#it's not my fault the entire fucking company reports to me

[closetspngirl]

You ever try to hold in a breakdown because you're at work and you don't want to talk about it with anyone but you don't have a way to expend the energy so you're just vibrating with said energy?

And then you lose your whole appetite (after you had lunch delivered to the office) because of said whatever the fuck this is?

Yeah. Same.

#I'm fine #it's fine #everything is fine #just kidding #not the owner of my (small) company pulling me in a meeting with hr because of my friendship with one of the bartenders #there is zero romantic involvement #I feel like everyone knew a secret about me and I had no idea #this sucks #I want to cry #I swear we're just friends #it's not my fault the entire fucking company reports to me #that's 70 people #I can't process this #I'm sad #confused #upset #worried #like...do I still have a job? #I think so #I mean it seemed that the owner would go to bat for me before my friend #but then he said something about my boss having concerns #like...what? #le sigh #long post in the tags #thank you for coming to my ted talk #I'll be sitting in my office with the lights off the rest of the day #happy Friday

[nsomniacsdream]

I know I'm late responding to that "stuff the cops can just do to you" post, but what's equally nuts is just how cops can *not* do things they are actually supposed to do, and just get away with it with no consequences. Cops, on paper have a lot of responsibilities. For instance, they are meant to respond to calls for car accidents so they can file a report determining who exactly is at fault. For insurance purposes, if nothing else. I was in a car accident not too long ago. I was rear ended at a stop light by someone who then attempted to run away. They would have gotten away with it if I hadn't chased them down and cornered them in a small parking lot. I tried to resolve the situation without incident, but the other party was unwilling to provide any of their information. I, of course, called the police to report an accident and a hit and run. After three hours of no officers showing up, my insurance company tells me that if they haven't shown up yet, then they aren't going to. I eventually managed to coerce these people into giving me their ID and insurance. I think they were about to miss something important if I kept them there any longer. Either way, I got what I needed and left. On my way out, about three minutes down the road, what do I see but a patrol officer sitting there in his fucking camaro (payed for by the city, of course) twiddling away on his phone. For three hours, there was a cop sitting there, *the entire time.* It's absurd. These people appear to be good for absolutely nothing beyond beating, murdering, and abusing people, but we blow our budget every year making sure they have nothing but the best. Our schools fail our children, our roads and bridges are falling apart, our parks are in disrepair, social services are holding on by a thread, but God forbid that Billy Skullbasher and friends not get to roll around town in luxury sports cars. It's absurd!

Their duties extend only to protecting property, a car accident doesn't rate very high on that.

#yup

[pruning-the-minds-garden]

The monthly phone call...

... with my mother. Gah.

(Well okay maybe bi-monthly, or as infrequently as I can get away with. I'm near 40 and despise talking to her because the relationship has only deteriorated as time has gone on. I would cut off contact completely but frankly, at this point, if I cut off contact then both of her children will have entirely done so. Maybe - definitely - that's her fault, but I still feel like that'd be too much. Anyway.)

Yeah cutting the rest because nobody needs to read me venting but I need to write it for my own good.

Why did she call me two days before the midterm elections?!? She knew she was going to be in an imagined frenzy over some illusory threat that Fox News spun up as the Storm of the Century, in order to make her vote Straight Red on election day, and yet she called me.

She felt the need to insinuate every stupid lie on the phone with me (we're gonna run out of diesel! Supply chain's going to break! Armageddon's coming! taxes are through the roof! ... I'm fortunate she didn't start talking about transgender sports or I'd have lost it), forcing me to decide whether to swing at those pitches or let them whiz past my ears. Why is it that in a call to "check on me" she felt the need to tax my mental health like that? What the fuck is wrong with her?

I'm fucking tired of the woman insinuating that I don't know how to read or understand anything, and yes I pushed back on some shit because I was tired of it. I know how to read reports from the Energy Information Administration. I have been working in the petrochemical safety and regulation sector for a DECADE now, I routinely read reports exactly like that one. You, on the other hand, are a fucking accountant. Get a grip on yourself, woman. This is exactly like when you lectured my brother - a MOTHERFUCKING DOCTOR, a practicing hospitalist running a whole-ass hospital - about COVID.

Also, I didn't want to get a damn Armageddon Food Survival Pack for my BIRTHDAY, no fucking thank you. One, that's a shitty birthday gift. Two, if the Apocalypse really does come I will either (1) be dead, (2) join a collaborative socialist commune like a proper human being weathering a storm or (3) be fucking dead. Three months of shitty freeze dried not-pemmican ain't gonna help me. If I really do want food I will just get together with my friends, some of the local left-leaning LDS folks (yes they do exist), and we'll make it work.

Jesus FUCKING Christ... my birthday ain't until the end of the month. Wait until Wednesday and THEN give me a call.

You spent like fifteen minutes on the phone telling me how all the "totally not pharmaceuticals" you are taking (psssst: vitamins and herbs and supplements ARE pharmaceuticals, folks; they are just unregulated and so might contain anything, or nothing, and you have no way of knowing how they will interact with what you are taking) cured your anxiety and how you are cool as a cucumber now... and then the rest of the time FREAKING THE FUCK OUT about the state of the world. You do get that people who are being adequately treated for generalized anxiety disorder do not do that, right?!? Ever since your big health scare of a decade ago you have cPTSD and could benefit from therapy as well as pharmaceutical interventions, but like all boomers you are clinging to Garcinia cambogia and green coffee extract like it's a buoy in a hurricane that will let you tough this thing out, and pretending you don't have a problem.

At least dad, when HE had a problem, had the humility to listen to his sons and seek help. That's why we still talk to him and love him and value his company. You? I dread every time I see your name come up on my phone.

#yelling at me or criticizing me for being harsh is not welcome here #I recognize that this is probably overly harsh and not fully considered #I am VENTING #Let me vent #politics #stupid politics #conspiracy theories #how in jesus fuck do people believe this shit?

[idy-ll-ique]

temperamental

pairing: ceo!bucky barnes x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut

warnings: tiny bit of smut at the end

requested: yes by my bestie @roguese7en

Rude ceo au ! Where the character yells at the reader for "not doing their job properly" so r goes to the bathroom to let out some steam (cry) and character accidentally walks in (maybe they're talking on the phone and walk in the wrong gender toilet ) and reader is like .. this is the ladies toilet but with red , puffy eyes and hoarse voice and c is like oh sry but internally (oh shit they're crying. I made them cry ) . Then they all go home but he apologizes the next day (or comes to r house and apologizes )

word count: ~5.2k

summary: bucky's journey from being a rude, self-centred, egoistic and arrogant CEO to the softest soul, all thanks to y/n

author's note: hiya peeps! sorry babe i changed the plot a little bit but it's only because i loved writing it,,,, enjoy!

masterlist

---

"Is he here yet?"

Y/N glanced at her coworker with a small smile. "He's not, why are you asking? Can't wait for him to arrive?" She laughed when her friend, Lauren, hit her on the arm. "Having feelings for that guy? I bet no woman does! Yes, he's handsome but isn't he a bit… temperamental? Which woman is going to tolerate him?" Y/N pursed her lips and nodded.

Lauren was right. Their boss, James Barnes was indeed a handsome man but no eligible woman in the company had a crush on him. None of them. All because of the fact that James, or Bucky as he went by, had really bad anger issues. He lost his cool at the smallest of things, even going so far as to threaten an intern when she got his coffee order slightly wrong.

Working under him was like constantly being around a grenade that had been unpinned, but which refused to explode. It could explode at any moment. All of a sudden, the two ladies heard the elevator doors opening and immediately looked away from each other, watching Bucky's feet as he walked by them without a word. He was also very rude.

When the door to his office slammed shut, Y/N let out the breath she was holding. "I just… ugh, forget it," she muttered and looked down at her file. She had to submit some reports to Bucky that day, and now that he was finally here… "I'll be right back," Y/N whispered to Lauren and stood up with her file in her hand, walking towards Bucky's office.

She knocked on the door, waiting as Bucky's gruff voice called out, "Come in." Slowly opening the door, she poked her head into the room, taking a quick scan before fully opening the door, walking in. "Good morning, Mr Barnes," she greeted him as cheerfully as she possibly could, "These are the reports you asked me to prepare yesterday."

Bucky didn't even look up from his phone, so Y/N silently kept the file on his table and turned to leave. "Just where do you think you're going?" Bucky growled behind her and she froze. He'd never spoken to her that way before. She swiftly whirled around and started apologizing. "I just— you didn't even look up when I came in so I assumed—"

"There you go, making it seem like it was my fault," he scoffed, staring at her for a minute before finally picking the file up, skimming through it. Y/N squirmed on the spot, shuffling her feet as she waited for Bucky to ask her to leave. But as he went through the file, he suddenly paused. "What is this?" he whispered and Y/N's breath hitched. Oh, I fucked up.

"Wh-what, exactly—"

Bucky abruptly stood up and slammed the file on the desk. Y/N jumped at his aggressive behaviour, involuntarily taking a step back. "There are so many typos on this page," he hissed, "How is anyone supposed to understand what you have written? Is this what you've joined the company for? To do half-assed work? What is wrong with you?!"

Y/N stared at him, shocked. The thing is, she'd just broken up with her ex-boyfriend the previous night, and stayed awake the entire night, finishing the report. "Well? Cat got your tongue?" Bucky snorted and Y/N blinked back tears. After a painful breakup, she didn't want to face her boss' wrath as well. "S-Sorry, sir, I— I promise I will fix it right away—"

Bucky held up his hand. "I'll ask someone else to do it. Don't want you messing up any further. Now leave." Taking in a deep breath, Y/N nodded and turned around, leaving his office. Instead of going to her desk, she turned towards the bathroom and went there, closing the door behind her, letting her tears fall free as she stood in front of the mirror.

She didn't care that her make-up was getting ruined. How dare that man talk to her in that tone of a voice? It was just one page, the rest of her report was fine! And even if it wasn't, he did not have the right to be so demeaning to her. The heartbreak from her break-up, the shattering words of her boss… everything hit her all at once. A loud sob left her lips and she sank to the floor, covering her face.

Inside his office, Bucky was going over Y/N's report once more when he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to go pee. Getting up, he walked out of his office and towards the bathrooms. In a hurry, he didn't realize where he was headed and accidentally opened the door to the women's restrooms. There, his eyes landed on Y/N's shaking figure.

He froze. She was sitting on the floor, knees brought to her chest as she hugged herself, her sniffles making him realise that she was crying. She was crying because of him. He stood there for a minute, before snapping out of his thoughts and closing the door, going to the correct restroom this time. When the door slammed shut, Y/N looked up.

Clearing her throat, she stood up and straightened out her clothes, somehow fixing her face before walking out of the restroom, her head hanging low. By the time she was done Bucky was back in his office, standing near the glass walls as he thought about Y/N. Was it like this with all his employees? Was he making them all miserable?

He felt a pang in his heart and sighed, rubbing his eyes before returning to his desk. Now he knew why everyone became quiet when he entered the room, why they never even looked at his face while talking to him, why everyone would stop laughing in his presence, why no one seemed happy when he was around.

"What the hell am I doing?"

---

Ding.

The smile on Y/N's face instantly vanished when she heard the elevator. Turning to the book in front of her, she secretly watched as Bucky walked by her desk. But all of a sudden, he paused. Right in front of her. Not daring to look up, Y/N kept her eyes on the book in front of her, holding her breath in. She then heard something being put on the desk and Bucky kept walking.

When he was finally gone, Y/N looked up and saw all her friends, the other employees, staring at her in shock. Then, she finally noticed the cup of coffee and a bouquet of flowers resting on her desk and gasped out loud, picking the bouquet up first. "Y/N, what is going on?" Lauren blinked at her. "I don't know, I… did Mr Barnes keep this here?!"

"Of course he did, dumbass! Is there a card or something attached to the bouquet? Any explanation for this?" Y/N thoroughly checked it. "Nope, no card." She kept the flowers away and picked up the coffee, suddenly noticing the words written on the cup. "I'm sorry about yesterday. Please forgive me," she whispered to herself and blinked a couple times in shock.

He was apologizing? The man whose pride and ego reached the heights of Burj Khalifa was apologizing? This had to be a fever dream. Shaking her head, she opened the cup and took a sip, a small smile blooming on her face. How did he know this was her favorite coffee?

Bucky, who was nervously watching from afar, hidden from view, grinned widely at the smile. She accepted it! She accepted his apology! Clearing his throat, he whirled around and ran back to his office with a skip in his step.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he called out and Lauren entered the room holding a file. "Sir, the report you asked me to rectify yesterday," she said firmly, placing the file on his desk. "Thank you," he nodded and picked the file up, completely ignoring the shocked look that Lauren gave him. She walked out and returned to her desk, paralyzed.

"What happened?" Y/N laughed seeing her friend. "He said thank you," Lauren mumbled, "He actually said thank you." Even Y/N paused, both the ladies staring at each other. "First he gives you flowers and coffee, next he says thank you and speaks politely— what the hell happened between you two yesterday?" Y/N gasped and shook her head.

"He fucking yelled at me yesterday! What— that guy hates me, it's not what you think! He thinks I'm incompetent and lazy and… and stupid and he made it very clear yesterday! You know what—" Y/N grabbed the bouquet and tossed it into the trash can between both desks. "—Fuck him. He's rude and arrogant and egoistic and… and a bum!" Lauren nodded slowly as Y/N leaned back with a huff.

Unfortunately for both of them, Bucky was, again, watching them and heard every single thing Y/N said. And when she tossed the bouquet into the garbage can, actual tears formed in his eyes but he blinked them away, because he knew he deserved every word she said. He was rude. He was arrogant. He was egoistic. And a bum.

But seeing his precious bouquet in the trash still made his heart hurt. Returning to his office, he slammed the door shut and locked it, picking up a bottle of whiskey from a shelf.

He stayed in his office the whole day, downing around 2 bottles of his strongest whiskey in the meanwhile.

---

Precisely at 5:30 in the evening, his whole body buzzing from the booze he’d had, Bucky left his office. It was dark outside, everyone was already gone; he switched on one of the lights- the one above Y/N’s desk. Walking towards it, he bent over and picked up the fallen bouquet, straightening it as he gazed at it.

“Why won’t you accept my apology, Y/N?” he whispered to himself, a lone teardrop sliding down his cheek when he remembered how viciously she’d thrown the bouquet away. At least she drank the coffee, though… As he stood there, crying to himself, drunk out of his mind, he suddenly heard a gasp a few feet away. “Mr Barnes?”

He whirled around. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” he stammered, rushing to cover up his tears. “I- I came back for the bouquet…” she confessed truthfully, shuffling her feet. Y/N had never seen the man like this; so vulnerable and open. She’d just thrown the bouquet away to convince Lauren there was nothing going with her and Bucky.

She was planning on coming back later. “But… but you threw it away. Why?” Bucky sniffled. Y/N tentatively walked forward, holding her hands out. Bucky placed the bouquet on them.

“Because Lauren assumed something was going on between us. You’ve never been so generous with other employees, you know,” she explained and Bucky blinked a few times before nodding. But the nodding made stars appear in front of his eyes; he swayed forward and fell right into Y/N, who squeaked but held him up.

