you count down the hours until he’s at your door again, knocking on the open door with his good hand. You’re already in the thick of organization, crates of bandages, medicines, and other supplies strewn about your office.

“Oh! Hi Beckman! C’mon in.” You stand up and begin gesturing around. “It’s a bit cluttered but trust me there’s a method to the madness.”

You go through and explain what needs to be done and Benn listens carefully, asking questions when he has them. The second you’re done he gets to work, following your orders perfectly. Well, that’s one of the many reasons why he’s an amazing first mate you suppose.

The two of you work together and have casual conversation for a few hours and the time flies by in his company. Before you know it you’re almost done and working side by side with Benn on the last few things.

“Did you redo your bandage today?” You ask as you get a good look at his hand.

“And miss the chance to have your capable hands do it?” He smiles as he hands you the final box of gauze you need to put away.

“Or I think you just forgot.”

“Maybe.” He admits and you get up to get fresh bandages.

“You’re lucky you already helped me with all this work or I might’ve handed you the bandages and sent you on your way.” You hop up on the exam table you had been using to sort supplies and take his hand, carefully unwrapping yesterday’s bandage.

“Didn’t we go over this yesterday sweetheart?” His smooth tone has your heart hammering in your chest.

Sweetheart. That was a new one.

“Yeah, yeah.” You try to play it off but you know you’re flushed. You busy yourself with replacing the bandage. “Anyways, how are you feeling? Did this help?”

“Hm? Oh the distraction thing.” He thinks it over a second, watching you bandage his wound. “Mostly.”

“Mostly? Still feeling the cravings?” You finish your work but selfishly still hold his hand in yours.

“Yeah. I mean working with you did the trick, don’t get me wrong but now that I think about leaving and going back out on deck…” He shrugs. “But I guess that’s just how it’ll go for a while.”

“It will. But I’m not kicking you out, you can stay here as long as you like.” You secretly hope he sticks around, his presence made your work faster and your heart lighter.

“You’re offering to keep distracting me?” There’s a tilt to his voice that makes your heart hammer in your chest.

“Ah- I mean-“ You kick yourself internally for being so easy to fluster. “If that helps.”

Benn chuckles. “Now you’re not thinking anything dirty are you?”

Well- none of those thoughts were at the forefront of your mind before that but now? You’re acutely aware of the fact the hand you’re holding is so close to your lap and how close his chest is to your knees.

“No?” Your attempt to lie was uniquely pathetic but it earns you another laugh.

“And if I was thinking something dirty, you wouldn’t think less of me would you doll?” He slowly stands up as he speaks, tall frame hovering over you.

“I would never.” Your voice comes out as a whisper as you stare up at him.

“You’re too good to me sweetheart.” The hand not in your lap is used to hold himself as he leans further over you, face closing in on yours. “But I gotta know this isn’t just a treatment plan.”

“No- Beckman-“

“Benn.” He corrects softly.

“Benn.” You repeat. “I want this. I want you.”

That’s all he needs before he closes the gap and kisses you. His lips are chapped but his kiss is soft and the hand in your lap moves to intertwine his finger with yours. His kisses you until you’re breathless, having to pull away to gasp for air. As you do he moves to your neck, pressing delicate kisses along the sensitive skin. Your free hand comes up and tangles in his long grey hair, anchoring yourself.

“Can I-“ You moan as he mouths against the curve of your jaw. “Confess something.”

“Anything.” He stops to look into your eyes.

“You look really hot when you smoke.”

There’s a pause where he process what you says before bursting into laughter, and you can’t help but follow suit.

“So that’s why you didn’t make me go cold turkey?” You feel his smile against your neck.

“I can be a little selfish.” His body is still a little too far away so you push your hips forward, able to just meet his. Benn groans against your neck as you feel his clothed length press against you.

“Doc, be as selfish as you want.” He adjusts his stance so he no longer has to lean on his hand and uses the now free arm to pull you flush with him. You automatically wrap your legs around his hips, moaning at the friction.

“Then can I selfishly ask for you to take your shirt off?”

“Of course.” He places one more quick kiss on your lips before pulling away and taking off his shirt. You can’t help but admire his frame- broad shoulders filtering down into a narrow waist.

“Don’t go giving me an ego now sweetheart, I’ll be as bad as our captain.” His fingers play at the hem of your shirt before pushing under, calloused finger tips splaying over your stomach.

“You could never.” You press up against his touch, needy. “C’mon Benn.”

His hands slide up and push your shirt up over your head and the second the fabric is past your face he’s kissing you again, deeper than before. Your legs grip tighter around his waist, chasing any friction you can get. His hands now push against the waistband of your pants and he breaks the kiss to whisper in your ear.