“Mr Barnes, are you drunk?!” Only then did she notice the strong smell of whiskey coming from his body. He babbled out some nonsense. Y/N sighed and kept the bouquet on her desk, this time properly wrapping her arms around the much taller man.

“Should I take you home?” she offered and Bucky mumbled out a ‘yes’ in her shoulder. He grabbed the bouquet as she turned to leave, both of them somehow managing to get to the elevator without tumbling down.

Upon reaching the parking lot, Y/N got him into the passenger seat of his car, getting into the driver’s seat herself. Bucky dozed off in the next second, and Y/N only shook her head before starting the car and getting out of the parking lot of the building. Thankfully the built-in GPS in his car had his address in it.

His place was 20 minutes away. Her hand automatically went to the radio, but stopped last minute when she saw Bucky asleep. The radio would disturb him; it was better to suffer in silence for the day. Then she chuckled; how pathetic was this man? All this just because she threw his present away?

But why did he give her a present in the first place? He said it was because he felt bad about yelling at her the day before. Was he finally becoming soft? Maybe he found a woman who was bringing out the soft side in him. Yeah, that was probably it.

When she finally reached his place, Y/N was rendered speechless. This man lived in a fucking mansion! The gates opened and Y/N drove in, stopping right in front of the main door. Oh, there were stairs… She got out of the car and went to Bucky’s side, opening the door before shaking him awake.

“Mr Barnes, we’re home,” she whispered and Bucky sat up, rubbing his eyes. “For you, milady, thanks for dropping me home,” he smiled goofily, handing her the bouquet once again. She laughed and accepted it, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You are a gentleman.” Bucky squealed loudly as he covered his cheek.

Y/N burst out laughing at his pathetic behaviour. “Bucky?!” she heard and turned to see a blond haired man along with a dark-skinned man walking out of the mansion. “He’s drunk,” she informed both men as they got Bucky out of the car.

While the blond-haired man worked on getting Bucky inside, the dark-skinned man turned to her. “I’m Sam Wilson, and that was Steve Rogers. We’re Bucky’s friends. How do you know him?” He glanced at the bouquet in her arms.

“Oh, I’m Y/N! I work for Mr Barnes, I’m his employee. It was nice meeting you, sir, I should really head back now.” Sam smiled knowingly. “It was nice meeting you, Miss Y/N, please allow me to drop you home.” He gestured to the car. Y/N got in and Sam drove out through the main gates.

“Did he give you the bouquet?”

“Yeah, it was so random! He kinda yelled at me the day before and him yelling at us is actually very common but when he gave me the bouquet I was shocked because he has never given any of us a gift before and he said it was because he made me cry y-” She suddenly paused and chuckled nervously. “I mean, he felt bad about yelling at me.”

Sam spoke nothing.

---

“Ugh, my fucking head- ow! Ow! Sam, what the-”

Bucky had just walked into the kitchen, head still hurting from the day before when Sam attacked him, hitting him repeatedly with a rolled up newspaper. Steve simply watched, taking a sip of his tea. “Stop! Steve, tell him!” After 10 minutes, Sam threw the newspaper on the dining table. “What the actual fucking hell is wrong with you?”

“Get me some aspirin, asshole,” Bucky mumbled, slumping down on his chair as Sam fetched him the medicine and a glass of water. “You have an employee who is the embodiment of sunshine, works hard, is good at her job, who looked after you when you were hammered out of your mind yesterday and you made her cry?”

Even Steve was intrigued now. Bucky did not say anything, continuing to stare at the table in front of him. “Well? Aren’t you going to say something?” Sam huffed. “I apologized,” Bucky muttered and Steve’s jaw dropped. “The girl who dropped him off?” he asked and Sam nodded. “Why would you make her cry?!” Steve yelled at Bucky.

Bucky winced and covered his ears. “I told you I apologized.” Sam scoffed. “You wrote it on a damn coffee cup, man. It’s disposable just like your fucking apology. You should’ve said it face-to-face like a man. And why are you so strict with your employees in the first place? You know they’re what make your company successful, right?”

Bucky kept silent. “I’m trying to improve,” he said a few minutes later, “Honest. Seeing her cry, I just- I promise I’ll work on it.”

As Bucky continued staring at the glass of water in his hand, Steve and Sam looked at each other. Steve raised a questioning eyebrow, Sam nodded and both of them smirked.

After all, it was very obvious.

---

"Good morning, Lauren! Ooh, what's this? Thanks for the coffee, babe," Y/N smiled as she kept her bag away, sitting on her chair. There was a cup of coffee on her desk, and she assumed Lauren had bought it for her. "Coffee? Oh, this is not from me, it was here when I came in too!" Both women stared at the cup in confusion. Lauren leaned towards Y/N. "Do you think it's poisoned?" she whispered.

Y/N's eyes widened. "Probably Mr Barnes trying to poison me for fucking up the report 2 days ago. I'm not drinking this," she huffed and picked the cup up, going to the bathroom to pour the coffee down the drain. After doing that, she threw the cup away as well and finally got back to her daily work.

During lunch break, Y/N and Lauren, along with the others went to the cafeteria to have some food. While the floor was clear, Bucky walked out of his office with another cup of steaming hot coffee, placing it on Y/N's desk again. I promise it's not poisoned. JBB x

"No because he's so funny and for what?" Y/N laughed when Lauren wheezed, both of them returning to their desks after the break. But as soon as Y/N sat down, she noticed the cup. "Hey, what the hell? Somebody is actually trying to kill—" She picked it up but froze when she saw the writing on it. JBB? James… James Buchanan Barnes? Bucky? Why would he get her coffee again?

She opened the cup and took a sip. Turns out, it actually wasn't poisoned. So she wasted a good cup of coffee for nothing in the morning?! "Man," she groaned and quickly finished drinking the coffee, throwing the disposable cup away before, again, getting back to her work.

The day couldn't end soon enough. As she was packing up to leave, Bucky walked past her without a glance. "Mr Barnes!" she blurted out and he paused, but didn't turn around. Lauren looked at Y/N with wide eyes but Y/N nodded confidently and Lauren raised both arms in surrender, leaving. The floor was soon clear. "What happened, Miss Y/N?"

"I, uh… thanks for both the coffees, I'm sorry I threw one away." He finally turned around and Y/N almost swooned at the gorgeous smile on his face. Wait, what?! No! This guy was… was— "No worries, Miss Y/N. It's actually a good thing you threw it away, never consume something when you don't know who gave it to you." She nodded demurely.

Both of them simply stood there, gazing at each other until Y/N cleared her throat. "I, uh, goodbye sir, I'll see you tomorrow." She swiftly walked past him, head downcast, her cheeks heating up. Why was she gazing at him like that?! Bucky, when she was out of earshot, jumped high and pumped his fist in the air, a huge smile on his face. Progress!

With a grin on his face, he went to the parking lot but stopped in his tracks when he saw Y/N there, frowning at her car. "Is everything okay, Miss Y/N?" he called out and startled, she whirled around to face him. "Oh, um, a flat tire… it's okay, I'll walk, my home is not that far—" Bucky scoffed. "Nonsense! I'll drop you home." He nodded towards his own car.

Y/N blinked a few times at him. "Our houses are in the opposite direction, Mr Barnes, please, I'll go. I promise I'll be okay—" She suddenly cleared her throat and whispered under her breath, "Not that you care anyway." But Bucky had sharp ears. He ignored the comment for the time being and gave her a smile.

"If you say so. Have a safe trip home."

She awkwardly stood there as Bucky got into his car, waiting for him to leave first. When he was gone, she groaned and covered her face, shaking her head. Why did she not want to be in a car with him? Well, since he was finally acting like a decent human thanks to his girlfriend, she didn't want to do anything that would ruin it.

Her dropping him off when he was drunk was understandable, but both of them in the same car, sober? What if his girlfriend wrongly assumed things, what if Y/N got in between their relationship? What if they broke up? Bucky would return to his monstrous ways and she definitely did not want that to happen.

Dejected, Y/N stepped out of the parking lot as well. "Well, it's gonna be a long walk home, Y/N, brace yourself."

---

3 months passed. Bucky was much more open and polite now, even laughing loudly among rooms full of people which he never did before. He said "thank you", "please", and "sorry" a lot more as well, and everyone was really happy with this change. Whoever Bucky was dating was doing a fantastic job.

Y/N was confused, though, because for 3 months, everyday, Bucky bought her coffee. Every single day, he didn't even miss one day. Why was he buying her a gift everyday? Did he feel that bad about yelling at her all those months ago? "Good morning, everyone!" Snapping out of her thoughts, Y/N looked up. Bucky was walking towards her desk, a bright smile on his face.

This guy is the definition of weird.

"Good morning, Mr Barnes!" Lauren replied excitedly, smirking when Bucky placed the cup of coffee he was holding on Y/N's desk. "Good morning, sir," she mumbled. "Actually, Miss Y/N, can I see you in my office for a bit?" She chuckled nervously. "I don't know, can you?" she joked, freezing involuntarily. Oh shit, what if he got mad?!

To her surprise, he burst out laughing. "I get it! May I see you in my office?" She glanced at Lauren and nodded, getting up to follow Bucky to his office. Once in, she shuffled her feet, wrapping her arms around herself as she waited for him to speak. "I actually have a favour to ask of you," he began and she nodded. "Go ahead." He gave her a smile.

"I've just received a huge bundle of paperwork that I need to complete by tomorrow and it is definitely not a one person job so I was wondering if you'd come to my place with me tonight so we can finish working on it." Y/N paused. "I, uh— why don't you… why don't you ask Peter or— or Victor to come help?" she blurted out.

"But I asked you, though. And why did you take men's names? Do you really think I'll take advantage of you or something?" She instantly shook her head. "No, I'm just… what will your girlfriend think…" Bucky's brows furrowed. "Girlfriend? I don't have one, what are you talking about?" Y/N bit her lip to keep her jaw from dropping. So the attitude change… was it all him?

"Oh, nothing, I'll— I'll be happy to help you finish your work," she mumbled and Bucky smiled again. "Great! You may leave now, thank you." She awkwardly gave a bow and left the room, groaning loudly. "What happened, what happened?" Lauren asked immediately.

"He asked me to come over to his place to finish some paperwork or something, and turns out, he doesn't have a girlfriend! What is happening?" To Y/N's surprise, Lauren started smirking. "Aha, I knew it! Mr Barnes has the fattest crush on you, dum-dum! Why do you think he's being so nice all of a sudden? Why is he getting you coffee every morning?"

Y/N's jaw dropped; because in those 3 months, she'd started catching feelings for him, too. How could she not? He got her free coffee everyday, and now that his personality had seen a major change, what could be so bad about dating him? "Are you being serious? Him, having feelings for me? In what world?" she scoffed, letting out a nervous laugh.

Lauren only shook her head.

---

"Here goes nothing…" Y/N tugged on the sweatshirt she was wearing, before ringing the bell to Bucky's mansion. Since she had to basically stay there the whole night to finish paperwork with him, she opted to wear the most comfortable clothes she owned: sweatpants and a sweatshirt. A few seconds passed and the door swung open to reveal Bucky standing there, also in sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

"Y/N! Come in, come in." She gave him a smile and walked in behind him, looking around. "So, are Steve and Sam not home?" she commented and Bucky waved in dismissal. "They don't live here, you know. Sure, they spend a lot of time but I'm the only one who actually stays here." Y/N snorted at his words. "If my friend had a mansion I'd never leave too."

Bucky laughed along. They walked up the stairs and into a room, which turned out to be Bucky's home office. It was a very spacious and luxurious room, with a desk, two chairs, shelves of books, a couch, two armchairs, a teapoy… "Wow," Y/N whispered, "I don't understand why you don't just work from home because look at this place!"

Bucky was grinning from ear-to-ear. "Let's get to work," he replied cheerfully instead, pulling out a chair for Y/N. They sat face to face at the desk and Bucky handed her a file, which she quickly went through. "Do you want to listen to music? Because I do." Y/N waved in dismissal and soon, soft tunes started playing from the radio kept on the desk.

The atmosphere was calming; the smell of the air freshener, the dim lights, the soft songs on the radio, just the two of them in the room… Y/N almost yawned out loud but caught herself, shaking her head. No, you can't sleep, there's work to be done! She cleared her throat, making Bucky look up. "Is everything okay?" Y/N looked up as well. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, you cleared your throat so I thought…" Her cheeks heated up and she swiftly shook her head. Both of them got back to work again. A while passed. This time, Y/N yawned loudly and bashfully covered her mouth, wide eyed. Bucky only laughed. "Hey, it's past midnight, you can yawn if you want, you know. But we really need to finish the work today."

Once more, silence stretched on between the two. 1 am, 2 am… finally, at 3 am, Bucky turned his attention to Y/N. They were almost finished with the work. But, to his surprise, he found her with her head on the table, her pen rolled away from her fingers, fast asleep. Her cheek was smushed against the table. Bucky smiled softly and continued working without disturbing her.

15 minutes later, the work was finally over and Bucky stood up, stretching first before walking over to Y/N. He gently ran a hand over her head, smoothing out her hair. "Time to go to bed, sweetheart." With that, he bent forward and picked her up from the chair, carrying her bridal style towards one of the guest bedrooms. On their way there, Y/N woke up.

"Mr— Mr Barnes?" He hummed. Y/N gasped and covered her face in shame, burying her face in his shoulder. "Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry!" Bucky couldn't bite back his grin. Unknowingly, he pulled her closer and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "It's okay, I got the work done. Thanks for your help." But Y/N's mind was someplace else. The kiss.

He kissed her on the head. So effortlessly. She had to say though… She liked it. Could Lauren be right? Y/N kept her mouth shut. Upon reaching the guest bedroom, Bucky put her down on the bed but before he could leave, Y/N grabbed the front of his sweatshirt. "U-Uh, can I… can I please do something?" she whispered and Bucky, confused, nodded. To his absolutely pleasant surprise, Y/N pulled him in for a proper kiss.

He responded eagerly, climbing on top of her as they continued kissing. "You like me?" he panted once they pulled away. "I… yeah. Yes I do. I never thought you'd feel the same…" He scoffed. "Not feel the same? Honey, look at you! Look at what you've done! If it wasn't for you, I'd never have gotten over my issues, would never have gotten a girlfriend."

"Wait so… your changed behaviour… is all thanks to me?" Y/N stammered. Bucky chuckled and cupped her cheek before nodding. "I really, really like you, Y/N. At first I just felt bad about making you cry but as the days passed, my feelings grew. You are absolutely magical." He pressed another kiss to her head. Y/N giggled. "You are magical too!"

Bucky smiled widely. "Alright, now off to bed with you, doll, you're struggling to keep your eyes open," he spoke firmly when he noticed her biting back a yawn. "Are you gonna stay here?" He stared at her for a few seconds before nodding. "Yes. Close your eyes." She did as he told her to, but cheekily opened her eyes when she heard his clothes ruffle.

He was taking off his sweatshirt. Glancing behind him, Bucky only smirked at the way she was peeking at him. "Ha!" Y/N squealed and covered her eyes when he abruptly turned around, his chest and abs on full display. "M-Mr Barnes… what are you doing?" she whispered when he climbed on top of her again, shirtless, and pulled her hands away.

"Well, you weren't too shy just 2 minutes ago now were you?" he teased and her cheeks heated up as she furiously shook her head. Bucky connected their lips again, cupping her cheeks with both hands, hungrily devouring her. A soft moan left Y/N's lips when she felt him hardening on top of her. "Don't do that," Bucky rasped, "You're tired. I won't be able to control myself."

"Mr Barnes…"

"Shit," he cursed, "Y/N, come on doll, you are practically in a war with sleep, let it win. I promise, some other time." He got off her and lay down next to her, only to pull her close to him. But by the time he was comfortably settled, Y/N had already fallen asleep. "Good girl," he smiled to himself, "God, you're so divine."

---

a/n: thanks for reading! i know this is longer than my usual fics but i really hope it was worth the read, leave a like if you enjoyed!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #ceo!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes oneshot #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

[captains-simp]

Hi bestieeee, congratulations on 1K!!! I have a request for you!! Mommy!Nat or Dark!Nat blackmailing R into sex or else R would be fired?? Thank you

I wonder who this request is from?🤔

2.8k words

Warnings: dub-con (bordering on non-con), coercion, blackmail, unhealthy power dynamic, oral sex (giving), praise, strap on sex and cum filled strap on

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You knew Natasha was coming before you saw her; before you even heard the chilling sound of her heels against the polished floors of the 46th level. You knew because you saw it in your coworkers eyes. You saw the way they cowered behind their desks and averted their eyes or made a swift exit from the area entirely. You knew because that was just how it worked at Romanoff Industries.

You were lucky enough to have your own office. Well, that should have made you lucky in avoiding Natasha's piercing gaze but it did not. Most of the time she stalked down the area outside your office she came straight to you and even if it wasn't her destination she would be sure to look in as she went by.

That was one of your less fortunate days, she was coming to see you and it wasn't to deliver a compliment about your hard work. Your boss let herself into your office without knocking and strolled over to your desk, her hips swaying in the mesmerising way they always did in those incredibly tight skirts.

"What happened to that report that was meant to be sent to me hours ago?" She demanded as she stood in front of your desk.

"Apparently someone picked up on some faults of the latest design so we can't do anything right now." You tried to explain but Natasha never did like excuses. "I don't know when it will be fixed." You continued.

"And you didn't think to tell me this?" Natasha glared.

"I thought someone would have told you." You were right, a lot of someone's had told the redhead, but apparently she needed to hear it from you too. "It's not my job to." You couldn't help but add. You knew Natasha hated when people pointed out things she didn't want to hear, more so when they did so confidently. You were one of the few who managed it, maybe that was why Natasha seemed to have it out for you. It was just a compulsion to you, to one up your boss. Even if it rarely succeeded.

You had always had mixed feelings about Natasha. Sometimes you thought when she went home at night she venturer into some cave that led to the pits of hell where she returned to her rightful throne. Other times that tough and stubborn show she put on was nothing short of admirable. There was no doubt it was what got her her success and therefore gave you a job. It was just hard to deal with when it was aimed at you individually, or what you could argue felt like personally.

"Don't give me that." She snapped. You were aware of all the eyes of your coworkers looking in on the pair of you and hanging on every word that was exchanged.

"You know full fucking well if something you're doing is going to be delayed you tell me." She was leaning both hands on your desk and leaning over to get closer to you. With such a short distance between you you had no choice but to stare back into her forest green eyes, like hell you were going to look away and back down.

"You can write that fucking report anyway. I want it on my desk today." Today? There was no way you could get that done in office hours, you would have to be working long past when you were meant to usually go home. "And when the design has been fixed you can write another one on it." She was testing you, willing you to say something you would regret. You weren't going to fall into her trap.

"Okay." You said, holding her gaze.

She didn't say anything else. Natasha stood there for another few seconds to watch you, waiting for something, anything. Then she stood back up straight and headed towards the door that she slammed closed behind her and marched back to her own luxury office.

That could have been an email.

*

It was approaching midnight when you finished the report. You were about to email it to Natasha when you remembered she wanted it in paper form so you begrudgingly sent it off to the printer.

It was a waste of paper you thought as you trudged over to the elevator that quickly arrived as there was no one else in the building. You figured Natasha just wanted to be that extra bit difficult. Well, you knew that was what she was trying to do.

You had worked with Natasha for longer than most, you knew her. Or rather, you knew the front she painted. You knew what annoyed her, what she wanted, what she thought of certain people and you could predict how she would conduct business down to the exact price tag of a product. But you didn't know her personally, sometimes you wondered if there was anyone who did.

You knocked on your bosses door and waited until she called for you to come in. You planned to simply walk in, put the paper on her desk and walk out to go home but once you were several steps past the door Natasha called for you to close it.

She didn't look up at you as you trudged across the ridiculously big office and put the papers down. It was only when you turned around that she spoke again.

"Stay." Was all said. You bite back a comment about not being a dog.

You turned back around and expected some speech and your attitude earlier but continued making notes on a design plan like you weren't even in the room. A few minutes of you fidgeting on your feet and looking around the office for anything interesting, Natasha picked up your report and leaned back in her chair to read it. She showed no signs that you had done a good or bad job with the report.

Finally, she put the paper down on her desk and went back to the plans. "Close the door behind you." Was all she said. You clenched your jaw and rolled your eyes once turned around to finally leave and go home.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, y/n."

*

Turns out it wasn't as simple as writing two reports. Design after design failed. First there was a slight issue with the batteries, then the shape, then it somehow became a liability. You mentioned all these faults in your reports, as you legally had to, but it became tedious very quickly. You always hated paperwork. It was meant to be such a small part of your job. You could only hope the sudden increase was temporary, especially as it wasn't exactly one of your strengths.

You continued to work over time and met Natasha late at night, always having to wait until she finished reading till you could leave. You thought you had to be doing at least a good job with them for your boss to never say anything, because she was always ready to point out small errors. That was until one particular night.

"These reports are getting worse." Natasha scolded. The comment made your blood boil. They were certainly not getting worse, maybe the designs were but you knew it was no fault of yours.

"The designs don't work." You fired back and crossed your arms. You had been worked tirelessly on those reports and they only stated the facts.

"Do you even care about your job, y/n?" Natasha asked seriously, angering you more.

"I've sacrificed more than I ever thought I could for a job for this company."

"You're on thin fucking ice, l/n. With the way things are going I'd be in a right mind to fire you." ...what the fuck?!

"What?" It came out as more of a whisper. After everything that you had done for the company and the years you had spent there, Natasha wouldn't really fire you, would she?

"Unless you're willing to make up for it all." She said seriously with something unmistakably dark in her tone.

"I don't more extra hours than anyone here." You said, not knowing what else she could mean.

"Not more than me, something takes quite the toll. I can hardly fit the time in to distress anymore. That's where you come in." Natasha explained as she stood up from her chair and sauntered around to the other side of the desk, the sound of her heels clicking echoing around the room.

There was a long moment of silence when Natasha left barely any space between you. You searched her eyes for any hint of what she was referring to but inevitably found nothing. Until she suddenly pushed you down onto your knees in front of her.

"Show me what other skills you have and maybe I'll consider letting you stay." She smirked down at you and ran the back of her hand across your cheek before cupping your jaw. "Entirely your call."

"Natasha this is crazy." You tried to reason but it was hard to ignore the faint throbbing you felt from being on your knees for her. "I could tell someone." For the first time ever, you heard her laugh. She threw her head back in a mocking laugh that soon turned into taunting chuckles.

"Y/n, who would believe you over me? You can be my guest and try but you'll never have another job in this city again, maybe further if I feel like it." She shrugged. You gulped and felt your breathing shake. Fuck.

Natasha, apparently impatient, hiked up her skirt and leant back against her desk to look at you expectantly. Your mouth suddenly went dry when you caught sight of her bare pussy, having not had any underwear on. You wondered if she often sat around like that. If she sauntered around the building and into your office where you could easily let your fingers wander up her skirt. Did she always leave them off for you?

"If you want to keep your job I suggest you get to work." She spoke. You tentatively moved forward and gripped onto her thighs for support, still looking up at her for any signs of a tell.

She was positively soaked. You could see her clenching in anticipation, the sight and musky smell entirely inviting. So you licked a long strip of the redhead's folds and moaned at the sweet taste of her. Sweetness was hardly what you expected given the tough and cold exterior of your boss, you hadn't expected it to be so instantly addictive either.

You pushed your tongue further inside the redhead who gave a breathy moan in response. At that, your mind was made. You sucked harshly on Natasha's clit and felt it pulse rapidly between your lips before returning your tongue to where she needed it most.

"Look at how much you're enjoying this." Natasha smirked as she looked down at the beyond contented glint in your eyes. "So good at pleasing you like mommy."

You worked your tongue tirelessly inside her, spurred on by the blissful sounds that fell from the redhead's mouth with every flick and curl of your muscle. You were lost in the incomparable taste of her and hoped it would be something that lingered on your tongue for a while. You were in awe of the way her mouth hung open in a silent scream as her eyes clenched shut every time your tongue brushed against some beautiful nerve ending. The sounds she made when you did so rivalled the faux sweetness of a siren's song. You knew the dangers of being lulled too far but you wanted to explore it entirely, convinced there was some hidden beauty that no one else could see.

"Fuck, so good." Your grip on Natasha's thigh tightened when her hold on the back of your neck did. She started to buck her hips against your mouth and her breathing patterns became more irregular. Your boss seemed lost in the pleasure she was experiencing from you as her eyes shut firmly and her movements became more erratic. But even then she held onto her power over you.

"I want you to swallow every last fucking drop." She ordered and gasped when your nose bumped against her clit. You picked up the pace of your tongue, making sure to swipe it against all the spots you had learnt made her shudder.

Her nails were practically digging into your neck when she reached her high. Her breath got caught in her throat before she gave the most animalistic moan you had ever heard. She furiously bucked her hips against your face as she rode out her high and relished in every wave of pleasure.

She recovered impressively quickly and was still raring to go, apparently having more plans for the night. She smiled down at you with a glint of the devil in her eye as she stood back and turned around to retrieve something from her desk, telling you to sit on her chair.

You were anticipating Natasha to return the favour, especially given how much she clearly enjoyed what you had to offer. Instead, she slipped a harness through your legs and pulled it up to your waist where she fastened it to sit securely. It was only when she moved away that you saw the size of the red toy, standing proudly and daringly. You wouldn't be surprised if your boss couldn't make it fit, yet again about to see that you really didn't know her. She was unpredictable and nothing short of it.

Natasha straddled your legs until her knees hit the backrest of her chair and her cunt was lined up with the toy. You went to hold her waist to guide her but your boss grabbed your wrists harshly and pinned them to the chair either side of you with a warning look.

She lowered herself onto the toy and groaned when the head of the toy alone started to stretch her. She kept her strong grip on your wrists as she looked more of the strap and you could only watch on in awe as the fake cock disappeared inside her.

Natasha moaned loudly and paused half way to adjust herself and breathe heavily before slamming herself down on the rest of the toy. "God." She grunted. "Mommy feels so full."

"Let me help you mommy." You tried but she shook her head.

"You don't get to touch right now." Was all she said before she lifted herself partly off the toy and slammed back down drawing another beautiful moan.

Your boss continued this for a while until she found herself in a rhythm that pleasured her deeply. You could see her juices smeering the toy everytime she withdrew and the sight alone made you groan, you already wanted to taste her again.

She rode you with vigor as her pace increased as did her grip on you. Profanities spilled from her mouth like a song that you wanted to join in with but you were too fixated on the sight infront of you. Natasha's bra clearly wasn't all that supportive because her breasts bounced with each thrust downwards and you wished more than anything that you could reach out and take her top and bra off to cup them, even tweak her nipples between your fingers to see her squeal.

"Gonna cum- fuck! Mommy's gonna cum on your cock and you're going to fill me up more." She said between moans and gasps. You didn't really understand what she meant by fill her up more but you weren't going to object, not when you wanted to see her cum again so badly.

She suddenly let your right hand go and grabbed on to the back of the harness. You were confused until you felt something click and Natasha was moaning louder than she had all night. "Your cum feels so good in me." She all but screamed before jerking her hips wildly and cumming around the toy.

She fell forwards slightly and grinded against the toy to ride out her high desperately. You gripped her hips with your free hand and moaned when you saw some of the cum leaking out of Natasha's pussy.

With a groan, you pulled your other hand out of the redhead's grasp and lifted her up and down onto her desk where she looked up at you with blissful eyes. "Don't go thinking you have any control." Natasha sneered but gasped when you withdrew the strap and snapped your hips forwards again.

"We'll see."

#natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #dark!marvel #dark!natasha romanoff

[andypantsx3]

subtle | shouto todoroki/reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,171 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You're determined to track down the sender, certain it's a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

There was a box on your desk.

There was a box on your desk, and the sight of it was enough to instantly set you on edge.

The box looked normal enough, if a little fancy, maybe. Its lacquered top glinted brightly under the fluorescent office lighting, its smooth, polished sides waterfalling into the soft matte of your desktop underneath. You weren’t close enough to read the inscription, but you could just make out some elegant, curling script inlaid into the top of the box, possibly the name of whichever company had produced it.

The box looked very normal, in fact. Only, you knew it wasn’t. Boxes didn’t just show up in the middle of the Todoroki Hero Agency, a campus swimming with pros and armed with layers of security so deep it took even you--Shouto Todoroki’s manager--fifteen full minutes to get through screening every morning. It was something very much like being a prison guard at Tartarus.

So either this box meant the agency was dealing with a security breach the likes of which had scarcely been seen before, or someone had mistaken your desk for somebody else’s.

Which, considering it was Valentine’s Day, made a lot more sense.

Buoyed by the realization it wasn't a security risk, you crept closer, peering at the box, and the script resolved itself into the name of the extremely fancy chocolatier in Hiroo district that you made a point of drooling over every time you had to make a house call on Shouto. Their prices were literally insane, so you had never let yourself wander inside, unwilling to shell out an entire week’s pay for a tiny set of chocolates. Even if they did look absolutely fucking unbelievable from the window.

Your mouth watered.

That confirmed it--this was a Valentine's gift, and it was definitely a mistake. For the briefest of seconds, you’d wondered if maybe you had gotten obligatory office friendship chocolates, but this was too much. Some poor, love-sodden flop had gone out, spent their week’s pay on someone they were clearly very serious about, and then proceeded to fuck the entire thing up by plonking their gift straight onto your desk instead of their intended’s.

You frowned, quickly checking the box over for some kind of clue as to who had left it. There was no note included, nothing even mildly helpful that would give you the slightest hint of the person who'd left it here. Which left you with the question of how to return the box to the sender without knowing who they were, or how to pass it on to whoever they’d really meant it for.

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, staring hard at the surface of the box like you could crack its code if only you glared hard enough. The box stared back at you, unhelpfully silent.

You were still skewering the box with your gaze some minutes later, determined to unravel its secrets, when a deep voice murmured from your doorway.

“You look puzzled."