“Let up a second doll.” You obey without a second thought, unhooking your legs so he can yank your pants and underwear off, stepping away so he can fully snuck them off your legs.

Long fingers hold your thighs open as he hovers back for a second, getting a good look at your soaked core. Embarrassed you go to shut your legs but you’re not match for Benn’s strength.

“Don’t hide yourself from me.” He finally moves back in, slotting his hips against yours as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. There’s a hunger to his kisses now as you press your hips up and grind against him, moaning into his mouth.

You feel those long fingers dip down between your bodies and you let up on your grinding, inviting him in. Two fingers press into you and you break away from his kiss to throw you head back in a moan. His mouth moves to your neck as his fingers take you apart, curling in while his thumb gives you the pressure you need on your clit.

“Fuck- Benn-“ You hand comes up to grip in his hair and as he hits that spot inside you you pull on his hair.

His fingers falter for a second as he groans into your neck and you smile knowingly. “You like that?”

“Don’t tease me doll.” He redoubles his efforts, a third finger sliding in that makes you see stars.

You can only hold onto him while he takes you apart with just one hand, your moans filling the air as you get closer and closer to your peak. You slap his shoulder as you feel yourself on that edge, warning him.

“Hm? Don’t worry I can feel how close you are sweetheart, it’s alright I want you to cum all over my fingers. Can you do that for me?” His low voice is right in your ear and is all you need to be pushed right over the edge.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” Benn speaks to you softly as he slowly pulls his fingers out and you whine at the loss.

You watch as his holds his fingers up and you can see them covered in your slick. You’re about to be embarrassed and turn your gaze away but then his tongue darts out and licks and sucks away all of your cum. It’s hypnotizing the way he actually relishes in your taste and you feel a whole new wave of need wash over you.

“Benn- I need you in me now.” You pull his hair tight and he chuckles.

“Who am I to say no?” His hands quickly work at his pants, pulling them down just enough to release his cock, springing up to lay at your folds.

You can’t see his dick from this angle but you can feel it- long and veiny as Benn grinds between your folds. You moan as he ruts up against your clit but you’ve had enough teasing.

“Inside- please Benn.” You whine and he presses a surprisingly soft kiss to your cheek.

He guides his tip to your entrance and he easily slides in after all the work he did moments before. The two of you groan in unison as he slowly pushes in, careful not to hurt you. He stills when he’s full sheathed in you, his head resting on your shoulders as he pants.

“Sorry- fuck doll you just feel so good- need a second.” You feel him throbbing inside you and you run your hands through his hair gently, giving him the time.

“Take your time baby. Love feeling so full.” He seems to reach and fill every last inch of you and you soak up the feeling as he gathers himself.

“Gonna start moving.” He warns you just before he slowly moves out, the drag making your toes curl.

He’s slow and steady and you can feel every inch of him moving in and out of you. One of his hands is holding him steady against the table while the other is on your hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin there.

“You feel so good sweetheart- so warm and tight around me- knew you’d feel good doll.” He whispers loving praises into your ear as he thrusts and you grip the base of his ponytail to anchor yourself.

It’s not long before his pace picks up and you lock your legs around his waist as his thrusts get rougher and deeper. Your moans and the sound of his hips meeting yours fill your office, the lewdness of it all making your head spin.

“Fuck- I can feel you gripping me doll- you close? Keep- fuck- keep sounding like that I’m not gonna last long.” The hand on your hip moves and one of those damn fingers finds your clit again. You yank on his hair and grin at the way his pace stutters when you do so. “Just like that doll- please-“

You can’t deny him- not when he’s making you feel this good. You pull on his hair as your other hand grips onto his shoulder for dear life. Praise spills out of Benn’s mouth as he thrusts into you and works your clit and there’s nothing you can do but take what you’re being given. It’s not long before you feel your orgasm building up, vision blurring at the edges as you throw your head back.

“You’re almost there aren’t you sweetheart? Need to feel you cum around me- fuck- please doll.” He sounds so needy and at his demanding you’re pushed over the edge again, cumming around his cock.

“Shit-“ Benn spits out as he quickly pulls out of you and right as he does so you feel his warm cum splatter onto your hips and stomach.

The two of you catch your breath, still holding each other closely as you both figure out how to speak full sentences again. Benn’s the first to regain functions, pressing a kiss to your forehead before untangling himself from you. He walks away but you see him go over to your sink and wet a wash cloth, coming back over and cleaning you up. You hum in appreciation, kissing whatever skin of his you have access to as he works.

“So Doc, if I ever need a distraction…” His hands hold your hips as he looks down at you with a smile.

“Then you can come find me.” There’s a slight pause before you add on- “Preferably in a bed next time.”

The two of you laugh and you’ve never been so happy with a course of treatment.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #benn beckman x reader #x reader #discordantwritings

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