You startled, whipping around to find Shouto propping up the wall, looking as unfairly handsome as usual. He was watching you intently, those heterochromatic eyes fastened to your face in that careful way he had, the one that always made you feel too warm and slightly unfocused. As usual, it was all you could do to remind yourself that you were a professional and he was something solidly between a friend and a coworker, and no matter how cute and attentive he was, you shouldn't get any ideas.

This morning, he was dressed in his hero uniform, tall and broad-shouldered, his distinctive hair only a little ruffled from his early patrol. It wasn’t often someone tried something in the districts he watched over anymore, probably too nervous to find themselves on the wrong end of the number four hero’s temper. You knew from the reports you received to your phone that the only trouble he’d encountered this morning was a pack of amorous school girls purposely misusing their quirks to draw his attention.

Thirty minutes ago, in fact, you’d almost spit out your coffee laughing at a photo of him looking wildly uncomfortable as he attempted to ice down some girl’s lava quirk with his right hand while fighting off her unfathomably enormous bouquet with his left. It was only right that he should suffer once a year, when every other day he got to stalk about as handsome as you please, oblivious to the effects his appearance had on every breathing person within a five mile radius.

You gave him an absent nod, gaze drawn back to the box on your desk.

“Somebody accidentally left something in here,” you told him, gesturing to it. “I’m trying to figure out how to track down who it was, or who it was meant for.”

Shouto made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost like a cough, and it was enough to startle you into looking up at him again.

“What?” you asked, peering at him. Was he coming down with something? It wasn't often he got sick, but when he did, he usually attempted to hide it and needed to be steamrolled into taking time off. You looked him over, trying to assess whether or not you needed to start badgering him now.

Shouto gazed back at you evenly, his expression deceptively bland. “...You think it’s not for you.”

You felt yourself blink at him, surprised by the comment and struggling to discern his meaning. What did he mean, you think it’s not for you? “Of course it’s not for me, Shouto, it’s from Grégoire Chardin.”

You knew he’d know the place, considering he lived in the same fancy rich people neighborhood as the chocolatier, but Shouto looked unimpressed.

“Why should that mean it’s not for you?” he asked, his tone dry.

The remark caught you off guard, as his comments sometimes did, and you bit down something like a smile. Bless his sweet, oblivious, rich boy heart. Either he overestimated your appeal to his agency staff, or he really did not understand the concepts of cost and return on investment.

“It’s expensive, it’s not something you would give someone as obligatory chocolates,” you explained, watching as a white eyebrow went up. His expression sharpened into something you couldn’t read well.

“It could be a secret admirer,” he said.

You stared blankly back at him, absolutely floored by the idea.

He thought you had a secret admirer? The idea sent an excited thrill all the way down to your toes, but you quickly squashed the feeling. So far, you'd never been on the receiving end of any furtive but romantic gestures, and you really didn't get any interested vibes from anyone in the office, no lingering glances or excuses to spend more time with you. The person who paid you the most amount of attention was Shouto, which was to be expected, considering how closely you worked together. And obviously he wasn't interested, he was just happy to stand in your doorway spouting wild conspiracies about his agency staffers like they were completely reasonable things to say.

“I don’t have a secret admirer,” you told him.

Shouto’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he took an intent step forward into your office. “Is the point of a secret admirer not to be exactly that--secret? How can you be sure?”

You couldn’t help it--you gaped at him, your face going weirdly warm. Okay, was he--was he serious? You obviously weren’t the most unfortunate creature on earth, and you even had your good days, but nobody in their right mind was going to attempt anything with you when there were girls like Nejire Hado and Ibara Shiozaki roaming the hallways of his agency. Even several of the analysts and most of the support crew had you beat out in terms of appeal--literally bless this man for his obvious indifference to your appearance.

“I, uh--thanks for your confidence in me,” you said, fighting down a laugh. “But I assure you, it definitely wasn’t meant for me. I just have to figure out who left it and who they meant it for.”

Shouto shifted impatiently, like he was waiting for something.

“You’re so certain,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“Of course I am,” you waved at him vaguely. It was actually super cute that he thought you could net yourself a dude who was willing to shell out Grégoire Chardin dollars, but you were just wasting time now, lingering over the least important part of this entire affair. “Listen, Shouto. I know sometimes men talk in the locker rooms. If you--if you hear anything, will you let me know? I just want to return it, it looks way too good sitting here.”

It was actually taking all your willpower not to open it and avail yourself of Japan’s finest chocolate, considering you would never have another opportunity like this again. Maybe you should just pretend it was for you....Really, no one could fault you for opening something left in your own office. But...no. No, you knew better.

Shouto appeared indifferent to your internal struggle. He watched you for a long moment, his features impassive. “Under one condition,” he finally allowed.

You cocked an ear to show you were listening, rifling around with the paperwork on your desk to distract yourself from the chocolate. You were strong, a good person. You had willpower like steel. You did not need to eat it, no no no.

“If no one comes looking for it by the end of the day, you will open it,” he said, moving closer.

You glanced up at him, shocked. “Shouto, this is someone else’s gift,” you hissed. “I can’t just open it.”

He placed a large palm down on your desk, leaning over you slightly. “That is my bargain.”

“You want me to steal somebody’s shit in your own agency,” you accused him. You tried not to pay attention to how close he had gotten, how straight his nose was up close, the way his eyes seemed brighter and his mouth pulled into a pout almost too pretty for a man.

The rest of his expression slipped into something like annoyance, matching his pout. “If no one comes for it, then it must be evident that it was meant for you.”

You suppressed a derisive laugh. Now was not the time to get shirty with your own boss, especially when his delusions were kind of sweet. It was honestly just short of a miracle that a man who looked like Shouto did could possibly think anyone on earth would have a thing for you, regardless of his own tastes.

“What if they’re just too shy to ask for it back?” you asked, watching those heterochromatic eyes flick over you curiously.

“If it’s as expensive as you say, someone will come looking,” he said. Which was actually kind of annoyingly reasonable.

A smirk flitted across his maddeningly perfect face when you failed to come up with another argument. He had a point, and he knew it.

You let out a gusty sigh. “Fine, but only because I’m certain someone will come looking for it. Please be subtle when you’re gathering info, okay? I'm sure this is embarrassing for whoever made this mistake.”

Shouto looked almost offended. “I am perfectly capable of being subtle,” he intoned in his deep voice.

This time, you did laugh. He was quiet, maybe, very perceptive, and unobtrusive when he wanted to be, but no one had ever accused the man of possessing tact. “Yeah, okay. Just, try to channel more subtlety than you think you need, okay? No one else but the sender needs to know about the mix up.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Shouto was leaning over you more fully, eyes glittering strangely as his clean, fresh scent met your nose. You froze in your chair, brain going horrifyingly vacant as he leaned impossibly nearer. What the fuck was he doing?

“It will be like I’m not even asking,” Shouto promised, his voice light. “Not asking anyone at all.”

You tried to scrape your thoughts back into something resembling order, but the effort was all but futile. You needed to get him out of your space stat before you embarrassed yourself.

”Okay, then it’s a deal,” you said quickly. “Now go...flambé a villain or something.”

Shouto lingered for a long moment, his mouth curling a little at the corner, like he was being let in on a secret you couldn’t hear. His eyes brushed over you, almost like a physical touch. And then he was gone, pulling open the door to your office, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

“You will see,” he said by way of farewell. “You will find out how subtle I can be.”

You stared at him in confusion, but he didn’t explain himself. He just smirked, and closed the door behind himself.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #shouto todoroki x reader

[pleckthaniel]

for what it’s worth while i do hate the democratic party and think they’re all clowns whose main job is to distract us by pretending to be helpless in the face of tyranny so that we don’t realize our collective power and begin resisting in earnest. while i do think that is true, it’s not completely fair to lay the blame for every shitty thing the federal government is doing at their feet, even though they are in charge of the government right now. the vast majority of federal power at this point lies in the bureaucracy, and the bureaucracy is a well-oiled machine, which runs more or less exactly the same completely independent of whoever’s supposed to be directing it. bear with my metaphor for a second - if the federal government is a car rolling down a hill, then the brake lines are cut. if we put the democrats behind the steering wheel and they keep steering us into trees, yeah, we can and should blame them for that. but it’s stupid to say it’s their fault for not slowing down the car. the lines were cut before biden got elected and they will remain that way after he’s gone.

actually i was going to leave it at that but i don’t want anyone to think i’m an apologist for the democratic party so let me write out my whole little essay. what i’m saying is that party politics in the united states are more or less a sham meant to keep you looking away from the true workings of power. i don’t mean this in a conspiracy-esque ‘jewish cabal’ way or in the only slightly less conspiracy-esque ‘democrats are secretly evil’ way. (although democrats are fucking evil just... not secretly. this is besides the point.)

the point is that the federal institutions on which we rest much of the workings of our society - the military, the department of justice, the police, the IRS, medicare and medicaid, the department of homeland security, the CDC, the BLM, et cetera - these are entire organizations’ worth of unelected positions that hold incredible sway in our lives, and do so with more or less no external oversight. Most of these organizations function like private companies, at their core, and they rarely ever have to report to what we think of as the “real” federal government - the President, Congress, and the Supreme Court. but in reality, they are so powerful in such a direct way in comparison to those political entities that i don’t think it would be inaccurate to say that the federal bureaucracy is itself the “real” federal government.

the point is that these institutions of federal bureaucracy are harder to grapple with because you can’t just point to a guy or a collection of guys and say, they’re the problem, like you can with simple party politics. the institutions are self-preserving and, through the format of policy and process, most of which is written by essentially-privatized individual employees, have taken on lives of their own far beyond the will of the individuals who now uphold their power due to a combination of unwillingness to bend pre-established rules, and an inability to do so without risking their livelihoods.

the thing that prompted this post is that I just saw a screencap of a tweet about how apparently democrats are now questioning the IRS because, in direct defiance of biden’s policy not to audit people in lower income brackets, the IRS has apparently increased the number of audits on poor people in the last several years. and everyone who was commenting in this post was saying things like ‘dont the democrats control the federal government?’ With the implication that the dems did this on purpose, and now they’re trying to avoid taking public responsibility and pin the blame on the IRS, which is, by implication, innocent.

But in reality, while the democrats are, again, not innocent, It’s not fair to hold them responsible for the actions of the bureaucracy because the bureaucracy truly answers to no one but itself. I don’t mean that in a “therefore no one should criticize the democrats because they’re doing their best” sense. They’re clearly not doing their best, for starters, and even if they were, they are still members of the United States government, an institution which is straight up evil in and of itself, and which would remain so even if the entire bureaucracy vanished tomorrow.

I mean it more in a sense of - if we replaced every single currently-elected democrat with someone morally better, further left, more determined to change the system, whatever qualifying factor you want - if we did that, and also all the republicans died in some kind of unexplained mass medical event so there was no one to stand in these bright young socialists’ way, and they somehow increased voting equality and et cetera et cetera -

the system would not only continue to be evil, the vast majority of peoples lives would remain completely unchanged. the institutions of the federal government are very much specifically designed to self replicate and maintain their own power regardless of who’s running them, and the institutions which hold the most power are not actually run by the people in elected positions. if you want things to change, you legitimately just have to tear the whole damn thing down.

#scout talks #anarchism #i need a catchier tag for my political ramblings but. that'll do for now

[jae-daddy]

Duff (9)

im jaebum au series 

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven  masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader  genre: angst, smurt, cheating plot: you are the duff and guys use you to get close to your best friend, Heather, and turns out Jaebum is no exception, but as time does on the tension between you and your best friend’s unofficial boyfriend grows a/n: a short one, because I really truly hated where I had left the story last time. it was not it, but I like this. it’s better than the alternative I guess. also, I am writing all of it before publishing it so <3 hope yall like it <3 

You don’t know what came first; the guilt, embarrassment or hurt. 

But you knew yourself well, and you knew guilt didn’t touch your heart until later that night when you were lying in bed. As you stared up at the ceiling, thinking about that him, for the first time guilt laid its icy fingertips on you. 

The first thing you felt was hurt. Hurt that clawed at your heart, and made your soul whimper. Hurt that cut through you entirely as you remained in his arms, watching his face. 

“Yes,” he had said, his fingers digging into your hips. 

“Yes,” you replied, breathing him in as you leaned closer to him. 

You saw his lips draw into a straight line as he pulled away and said, “No.”

“Oh,” was all you said moving away from him. 

A simple sound, not even a word to express the pain that seared through you at his words. 

No.

He didn’t want you. 

Im Jaebum didn’t want you. 

You were in his arms, your skirt drawn up to your hips as you sat on his lap. In a single breath, he changed the moment completely, and you were no longer burning in passion, but in agony. Agony of not being desired by this man, not being wanted by him, when you yearned for him. When you were begging for his lips to touch any part of you, he had turned away. 

And then came the embarrassment blazing through the darkness of lust, and it hurt. It stabbed you everywhere till you were shivering in sudden coldness. You were so embarrassed, so ashamed. You had- you had done... all of that, and all he said was ‘no.’ 

It wasn’t the rejection that the embarrassment stemmed from. It was because you had tried, because you thought it would happen, because you thought he wanted you. Because you had offered yourself to him, and all he said to express his repugnance was a simple ‘no.’ 

You climbed off him and walked out the office. Your face was on fire from the shame as you straightened your skirt. You chuckled to yourself thinking a walk of shame was better then trying to hook up with your boss only to be rejected. 

You finished work that day, and the next, like nothing was amiss. As if that moment didn’t happen. As if every time you saw him, you weren’t reminded that he didn’t want you. 

Im Jaebum didn’t want you. 

It shouldn’t hurt that bad, especially since you almost swore you hated him with your heart. But it did, it hurt truly terribly badly, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You couldn’t even feel sorry for yourself long enough too. Because as soon as the hurt and shame went away, and you looked up at your dark ceiling, you remembered her face. 

You remembered the way she had held your hand whenever you were scared. How she would give you that look every time she took your hand giving her courage. Her love, her kindness, her friendship, her. 

How for the first time since you’ve known her... for the first time, it seemed as if Heather truly liked someone and you... 

You didn’t feel sorry for yourself, or your heart that ached. You weren’t sure if the ache was because of the rejection or from the thought of loosing your best friend. But you didn’t feel sorry because what happened was your fault.

“Thanks for the files, y/n,” Jaebum looked up from his desk. For the first time, he was seated in the big boss seat without any reason. You smiled and nodded, before turning to leave, like nothing was amiss. As if that afternoon had never happened, as if you had never crossed that line.

You were almost out the door when he said, “Have a good weekend.”

Your fingers turned white on the handle, but you nevertheless you turned around and gave him a bright smile, “You too, Mr Im.” 

// 

Heather pouted as she sat next to you, before pulling you into a big bear hug. 

“It’s so nice to have my best friend back,” she sang, happily, hugging you tighter. 

You gave her small smile as you leaned into her, petting her arm, “It’s nice to be back.”

“Gosh, I’m so glad you’re done with that internship,” she huffed over the loud music of the club. 

You only nodded as you took a sip of your drink, “I still have three weeks left, Heather.” 

“Three weeks pass by like nothing,” she shook her head. She turned to you with a bright smile, “Remember Bali? Maybe now that you’re going to be more free, maybe we can...” 

She gave you a huge grin, quizzically raising her brows up and down to the music. Before she began bopping her head like a dork to the beat, “What do you say, y/n?” 

I’m sorry. 

“Whatever you want,” you smiled at her, and she exclaimed in joy. 

// 

“Mr Park Jinyoung is now officially the CEO of Spring Industries, and has sent forward a report and plan for their proposal,” You looked up to see Jaebum opening his mouth, but you cut him off knowing his question. “The file is already on your desks, and I have included a summary report from myself and Mr Paul.” 

You had a month and a bit to think about what had happened. In the beginning, you had blamed yourself. It was foolish of you to put yourself out there for him, but the more you thought about the angrier you got. 

It wasn’t all in your head. Im Jaebum did flirt with you. 

He gave you all the signals, all the green lights, and the arrows leading you to him. He basically had made a pathway for you to follow into his arms, and after all that he said no? 

No. 

No, it wasn’t your fault for putting yourself out there for him. You had done it because you thought... you felt that he too... but who knows, Im Jaebum was friendly with everyone. 

But he did tell others his wish was to kiss them?

Did he ever follow anyone to the rooftop of a club and call himself a fool for letting them go?

Did he talk to everyone about his mother?

Did he smile like that at everyone? Look at them like that? Touch them with the faintest touch of his fingertips?

But you should’ve known better. 

These rich guys never go for girls like you. 

You don’t have any money, any wealth, nothing to offer them to make their status go up. You weren’t even pretty enough to be a trophy wife. You were just a girl they could play with behind closed doors. 

But for Jaebum, you weren’t even worth that.

“Spring Industries is having a party on Thursday to announce Park Jinyoung as their new appointed CEO. They have requested your presence to show the companies are friendly--,” you once again looked up from your iPad, to find Jaebum staring at you intently. You ignored his gaze, and the rage that fumed inside you, “It’s most likely a political publicity stunt, but I would recommend you do go to the party, as it will be beneficial for you both-”

“What am I going to do about you?” 

“Excuse me?” You gasped, taken aback. 

Jaebum chuckled, humourlessly. His lips twisted into a smirk, and you realised you hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in a really long time. You tried to shove the pain shooting towards your heart away, but a pang still rang through you as you saw his sad smile. 

“How am I going to do this all without you?” He clarified himself. You stammered unable to think of something to say. Jaebum let out a sigh, “Come to the party with me.” 

“I’m afraid that’s-”

Jaebum interrupted you, making you frown. 

“Your last assignment as my secretary, Miss y/n,” Jaebum tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly as he said, “Come with me.” 

No. 

“What about Heather?” 

“I can’t go to formal gatherings with her without others assuming it's a political play,” Jaebum answered, before shrugging, “It’s too early for that step anyway.” 

Too early? They have been dating for months now, and Heather was head over heels for him, and he is saying it’s too early. 

“I-”

“Please, y/n,” Jaebum’s dark eyes bore into yours, and you held your breath. “One last time.” 

"Alright,” you sighed, defeated. 

“Thanks.” 

Thanks, love, the ghost of his past self whispered.

You swallowed the bitterness, before looking down at your iPad once again. 

“Mr Henry and Mark are...” you continued on as if nothing was wrong. 

Because nothing was wrong. 

Everything was right. 

You were about to end this dreadful internship, and come out debt free. 

Heather was in love with her boyfriend. 

Her boyfriend didn’t fuck her best friend. 

And your best friend was still your best friend. 

Everything was just right, but everything felt so wrong. 

// 

You were leaning against the rich white leather sofa and Heather’s shoulders. Your eyes were closed, as you tried not to break down in front of your best friend. 

You knew Jaebum wasn’t going to be here tonight. It was Friday night and he had a company dinner with the upper shareholders today. So, tonight you decided to sleep over at Heather’s house. 

Just like every moment you spent with her now, you wanted to burst out into tears and tell her everything. Tell her how you fell for him and his teasing words. How you didn’t mean to but you started to like him, how your heart ached every time you saw him. How terrible you felt every time you saw Heather smile at you like that, knowing that you were so close to ruining everything. 

“Hey, what’s wrong, babe?” Heather asked, her soft hands wiping the tears that fell onto your cheeks. 

You shook your head and moved away from her shoulder. You leaned into the corner of your sofa, and tried to hold in the tears. But you couldn’t. 

Your chin began to shake as more tears fell from your eyes. 

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Heather moved towards you quickly. “What’s wrong, babe? You can tell me anything.” 

You shook your head, you couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t tell her this. You couldn’t lose her. 

“I’m sorry, Heather,” you whispered into her tank top as she pulled your shaking body into her. 

“Shhh,” she hushed, brushing your hair, trying to calm your sobbing body, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s only to be okay. I’m here for you, I’m always going to be here for you. Okay?” 

You bit your lip as you cried harder. You managed a meek okay through your tears. 

After you had calmed down a bit, you leaned back and looked at your best friend. Her eyes were glistening with concern, and a few stray tears running down her face too from seeing you cry. 

You couldn't hide it from her, she was your other half. You had to tell her, but all you could manage was, “I love him, Heather.” 

I love Im Jaebum.

#duff #im jaebum #jay b #lim jaebeom #im jaebeom #lim #im #Jaebum #jaebeom #got7 #got7 jaebeom #got7 jay b #got7 jaebum #got7 series #series #fanfic #ff #jaebum series #jaebum fanfic #jaebum angs #angst #got7 angst #fluff #got7 fluff #jaebum smut #cheating #sad #rejected

[queenshelby]

Foreigner – Peaky Blinder Fanfic

PART ONE – WAY BACK HOME

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Angst (don’t worry, Smut is coming in the next part for you dirty minded people)

Words: 3462

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Your Story

It has been 8 years since you left Birmingham and embarked on a journey to the US with your parents. Your brother was killed by Arthur Shelby, after having stolen from the Lee Family and getting involved in your father’s business.

It wasn’t your brother’s fault that he resorted to stealing. In fact, it was all he had ever known since he has been a young boy. He was stealing to feed you and your mother while your father was preoccupied interfering with Thomas Shelby’s gambling business.

Over 8 years ago, your father was employed by the Shelby Family to fix races but, at the same time, he was trying to skim money from their forged winnings and it wasn’t long after your brother’s and father’s actions had come to the attention of Thomas Shelby that a war emerged between your family and the Shelby gang.

The war was bitter and a threat made by Thomas Shelby against your father’s life caused your family to flee to a safe haven offered by your aunt Esme Bortelli in Atlanta.  Just like you and your parents, your aunt was gypsy. But, she made a deal with the devil after her first husband had passed away from Spanish flu.

Her second husband was no other than Luigi Bortelli. Luigi had a direct affiliation with the North Italian Mafia in Atlanta. He enjoyed the dangers in life. Handling and dealing with cocaine, heroin and alcohol, which, at the time, was prohibited in the US.

Luigi was shot a few years ago by police along with his brother Pepe while collecting a shipment of cocaine from the port of Atlanta. Following Luigi’s death, your aunt Esme took over the family business and dealings with the North Italian Mafia. Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t taken serious by some of her suppliers. It wasn’t common for a woman to be in this kind of business. Your father became her assistant, taking shipments and dealing with suppliers on her behalf. Nonetheless, it was her all along who pulled the strings.

The business ran smoothly for several years until, one day, a dispute occurred between the Sabini family and yours. As a result, your mother was shot in your family home by Sabini’s men. Giovanni Sabini resided in the UK and was Darby Sabini’s brother. He had family in the US which operated a rival gang importing the same products as your aunt Esme. After your aunt Esme ignored several of Giovanni’s demands to cease dealings in the area and accept shipments from the UK arranged by the Changratta family, he sent his men to send a message and kill Esme’s sister (your mother).

Esme and your father soon declared war on Giovanni Sabini but, your family’s local men turned against Esme as word came to them that Sabini had turned on the Changratta Family and, as a result, Luca Changratta was killed in Birmingham and the Peaky Blinders took over the supply of alcohol and cocaine to Atlanta exclusively to Giovanni Sabini’s men. This caused the Sabini family to gain greater power within the Atlanta area, much to the disadvantage of your aunt and the North Italian Mafia.

Your aunt Esme saw only one option to rectify this issue and replenish her standing within the North Italian Mafia. She sent your father back to Birmingham to make Thomas Shelby an offer he could not refuse, namely an alliance between the Peaky Blinders and the North Italian Mafia, guaranteeing exclusive supply to the entire West Coast.

Since you had become interested in the family business over the past few years and your aunt had taught you a lot about her supply and trading operations, you demanded that you join your father during his trip to Birmingham. Whilst your father had grown fearless and calculating, you were smart and practical which is just what your aunt Esme needed in order to represent her business.

Unfortunately, whilst your aunt was suspicious of your father’s recent behaviour, what she didn’t know was that he had a very different plan of his own. He wanted revenge on both, Arthur Shelby and Giovanni Sabini, even if it would cost him his own life. For this reason, your father was against you joining him on this journey. You were his only living child.

But, aunt Esme demanded that you join him and so you went.

‘Watch him and his men and report back to me’ were your aunt’s words as you left the port of Atlanta.

Back in Birmingham

After a three day boat journey, you and your father arrived in Birmingham along with several of his men.

Three of your men were questioned by border security upon their arrival. Fortunately for them, aunt Esme’s men in Birmingham had already made pay offs and you were escorted to your hotel.

Birmingham has changed a lot since you have been there last. Most factories, bars and residences were owned by Shelby Company Limited and even the hotel you were staying at was owned by Thomas Shelby.

You never met anyone from the Shelby family. Your father and older brother both worked for the Shelbys for many years until conflict emerged between them. Nonetheless, during this time, your father shielded you and your mother from these dealings. He always said there is no place for women in this business. It therefore comes as a surprise that your father works for aunt Esme now.

You know that your aunt does not trust your father. She always tells you that your father is a danger to himself and you have begun to believe it. His anger and hate has taken over in the last few months and that is why aunt Esme has sent you.

As you finally arrived at the hotel, it became clear to you that Shelby family already had tabs on you. A note from Thomas Shelby was left at reception for your father. It was an invitation to a charity event.

‘Smart’ is what you thought when you read it. Thomas Shelby obviously doesn’t know whether or not he can trust your father. What better place to discuss their business could there be than a public event where your father and his men cannot strike against him. After all, most men in Birmingham work for the Shelby family in one way or another.

Your father, however, was not impressed with the invitation and liaised with two of his men. A message was to be delivered to Thomas Shelby at the Garrison. You only ever heard of the Garrison in conjunction with your brother’s death. This is where he was killed just over 8 years ago by members of the Lee family. But, despite this, you recalled your promise to aunt Esme, to keep an eye on your father and his men.

Shortly after the two men had left to the Garrison, you sneaked out of the hotel.

The Garrison

‘Excuse me sir, how do I get to the Garrison?’ you asked the delivery driver who was delivering Gin to the hotel you were staying at.

‘The Garrison? This is really no good place for you Love’ the delivery driver said.

‘I have business to attend to at the Garrison. I am new in town and am looking to promote a new type of champaign to all of the establishments in the area’ you explained.

‘I don’t think you are going to have much luck at the Garrison Love, but I can take you there after I finish unpacking these. It’s my next delivery stop’ the man said.

‘Thank you sir, I much appreciate it’ you said as you climbed into the man’s truck.

The drive was less than 10 minutes and after you gave the man a couple of pounds for his troubles, you climbed out of the truck and went inside the Garrison while keeping a careful lookout.

The Garrison was full of drunk men, some steel factory workers and some men nicely dressed in suits.

Unfortunately for you, you could not see the men your father had sent. You carefully removed your hat and ordered a glass of whiskey.

‘Top shelf please sir’ you said as you sat down at the quite end of the bar. To your surprise, the bar tender didn’t question you or your choice of drink. It wasn’t common for women to drink in establishments like this. In fact, it was prohibited.

You decided to stay for maybe ten or fifteen minutes to see whether your father’s men would turn up. You took a careful look around every two minutes or so but the men couldn’t be found.

There was, however, one man who caught your eye. He was incredibly well dressed for a place like this and accompanied by a beautiful blonde woman. It was obvious to you that the woman wasn’t his wife. In fact, she looked just as much out of place as you did.

His eyes were blue like the sky on a sunny day in Atlanta and his hands were perfect, clean and masculine as if they had been crafted by an artist.

You couldn’t stop starring at him. His charisma was almost overwhelming.

It wasn’t long until he noticed you too. His eyes gazed over to you several times, much to the dislike of his female companion.

His looks were intimidating and you didn’t know whether he noticed you starring at him or whether he had taken an interest in you. Probably the earlier, considering that he was obviously much older than you.

After 15 minutes had passed and you felt surprisingly awkward in this man’s presence, you quickly finished your drink and decided to call it a night. You did not think that your father’s men were going to appear any time soon and it was getting quite late.

As you left, you noticed two drunk men following you.

“Ey Love, how much for the both of us?” one of the men said as he followed you.

‘In your dreams’ you said with laughter as you turned around for a brief second as, all of a sudden, the man grabbed your wrist.

‘Feisty… I like feisty girls’ the man said as he pulled you closer towards him while his acquaintance approached you and ran his hand over your blouse.

‘Fuck off and leave me alone’ you responded angrily and with some ignorance towards their actions.

‘Oh, you like it rough love?’ one of the men shouted in return while the other pushed you against the wall.

You tried to reach for your gun which was pinned to your left upper leg as, suddenly, you heard a gunshot from near the entrance to the Garrison.

It was a dark and foggy night and you couldn’t see much more than a shadow of a man approaching you and the attackers.

‘The lady said that she wants to be left alone’ another man said from the distance while pointing a gun at the attackers.

‘Piss off man’ one of the attackers yelled in a rather drunken tone, ignoring the first gunshot that had already been fired by the mysterious man.

Suddenly, you heard a second gun shot and a loud scream from one of the drunk men right beside you. He had been shot into his left knee and was in agony.

‘The next time I will aim higher’ the gunman said as he approached you closely, just before the uninjured drunk man scrambled and ran off, knocking you down onto the gravel in the process, while the other man began pleading for his life.

‘I am… I am very sorry please. I won’t…It will not happen again’ the man said. The tone of his voice was frightened and you could tell that the men knew each other.

‘I will not see you and your friend at the Garrison again, you understand?’ the gunman said angrily before allowing the injured attacker to leave.

You were lost for words. This mysterious man may have just saved your life.

Getting to know the Stranger

‘Are you alright, Miss?’ the man asked as he put away his gun and reached for your hand to help you up.

‘Thank you, I am fine’ you said quietly.

As you looked up towards the mysterious man you noticed that he was the man you had seen before, at the bar, with the beautiful blonde lady by his side.

With thoughts racing through your head, you almost didn’t notice that your legs were shaking and you had an awful pain in your left knee.

‘You are bleeding’ the man said, but you barely noticed the red staining on your white skirt. It was like you were hypnotised by this stranger.

‘Common, lets get this sorted out for you, ey?’ the man said with a caring voice and, without further words, you followed his lead back to the Garrison.

The Garrison was still as busy as when you had left and no one really noticed you walking in.

‘Bring us some bandages and whiskey. Top shelf, two glasses’ the man said before guiding you to a private room next to the bar.

‘Thank you for your help but I am fine, really’ you said to him as he pulled out a chair from beside the table in the middle of the room.

‘If you do not get this cleaned out, it will get infected. Now sit down love’ the man instructed as the barmaid brought bandages and a bottle of top shelf Irish whisky with two glasses.

The man poured you a glass of whiskey and handed it to you. Without words, you took a hasty sip knowing that, what was about to follow, would hurt. Your mother used to clean out your wounds with whisky on numerous occasions after you had fallen off your bicycle, just not as expensive as the bottle that was standing on the table right in front of you at this moment.

Without warning, the man kneeled down in front of you and lifted up your skirt just above your knees. He poured a good amount of whisky onto your wound, which caused you to clinch your teeth and some tears escape from your eyes. He then used his handkerchief to carefully pull some pieces of gravel and broken glass from your knee before wiping the wound again with some more whiskey.

‘So, tell me, what brings a girl like you to a place like this? You are clearly not from here’ the man asked as he wrapped your knee up with a bandage.

‘Business’ you clinched as you grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and poured yourself another glass while the man finished bandaging you up.

‘Business?’ the man asked surprised as he sat down opposite from you while lightening himself a cigarette. ‘What kind of business?’ he added.

‘Export of products to the US’ you said carefully. You didn’t know who this man was so you didn’t want to reveal anything that could be of detriment to you or aunt Esme.

‘Now that is interesting’ the man said with a grin before taking a short pause. ‘Let me guess, you want to export alcohol to your country because of the prohibition’ he added.  

‘What makes you think that?’ you asked carefully with a little pretend chuckle. It was not your place to discuss matters like this and you were surprised that he caught onto you almost immediately. Could he read you, you wondered, and regretted saying anything at all.

By this time, you were quite intimidated by this man and were contemplating to leave. On the other hand, you didn’t want to be rude. After all, he had just saved you from an attack.

‘What else could you possibly export from Birmingham to America? You manufacture machinery, vehicles and weapons yourself. This means you have no need for them. You are after something you cannot get where you are’ the man said as he leaned back into his chair.

‘Let’s not talk about business’ you said nervously. You felt as though you had been cornered.

‘Alright…let’s talk about something else’ the man said before pausing again. ‘Maybe let’s start with your name. What is your name?’ he added.

‘Y/N’ you said.

‘It is nice to meet you Y/N…’ and, before the man could introduce himself, another, older man stormed into the room.

‘They fucking got him, we need to move now’ the man yelled.

‘I am sorry Y/N, I have one of my drivers take you to wherever you are staying’ the man said before storming out of the room and grabbing two guns from behind the bar. With him were several men and all you heard was yelling and cars driving off within moments after.

Family Confrontation

A young man came into the room and introduced himself as ‘Finn’.

‘Apparently, I am your driver’ Finn said rather annoyed. ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

‘Renaissance Hotel’ you answered.

‘Alright, then let’s go’ Finn said in a haste.

This was an abrupt ending to an eventful night and the drive back to the hotel was rather quiet. Finn didn’t speak a word with you, not a single one.

As you approached the Hotel, Finn wished you a pleasant night before racing off. Your guess was that he was going to join the others for some kind of fight.

It appeared to you that life in Birmingham wasn’t so much different to life you knew in Atlanta. Violence, gangs and conflicts. It all was the same.

‘Y/N, what the fuck did I tell you?’ your father shouted at you as you entered the penthouse suite.

‘Father, I am not a child anymore. I can look after myself’ you said.

‘What is this, on your knee? Your skirt is full of blood’ your father asked worryingly.

‘I fell. It turns out that heels do not go well with all the horse shit on the streets here. A nice man at the Garrison helped me to get bandaged up. It is not a big deal’ you explained, not wanting to admit that you had gotten in to trouble.

‘The Garrison? What the fuck did you do at the Garrison? This place is dangerous, you hear me Y/N?’ your father said angrily.

‘I am keeping an eye on your men, something which you have obviously failed to do as they weren’t there’ you answered, causing your father to raise his hand at you.

‘Careful Y/N. This business is not for you and I wish that your aunt would learn to understand this. Get yourself cleaned up’ your father said before walking away.

And, so you did. You ran yourself a nice warm bath, knowing exactly that it will hurt, but this was exactly what you needed. Sometimes pain makes you feel alive and there has been a lot of pain in your life in the past eight years.

Your mother never got over the grief of losing her son while your father never gotten over his hate for the Shelby and Lee family. Your aunt Esme was the one who took you in, who ensured you were educated and who had confidence in you.

Being in business with her was something you wanted. You both felt that change was needed and the success that came with the business was something that gave you satisfaction. You were running her accounts for the past two years and you knew how lucrative this business was. But did your father care about it? This was always something you were wondering about.

‘Perhaps these questions and thoughts were for another night’ you said to yourself as you poured yourself a glass of whiskey and climbed into the warm bath.

It stung terribly but soon the pain went away and all you could feel was the warmth over your body.

Your mind soon drifted off into more pleasurable thoughts about the man you had met tonight.

You only ever had been with one man before and it didn’t take long for him to bore you. That being said, he was barely a man at all. He was the same age as you and studying to become lawyer. There was no adventure and no intensity. But, this man you met tonight, who was a fair bit older than you, he appeared to be far from being boring. There was some kind of intensity in his eyes, it was almost hypnotising. His voice was calming but yet intimidating and the thoughts that appeared about him in your mind were unfamiliar to you. They were intense. They were pure pleasure.

You kept wondering who this mysterious man was and whether you would see him again.

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders #peak #peaky #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfic #arthur shelby

[the-sea-called-history02]

I Want to See My Little Boy

(Here He Comes)

(Song isn’t related to the content of the story, it just gives Hyunjin vibes to me. Don’t ask why. It just does.)

Hwang Hyunjin x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff with a good ol’ helping of angst (very sfw in my opinion)

Word Count: 1400

Warnings: fighting, cursing, frequent implications of mental health (depression, anxiety, panic attacks, low key reader has implied abandonment issues)

      You know those days where every damn thing that can go wrong does? Why did today have to be one of those days? It wasn’t your fault everyone tried to cut you off in traffic, but your boss still yelled at you for being late. It wasn’t your fault that some clumsy idiot knocked your coffee onto the report you had been working on for weeks, but your coworkers were still furious about it. It wasn’t your fault that the one person who could make it all go away, your boyfriend, Hwang Hyunjin, was on tour with his members halfway around the world and wouldn’t be coming home for another three days, but you couldn’t help but want nothing more than for him to hold you close and tell you it would be okay.

      Of course, it wasn’t in any way his fault either. He had been so excited when the tour had been announced, and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile while the memories of him excitedly bouncing around your apartment replayed in your mind.

      “I can’t wait to see all of Stay again! It’s been so long and I’m just so ready to get back on stage and I hope they like our new songs as much in concert as they did on the album and I’m so nervous that they won’t like my choreography, and…” he rambled on and on about all the things he was going to say and do in every city they visited, and watching your normally quiet, reserved boyfriend finally get to return to the job he loved so much filled your heart with absolute joy.

      “You’re coming with us, right, beautiful?” He had stopped running around and had grabbed you by the waist, the use of his favorite pet name for you sending butterflies straight to your stomach, “I mean, it’ll be a great time and we’ll finally get to travel together like we’ve always wanted to!” You wanted with your whole heart to say yes, but you knew your boss wouldn’t let you take two days off of work, much less the six months that the boys would be gone for.

      “Jinnie, I can’t. I wish I could, but I have to stay here or else I’ll risk losing my job.” You peeled your eyes away from his hopeful gaze and looked down at your feet. Both of you were wearing the matching fuzzy socks you had gotten for your one year anniversary last month.

      “What do you mean? You have to come! I need you there with me, and, besides, you hate that job. You can just come with us and find a new job when you get back.”

      “It’s not that easy, love. Trust me. I’ve been looking for a different job for months and nothing that could even remotely cover my half of the rent is available.” You could tell he was getting frustrated because his beaming smile had fallen from its place on his pretty lips. All he had wanted was to share his favorite thing with you, but your stupid job had gotten in the way again. Just like it had on his birthday and Christmas and New Year’s. He knew he shouldn’t be this mad, but he was sick of it stealing the precious moments that he had spent his whole life dreaming of sharing with the one he loved.

      “I’ve told you a million times that I’m happy to pay the full amount for rent, but fine. Stay here with your dead end job. You’d just ruin everything like you always do. I’d rather just spend the tour with the boys, anyway,” he spat, letting go of your waist and walking out of the living room and into your shared bedroom. You wanted to stop him, but you were so shocked at his words that you couldn’t have moved if you tried. He had always been so understanding of the fact that you were just doing the best you could to support him while also supporting yourself. Even if that meant that you had to miss out on a few important things to do so. Your once present smile quickly disappeared as the slightly painful memory concluded and faded off into the depths of your mind.

      You had, of course, made up before he left, and you knew he still loved you just as much as you loved him, but for some reason you were still terrified. The three days had passed like a summer storm, and here you were, nervously picking at the skin of your fingers until they bled, at the gate of the plane Hyunjin was on. Throngs of excited fans were cordoned off behind thin ropes as security separated you from them. Stay had always been super supportive of your relationship with Hyunjin, which you were beyond grateful for, but the company still didn’t want to take any chances because without you, there was no Hyunjin. Even so, here you were. Standing between several large men in suits and replaying idiotic “what if’s” in your head. What if he found someone else while he was on tour? What if he decided that you and your awful job were too much of a burden on him? What if he didn’t love you anymore?

      You were so wrapped up in your anxiety-fueled thoughts that you hardly noticed when the crowd started screaming, signaling the members’ return. You quickly snapped back into reality and straightened yourself. One by one, the boys walked out with their carry-ons, surrounded by guards who were dressed identically to the ones around you. They looked tired, but, more importantly, they looked happy. Every one of them had this glow about them as they sluggishly trudged down the ramp. A glow that only comes when someone does something they love and that makes them feel whole.

      Seven of the boys had met up at the base of the ramp, but none of them were your boy. The boy you loved so deeply, it hurt. It really hurt. Maybe that was why you were so nervous. Loving him hurt, but you knew that losing his light would plunge you into the darkest place imaginable and that wouldn’t just hurt. It would kill you. Or maybe you were just so excited to have your beloved boyfriend back, that it just felt like a panic attack. You honestly couldn’t tell, but still, you focused your eyes on the plane intensely. Just then, a tall, slender man appeared at the top of the gently sloping exit ramp and proceeded gracefully down towards his brothers.

      As he reached them, he began quickly looking around the airport lobby that they had been waiting in. You saw him ask Chan something and that Chris didn’t hesitate to point directly at the spot where you were standing, unconsciously fidgeting with your sleeves and tapping your feet. Hyunjin peeked around his leader and when his eyes met yours you could have sworn he had just seen an angel descending from the sky, the way his face lit up. He broke away from the group and started bolting towards you with the purest smile on his face. You started to panic in a different way as he approached you, seeing as he didn’t show signs of slowing down any, and you weren’t a particular fan of being trampled, but as he reached you, he picked you up and swung you around, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

      “I fucking missed you, beautiful,” he whispered in a voice so soft and gentle you wouldn’t have heard it unless you were the one whose lips were still softly touching his, which, thank God, you were.

      “I fucking missed you too, sweet boy,” tears threatening to spill over as you held him tightly in your arms. You realized then and there that there was no way that this man was going to just find someone else and leave you without warning. Too much love radiated from his entire being for that to ever be a possible scenario. You gratefully held him in your arms. Your little boy. Sure, he was bigger than you in pretty much every sense of the word, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance that you were in charge in the bedroom (most of the time, but that’s a different story), but, when push comes to shove, he is, and always will be, your little boy, and you wouldn’t ever want it any other way.

Hey! So this is the first fic I’ve ever written, and I’m actually kind of proud of it. That said, if anyone has feedback, I would really appreciate it! Okay, love you!

#skz #skz hyunjin #stray kids #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stay #lovestay #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #fluff #angst #hwang #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #skz x gn reader #hyunjin x gn reader

[dirtyhelen]

with you, a girl could get bolder (i just wanna be a little bit closer) - part one

PART ONE: can you feel it? (Series Masterlist) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Featuring: Smut; Angst; Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs; Dubious Consent; Loss of Virginity; First Time; Vaginal Sex; Cunnilingus; Creampie; Dirty Talk Words: 5484 Summary: For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume. “Oh, fuck.” You and Bucky get hit with an extremely powerful aphrodisiac, resulting in some mind-blowing (but dubiously consensual) sex on a quinjet. And if sleeping with a coworker in a drug-fueled haze wasn’t bad enough, you’ve also had an unrequited crush on him for months. A/N: My first multi-chapter fic! My first attempt at something resembling a plot! There will be 3 parts, about 15k total. Titles are from Want You In My Room by Carly Rae Jepsen. Part 2 will be out next week!

________________________________________________________________

“Thanks, Steve,” you say as he sets your bag in one of the quinjet’s storage compartments. Ever the gentleman, he’d insisted on carrying your luggage for you, since he was headed the same way anyway. Just a few minutes ago the jet was bustling with technicians packing away carefully labelled silver briefcases, but now it’s just you, Steve, Bucky, and Bruce. Bucky is headed to Wakanda, summoned by Shuri with the promise of impressive new upgrades for his arm. The briefcases are samples of chemical solutions the Avengers recently confiscated from an enemy base. They’re also headed to Wakanda, to be examined in one of the country’s laboratories even Tony - begrudgingly – has to admit are more advanced than his own. Along the way, Bucky will be dropping you in Zurich to meet up with Pepper. She’s attending a fancy business retreat there and snagged you an invite under the guise of professional development and maintaining the relationship between Stark Industries and the Avengers. As though being married to Iron Man isn’t enough to cement that relationship. Really, she just hates being outnumbered by arrogant, misogynistic billionaires and wants the company. You’re certainly not complaining. A chance to eat ridiculously expensive food and shit talk gross old men in view of the Swiss Alps? Beats running around after the team, keeping track of a thousand conflicting schedules and chasing down late mission reports. You spend another minute or two idly chatting with Steve and Bruce as Bucky makes himself busy at the instrument panel. The jet can basically fly itself, but you suspect Bucky gets a bit of a thrill any time he gets to be in the cockpit, tech nerd that he is. “You sure you have everything?” Steve asks you with a teasing smirk. “It’s a whole two days, you know. Pretty sure that requires at least a dozen books.” “Oh, har-har,” you grumble. “God, you overpack one time and it turns into a whole thing!” “Didn’t you take like four pairs of shoes and two books for a day trip?” Bruce calls as he walks down the ramp, heading back to the lab, you’re sure. “It was three pairs and you can’t always rely on weather forecasts!” you shout after him. Steve jokingly rolls his eyes. “Of course. And the books?” “Two is a perfectly reasonable number of books to bring on a day trip,” you protest primly. “And if I recall correctly, you ended up borrowing one of those books on the way home, so you’re welcome.” “Fair enough,” Steve laughs, holding out his hands in mock concession and turning to say his goodbyes to Bucky, currently bent over the panel, confidently pressing buttons and flicking toggles. It gives you some comfort. You’re a bit of a nervous flier, but Bucky seems to know what he’s doing and the Avengers’ personal jet has to be a lot safer than any commercial plane you’ve ever been on anyway. Though it’s more than just the thought of crashing into the Atlantic ocean that has you on edge. Three hours. That’s approximately how long you’ll be confined with Bucky in a high-tech tin can. Three hours to sit in awkward silence, or worse, awkward conversation if your previous interactions are anything to go by. Chances are you’ll try to make small talk but somehow end up saying something stupid while Bucky just sort of looks at you like he’s wondering how you managed to get this job in the first place. It’s a reasonable question, to be fair, and one you’ve asked yourself at least once every day since you started. Not that you’re a notably skilled conversationalist in general, but around Bucky, you can barely manage to string two coherent sentences together. You can’t help it! You just like him so fucking much and you want him to like you even just a little, so you try to be cool and relaxed and chill. Like Natasha or Sam, the two people who, apart from Steve, he seems to actually be comfortable around. Unfortunately, you are neither cool nor relaxed and you definitely are not chill. No, you are a grab-bag of somewhat less attractive personality traits like excitable and dorky and perpetually-fucking-nervous, all wrapped up in sensible shoes and practical, un-sexy clothing. Basically the anti-Nat, or any person you can imagine Bucky being attracted to. So when you try to converse with him like a normal person you usually end up rambling on like an alien who watched one episode of Gilmore Girls and thought that was how humans really communicated with each other. Not exactly a turn on. Sadly, knowing you have absolutely no chance with him does nothing to stop your feelings. If anything it only makes them stronger somehow. No harm in letting yourself become totally obsessed with the guy since it’s not like you’ll ever tell him how you feel, therefore there’s no chance of rejection! Foolproof! Really though, you don’t know how you could have avoided falling for him anyway, even if you had tried. As a member of the team’s admin staff, you see them basically every day. Relaxing, training, doing press and charity events – everything but actually going on missions. After months of chatting during meetings, discussing schedules and events, and working in the same place they live, you’ve gotten to know them pretty well, you think. And despite Bucky’s taciturn demeanor, the White Wolf seems more like a puppy to you. Sure, his resting expression has a tendency to read as slightly murderous and he's undoubtedly deadly in the field, but there's another side to him too. Bucky is enthralled with all things technological. Whenever there’s a presentation on new tools for the team Bucky is there, bright-eyed and attentive, with thoughtful, clever questions on how it all works, and he’s not shy about making suggestions either. He shamelessly enjoys all things soft and cozy – fuzzy blankets, knit sweaters, his cat. Alpine was a stray Bucky found wandering the grounds of the compound. Now she wanders the residential wing instead, usually wherever Bucky is. He could be bitter and angry and cruel after everything he’s been through – and God knows he’d have every right – but he’s not. He has his bad days, of course. Days at a time where you hardly see him except for mandatory meetings or training, and then with dark shadows under his eyes and a heavy blankness that seems etched into his face. But most of the time it’s clear he wants to be part of the world. With his never-ending curiosity about all the things he missed, or never had the freedom to enjoy. With his dark, wry humor and the fond way he can’t help but look at Steve whenever he says something that must remind him of before the war. With the way he tries so goddamn hard to put some good back into the world, to make up for things that weren’t even his fault. You truly don’t understand how anyone could know him and not love him. You certainly never stood a chance. “See you, pal. Text me when you land.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been staring into nothing for longer than you realized. “Say hi to Pepper for me!” he calls to you as he leaves. And with that, it’s just you and Bucky. For the next three hours. +++ The awkward silence – apart from a quiet, “You ready?” from Bucky just before take-off – lasts all of ten minutes. That’s as long as you can go before the pressure to say something becomes irresistible. Being bad at talking to Bucky has never kept you from trying, unfortunately. “You excited to go back to Wakanda?” you ask. Bucky nods. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to see Shuri again.” He says it with a soft smile and you know he means it. He clearly has a deep affection and respect for her. “I bet. She seems ridiculously cool. Honestly, I wanna be her when I grow up,” you joke, then immediately cringe. I wanna be her when I grow up? Come on! Bucky laughs politely and the jet is once again silent. Bucky seems content to just sit with his thoughts, but the jet’s at cruising altitude now so you take the opportunity to get out of your seat and grab one of the only two books from your bag. Can’t say anything stupid if you’re too busy reading! Check and mate, Rogers. You’re elbow deep in toiletries and underwear, having decided blindly digging around would be preferable to actually taking the bag down and fully unzipping it, when you decide to try speaking again.   “So do you know what upgrades you’re getting? You know, for –” you gesture at your left arm, or try to, except you use the arm currently being eaten by your suitcase at the exact moment the jet hits a patch of turbulence, jostling you and your luggage. Bucky jumps up, darting over to steady you with a hand on your back. As a part of your mind becomes consumed with thoughts of, holy shit he’s touching me, you manage to wrench your arm out of your suitcase, sending it to knock against the silver briefcase next to it. The impact shifts the briefcase slightly. The next bump of the jet a moment later has it falling out of the storage unit entirely. The silver briefcases used by the Avengers to transport dangerous or delicate materials are very cleverly designed so that – properly clasped – they could be used as a football for an NFL game with no ill-effects. Which is how you know this case has very clearly not been properly clasped because as it falls it springs open, and a small vial of clear liquid hits the floor. And shatters. For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the thin, silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume, filling the space around your bodies. “Oh, fuck,” you breathe. Bucky snaps into action, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you toward the sleeping compartments in the back of the jet, calling for FRIDAY along the way. “Get us back to the compound now,” he orders. “And get Stark or Banner on the line.” He shoves you inside the nearest cabin, following and sliding the door shut behind him. Immediately he’s gripping you by the shoulders and turning you to face him. “Did any of it get on you? On your clothes?” he asks urgently, eyes scanning your body. “No! I mean, not the liquid, I don’t think. But what about that mist or vapour or whatever? What if we breathed it in?” You have no idea what was in that vial. “Oh God, we’re gonna die,” you moan, anxiously pacing the tiny room. “Or I am, anyway. You’ll probably be fine. Fuck. Oh my God. What if it’s like, some flesh-eating poison? Am I gonna turn into the Hulk?” Your heart races and you feel hot. You can’t tell if it’s just fear or something worse but whatever it is must show on your face because Bucky gently guides you to sit on the narrow bed as the call finally connects. “Hey, Bucky, what’s up?” It’s Bruce, thank God. You’re not sure you could handle even the briefest and most well-meaning witticism from Tony right now. Bucky very quickly briefs Bruce on the situation, finishing with, “Any idea what the fuck was in that case?” You can hear the anxiety in Bruce’s voice. “Shit, I don’t know. Not unless you have the label. And we didn’t really examine them, just packed them up.” “Fucking great!” you can’t help but interject, throwing your hands in the air and receiving a concerned look from Bucky in return “But listen, guys. You’re on your way back to the compound – FRIDAY says 30 minutes tops. I’ll have medical and biochem ready as soon as you touch down. And it’s already been what? Like five minutes? If nothing’s happened yet, you’re probably fine? Just sit tight and don’t leave the cabin. The doors seal airtight so nothing can get through.” And with that, Bruce hangs up to get everything ready for your return, leaving you and Bucky at opposite ends of an very small space. You’ve never been claustrophobic before but you must be developing the fear because the walls feel like they’re closing in and your heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of your chest. “Okay, wow. Great. ‘Sit tight.’ That’s awesome, just awesome.” You look around the room, empty except for the bunk you’re sitting on. “What are we supposed to do now? Play twenty fucking questions?” Your relaxing weekend abroad has disappeared and apparently taken your brain-to-mouth filter with it. Between that, your racing heart, and the increasing heat spreading through your body you’re not entirely sure that you’re probably fine, but you’re chalking it up to anxiety because it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it anyway. Except sit tight. Looking up at Bucky you can see his cheeks have taken on a pink flush, but again, that’s probably just stress. Or maybe annoyance at having to be trapped in a tiny room with you and your panicked blathering for the next half hour. Sighing, he sinks to the floor, resting his back against the door and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Nothin’ to do but wait, doll.” Your eyes flash to his. Doll. He’s never called you that before. He’s never really called you anything before. Bucky seems to have noticed it too because he furrows his brows, looking like he’s just as surprised as you are. There’s a brief moment of eye contact before you both quickly look away, choosing not to address it. Probably just a habit, you think. A remnant of the Bucky that existed long before you were born, jumping out in a moment of stress. A heavy silence falls, leaving you both to your own thoughts. You try to focus on breathing, on staying calm, but your mind keeps straying and it feels like there’s too much energy in your body. Your skin practically itches with it and you squirm, unable to get comfortable but not sure exactly why. You can hear Bucky tapping his foot on the floor, the sound of him shifting around. You wonder if he feels it too. Bucky… Doll. The way it had fallen out of his mouth so casually, so easily. As though he’d said it to you a hundred times. You feel a spark bubble up inside you picturing Bucky’s flushed cheeks and that word. You imagine him saying it breathlessly, reverently, just before his lips touch yours. Or growling it out as he moves inside you… Fuck, doll, just like that. You nearly let out a whimper and you feel a rush of slick in your panties, shocking you out of your fantasy as you become uncomfortably aware of just how wet you are. That spreading heat flares even more than before and you realize you must have been dripping into your underwear for longer than just the last few seconds. There’s a deep throb of arousal in your core, stronger than anything you’ve felt before, like that unbearable energy under your skin has been pulled to settle deep inside you. It’s confusing – far too powerful to be the result of a vague, half-imagined fantasy. But even as you wonder at what’s happening, it’s like a fog settles over you, the confusion half-hearted, nothing compared to the growing urge to touch, to quell the burning fire inside you. Before you can even consciously register the movement, your hand is making its way to your pussy. Any shock or embarrassment at your wildly inappropriate behaviour is slow to appear and dulled when it does. Snatching your hand back just as it nears the apex of your thighs is like walking through deep water, like you have to convince yourself why you shouldn’t get off in front of a co-worker. Your eyes flash to Bucky, wondering if he’s seen, if he’s affected the same way you are, only to find his gaze already fixed on you, blue eyes blown nearly black. His fists are clenched at his sides and his lips are bitten red and spit-slick. He breathes in deep, nostrils flaring, and you realize he can smell you. It should be humiliating. You should be turning away in humiliation, but instead, you feel yourself get – somehow, impossibly – wetter and this time you can’t contain the helpless whimper when Bucky groans and licks his lips in response. It’s as if with that sound the floodgates have opened because in an instant you’re slipping off the bed and throwing yourself at him, desperate to be closer, as close as physically possible. You scramble on top of him, graceless and frantic, straddling his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you closer and grinding you down on his cock, pressing hard and hot against you even through your clothes. There’s a moment – a tiny fraction of a second – where you catch each other’s eyes. A pause, where you think you see something, some emotion on Bucky's face, but you don't have time to decipher it before he’s surging up to press his lips against yours and a bomb is set off inside you. You have no idea what you’re doing – your experiences up to now have been limited to a handful of lackluster kisses with people not worth remembering – but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He holds your face firmly in his hands, turning your head to suit him as he licks into your mouth and you do your best to mimic his actions, clumsy in your mindless passion. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and you gasp, rocking your hips against his, trying to get some friction on your throbbing clit. He thrusts up against you and you move together but it’s not enough. It’s clear whatever was in that vial has created a thirst in you that won’t be quenched by a heated make-out session and you pull away from Bucky's mouth, moaning as he tilts your head back to kiss your neck, licking and sucking at the tender skin. “More,” you gasp. “I need more.” You feel him nod against your throat and with one last, deep kiss to your lips Bucky grips you by the hips and lifts you off him, shifting to rest his weight on his heels before reaching to push your dress up over your waist. Almost all of your higher brain function is devoted to being as close to Bucky as possible but far in the back of your mind, there’s a small part of you that’s simply shocked at what’s happening, at the sensations coursing through your body. You have never felt this uninhibited in your entire life. You were a shy, anxious child who grew into a somewhat less shy, anxious adult, easily embarrassed and prone to overthinking. But now, with that silvery mist working its way through your system, you’ve never felt so shameless. Bucky is feverishly slipping off your shoes and tugging down your tights and you’re not thinking about how you haven’t shaved your legs in weeks or how you’re wearing an old pair of plain cotton panties or any of the dozens of worries that would be running through your head under normal circumstances. (Not that Bucky would be undressing you at all, under normal circumstances.) No. Instead of overthinking and paralyzing yourself with fear, you’re pulling your dress over your head and reaching back to unclasp your bra so you can get your own hands on your breasts. You could almost just sit and bask in this unfamiliar feeling of freedom if it weren’t for the hot ache in your core that threatens to burn you alive with every moment you go untouched. As soon as your tights have been pulled off and tossed aside, Bucky is shouldering your legs apart and leaning forward to press his nose against the wet patch on your panties, breathing deep. “Fuck, doll. I need to taste you.” You whimper as his tongue darts out to lick a wide stripe up the length of your covered cunt. His hands move to your hips and in an instant, your panties are torn from your body and his mouth is on your bare skin for the first time. You can’t help but gasp as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your folds. His tongue licks up your opening and circles your clit before moving back down and slipping inside you, drinking up your slick. Bucky growls against your pussy. “So fucking good.” His tongue moves back to your clit and he laps at it in short, teasing flicks. You begin to buck helplessly and Bucky’s metal arm brackets your hips, holding you still for his mouth. He switches to deep, firm circles over your clit, alternating with wide laps over the whole of your cunt. You’re losing your mind, flat on your back with your legs thrown over Bucky’s shoulders, heels pressing into his back. You’ve never felt anything like this. You haven’t even come yet but it’s already more intense than any orgasm you’ve ever given yourself. You feel two fingers against your opening and you fight Bucky’s grip over your hipbones, trying to grind yourself down onto him. He chuckles at your efforts and presses just the tips of his fingers inside you. “So needy, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don’t you?” You have no idea how he’s able to tease right now when you're ready to fall to your knees and plead just for the chance at an orgasm. You whine, trying again to slide down onto his fingers but his metal arm keeps you from moving a single inch and you toss your head back with a wail. “Please, Bucky,” you sob. “I need it, I need you. Please.” You feel no embarrassment at your begging. The fire inside you is growing hotter and hotter. You need him. You need to be filled, fucked. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you now. The teasing tone drops out of Bucky’s voice and he presses messy kisses to your inner thighs. “I know, I know. I feel it too. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna fill you up so good. Stuff you full. Gonna make you feel so good, make it better.” His fingers finally slip into you, sliding easily through your wetness. He starts thrusting and his tongue circles your clit again as his fingers curl. He focuses on your g-spot, stroking roughly as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks. You’re coming in seconds with a series of breathy moans, thighs clamped tightly around Bucky’s head. He doesn’t let up, only pulling away when you tug at his hair, the sensations too much. He kisses you, sliding his tongue against yours and you can taste yourself in his mouth. It reignites the fire your orgasm had dulled slightly and you pull away, about to plead for more, but it seems Bucky has finally reached his limit. His hands work at his belt and he shoves his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock. You’ve never really seen one in person before and maybe under different circumstances you’d take a moment to get familiar, but right now all you can do is spread your legs and beg. Bucky quickly positions himself above you, lining his cock up with your entrance. He drags the head along your pussy a couple times, groaning as he slicks himself up and begins to push into you. He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside you hardly notice the sting. It’s nothing compared to the raging chorus inside you chanting more, more, more. In one single, hurried thrust he’s fully inside, your bodies pressed flush together. Bucky moans. “So fucking tight, fuck. You feel so goddamn good, doll,” he pants above you, leaning down for a filthy kiss, wet and open. “Fucking move, please,” you beg, hooking your legs around him and digging in your heels. Bucky growls into your mouth and pulls out almost entirely before thrusting back inside hard, pulling a sound from deep in your throat. He repeats the move a handful of times before settling into a harsh, pounding rhythm with his face buried in your neck. You cling to his back, senseless, unable to focus on anything but how good you feel. Your brain feels fuzzy and empty and every thrust drags his cock along your g-spot and it’s too much, too good. You’re a gasping, panting mess. It’s not long before his hips start to stutter, his rhythm breaking as he moans out above you. Your hand slides down your body to your clit and you rub firm circles around it. A few swipes and you’re coming, harder than you ever have in your life, with a high, keening moan. The tight squeezes of your cunt have Bucky coming too and you feel a warmth release inside you as he collapses against your chest. Neither of you moves for a long moment, your heavy, mingled breaths the only sound in the room. There’s still some lingering fog as you soak in the afterglow of your drug-intensified orgasm, but it seems like the chemical has run its course and clarity is quickly returning to you. The silence is broken by FRIDAY announcing your approach to one of the landing pads, and you feel the jet begin its descent a moment later. Her voice hits you like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what’s really happening here, what you’ve just done. It seems Bucky feels the same, because he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes and a long moment of horrified recognition passes between you. Your breathing picks up again as panic surges through you. You start to squirm under his weight but he’s already moving. You wince as he pulls out of you, suddenly aware of a deep soreness between your legs. In seconds, Bucky has tucked himself back into his jeans, and he storms out of the cabin without a backward glance. So eager to get away from you he doesn’t seem to care that he might be walking directly into a toxic cloud. Like anything would be better than being trapped with you for another moment. You lay there on the floor, naked and shivering, with Bucky’s cum starting to leak out of you as you struggle to take a breath, all the anxiety and uncertainty the drug had masked flooding back to you at once. You force yourself to sit up and pull your clothes back on, cringing as you feel the mess between your legs seep into your tights. You hastily stuff your ruined panties in your pocket. You take a few deep breaths and try to still your shaking hands as you hear footsteps approaching the cabin. You’re given a respirator and guided off the jet into a throng of people awaiting your arrival, Bucky nowhere to be seen. White-coated staff swarm you and lead you inside. +++ You wish you could say the next several hours are a blur, but they are, unfortunately, exceptionally, horrifically clear. You’re taken through a decontamination shower, though you’re really not sure how much good it could do at this point, then poked and prodded with needles and swabs while having the most mortifying conversation of your life. You feel nearly choked with a shocking, burning shame. This morning you woke up nervous and excited for a weekend away, and now you’re telling a handful of strangers how you just had sex for the first time in an uncontrollable, frenzied state of lust with one of the Avengers. And as though it couldn’t be worse, it’s made all the more humiliating by the lingering throb of arousal thrumming through you the entire time. It seems whatever this drug is, the two orgasms you’ve already had weren’t enough to neutralize it, though at least you have enough self-control now to keep from shoving your hand down your pants in front of everyone in the room. Finally, after what seems like hours and unfortunately really is hours, you’re told to go home and rest. You’ve been given an emergency contraceptive, a pamphlet for the Employee Assistance Program, a number to call if you feel any strange symptoms, and told that someone will follow up with you in the next day or so. You feel numb as you enter your apartment, tugging off your med-bay issued scrubs on the way to the bathroom. You get yourself off in the shower, and though it’s the most joyless orgasm of your life, it seems to finally clear any lingering arousal from your system. Wincing at the tenderness between your legs, you scrub yourself clean under the hot spray, half wishing you could dissolve into a puddle and wash away down the drain with the soapy water. You’re getting ready for bed when your thoughts take a sudden turn to Bucky for the first time in hours. You’d been so overwhelmed by all the tests and questions, so cocooned in your own embarrassment you’d practically forgotten about him. Guilt rushes through you at your own selfish thoughtlessness. Feeling so sorry for yourself like you were the only victim. Like you were the victim at all. You’ve had a crush on Bucky for months, have spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining being with him in ways both innocent and obscene. But he’s never looked twice at you, barely speaks to you except for unavoidable work discussions. Not that you expect anything different. Someone like him would never want to be with you anywhere outside your daydreams. Except now he has been with you. Forced against his will to take part in some horrific act, because surely that’s how Bucky must see it, now the fog of uncontrollable lust has cleared. You had sex for the first time in decidedly unwanted conditions, but at least it was with someone you’re genuinely attracted to, someone you have feelings for. Bucky had been forced to have sex with someone he didn’t even like, much less desire. After everything he’s been through, how hard he’s worked to find a place where he can feel safe and in control of his own life – his own body. Only to have that control taken from him again in the most indecent way. Shame, viscous and thick, swells in your throat like sickness and your eyes fill with tears. No wonder Bucky ran out of the cabin the way he had. You feel so much worse because of your feelings for him. Dirty and wrong because you would have enjoyed the sex even without the drug. You know, deep down, it’s not your fault. You didn’t mean to knock the case over and you had no idea what was inside – not to mention you weren’t the one who forgot to latch it – but you can’t help but feel responsible for what happened and you wonder if Bucky feels the same. If he knows about your feelings and thinks you orchestrated the entire thing on purpose. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. And the rest of the team! If they don’t know already, they will soon enough. What if they blame you too? What if they’re disgusted by you? Anxiety spreads through your body from your pounding heart, filling your limbs. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. You feel boiling hot and ice cold all at once. Collapsing to your bedroom floor, you bring your hands to your thighs, digging your fingernails into the skin. The sharp pain distracts you from the heavy panic flooding your body enough to let you focus on breathing in, then out, repeating the words in your head until you feel your heart rate settle, the panic easing a little. You pull yourself up off the floor and push yourself through the motions of getting ready for bed. The intrusive thoughts are still there (everyone hates you. You’re going to lose your job. Are you sure you didn’t do it on purpose?) but you try to ignore them. There’s nothing you can do about anything right now and thinking yourself into a panic attack won’t do any good. You turn on an old episode of your favourite show and get in bed, tugging the covers up to your neck and focusing on the screen, allowing the familiar storylines to dull the intensity of your thoughts until you finally fall asleep. A/N: And that’s the end of Part 1! Thanks for reading and feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog and let me know what you thought! I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out the whole sex pollen aspect and I’m still not totally happy with it hahah but I hope it doesn’t seem too shoe-horned in 😝 Anything else that you’d like to see tagged/warned for, let me know!!

#bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #smut #series

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down? 

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week. 

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of. 

Banner by me. 

Monday: Pitch Meeting

           “Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

          Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

          Today, Claire decided, that would change.  She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

          “We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

           “I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

           “Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

           “Who are those people?”

           “Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

           “What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

           “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

           “Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

           “I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

           Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

           “I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

           “Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

           “Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

           You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

           “It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

           “I do!” Claire chimed.

           “Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

           “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

           “You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

           “It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

           “I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

           Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

          Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

           “Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

           “You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

           “How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

           “Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

           Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

           “I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”  

           “You can’t have one,”

           “Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

           “I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

           “Well, I need their handle,”

           “Fine,”

           “And the intern,” Claire was firm.

           You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

           “Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

           “Thank you,”

           Claire rolled her eyes.

           “Jealous?” You questioned.

           “Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

           “Great,”

           “I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

           “Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

           “If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

           “Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

           “Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

           Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

           “Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

           “Okay,”

           “Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

           “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

           “I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

           “Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

           “You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

           “What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

           “What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

           “Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

           Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

           “You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

           “Me?”

           “Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

           “He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

           “Potato, Tomato,”

           “You should talk-

           “Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

           “Fine, fine.”

           “I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

           “That’s a lie,”

           “Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.  

           “Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

           “No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

           “You should,” He suggested.

           “I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

           “Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

           “Bitchy?”

           “Your words, then she would like you,”

           “She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

           “He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

           “Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

           “You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

           “He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”  

           Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

           “If he’s not there,” You answered.

           “I can’t promise that,”

           “Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

           Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

           “Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

           “I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

           “Great!”

           “I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

           “I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

           “At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

           “Well-

           “You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

           “I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

           “That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

           “You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

           “Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

           “Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

           Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

           “I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

           “Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

           “Because I love you,”

           “Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

           “I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

           “Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

           “You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

           “Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

           “So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

           “Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

           “And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

           “Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

           “Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

           Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

           “What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

           “Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

           “I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

          Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

           “Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

          “What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

          “In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

           “No!”

           “Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.  

           “I would never,” You glowered.

           “You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

          “I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

          “Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

          “Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

          “July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

          “I, I, no!”

          “October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

          “He started it!”

          “Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

          “I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

          “Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

          “Know what?”

          “About your vendetta,”

          “It’s not a vendetta!”

          “Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

          “I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

          “His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

          “You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

          “Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

          “You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

          “Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

          “I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

          “I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

          You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

          “You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

          “We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

          “You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

          “It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

          “This is entirely personal.”

          “Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

          “No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.  

          “Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

          “I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

          “It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

          “Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

          “You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

          “Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

          “Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

          “You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.  

          “You agreed to-

          “No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

          It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

          “I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

          Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

          “Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

          As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

          “Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

          “She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

          “Did you?”

          “No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

          “Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

          “No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

          “Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

          “Until you what?”

          “Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

          “She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

          Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

          “Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

          “No, something weird is going on,”

          You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

          “I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

          “He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

          “I-

          “Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

          “What if he-

          “Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

          “Okay,”

          “I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

          “Thank you,”

          “I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

          “I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

          “I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

          Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

          “To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

          “I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

          “Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

          “You still live at the same place?”

          “No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

          “You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

          “What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

          “I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

          “I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

          “Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

          “I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.  

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

#thebtswritersclub #bangtanuniversity #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #park jimin #park jimin angst #park jimin fluff #exes to lovers #enemies to lovers #non idol au #BTS fic #BTS fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin / you #jimin / reader #jimin x you #jimin x reader #park jimin / you #park jimin / reader #park jimin x you #park jimin x reader #club Jimin #jung hoseok / j hope #jung hoseok #jimin exes to lovers #jimin fluff #jimin angst #bangtanarmynet

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

-------------------------------------------------

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

---------------------------------------

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

-------------------------------------------------

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

------------------------------------------------------

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugy

[gohyuck]

pairing: ceo!lee donghyuck (haechan) x cfo!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, smut (that’s a first for this acc o.o)

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit heterosexual sex (slight dom!hyuck)... like, really, over 50% of this is just sex lol. not a warning but hyuck is implied to be bisexual in this, it’s hinted at once or twice

a/n: sm knew what they were doing, making the 127s play office in full business attire. also, i still think we should eat the rich. just saying. this is not meant to glorify billionaires. i just think hyuck is hot. also! cfo = chief finance officer. 

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

🎵 often - the weeknd

☀️ push and pull

“i already emailed you this month’s finance report and talked to the men from kim corp. - i think they’ll end up being major investors. my balance forecasts are done, and,” you pause in your report, your gaze meeting donghyuck’s across his desk before you continue speaking, one corner of your lip quirking up slightly. “and you have a hickey that’s a little too high for your collar to cover.”

“i - what?” the ceo of lee technologies, ltd. hisses out the last word, his brow furrowing as he processes what you’ve just said. you put a finger up, silently telling him to give you a moment, before you pull your purse off of the floor and onto your lap. it takes you less than a minute of rummaging to find what you’re looking for: a compact mirror. donghyuck all but snatched it out of your hand, and you see him visibly redden once he realizes that you aren’t pulling his leg.

“shit, (name), i have meetings all day today,” he groans, slumping backwards into his far-too-expensive office chair. donghyuck shuts your mirror and tosses it haphazardly onto your desk before running both his hands down his face in incredulity and embarrassment. his neck is bared as he does this, allowing you to survey the mark further: it’s a deep red and clear as day, likely having been brought into existence the night before. you wonder briefly who it’s from - the pretty secretary who always bats his eyes at the ceo, the diligent but meek girl who can’t keep her eyes off of donghyuck and works in hr on floor 14, the red-lipped and cat-eyed ceo of the company that operates out of the top floors of the highrise next to you? you doubt you’ll ever know. as your heart twinges slightly, you realize that you don’t want to know. 

donghyuck groans again, although it dissolves into a petulant whine this time. a chuckle falls from your lips without you wanting to let one out, and your boss glares at you because of this.

“don’t look at me like that,” you scoff, turning your attention back to your bag for a moment. hyuck watches as you triumphantly pull a band-aid from one of the smaller pockets. “here! it’s small enough to be covered by this.”

donghyuck narrows his eyes.

“is it professional for a company’s ceo to walk around with a highlighter yellow tweety bird band-aid on his neck?” he asks, quirking one eyebrow as he does. still, he leans forward, placing his forearms on his desk and clasping his hands together as he does.

“is it professional for a company’s ceo to walk around with evidence that he’s getting laid on his neck?” you throw back, and donghyuck stares at you for a moment before sighing, slumping his shoulders, and reaching his hand out. you drop the band-aid into your outstretched palm.

“it’ll be fine, hyuck,” you tell your boss and longtime friend as he picks your compact up again, using the mirror to place the band-aid properly. “it might even humanize you a little bit.”

“humanize me?” donghyuck asks, though the small lilt to his voice tells you that he’s just fishing for compliments. he knows what you mean. still, you have time today, so you humor him.

“your reputation is all ‘young god’, ‘untouchable billionaire’, ‘genius entrepreneur’, ‘national playboy’,” you point out, watching as donghyuck’s smirk grows, making him look a little bit like an overexcited frat boy. his expression directly contrasts his crisp gray tom ford suit and franck muller watch. “tweety bird might make you more... approachable.”

the young ceo thinks about your words for a moment before flipping his wrist towards himself to read the time. it’s 10:27 - he needs to get down to the main conference room. you stand as donghyuck does, letting him walk past you before you follow. the band-aid is even brighter underneath lights, you note, and you can’t help but smile to yourself at this. donghyuck places his hand on the door handle, though, right before he opens it, he turns back to you.

“you forgot sex icon.”

“what?” your eyes widen for a moment before you force your brows down, scowling at donghyuck’s statement.

“when you were naming off things that make me larger-than-life, you forgot to say sex icon.” he grins, his tone as matter-of-fact as its ever been.

“who says?” you throw back, determined not to let your friend’s ego inflate so easily. he grins before leaning towards you, closer and closer until his mouth is right against your ear. you do your best not to let your breath hitch at the proximity.

“cosmopolitan. they interviewed me for the cover last month, remember? came in the mail today. i’ll give you a signed copy of you want. courtesy of your favorite sex icon.” he tells you, and you swear his lips brush your earlobe before he pulls back, mirth dancing in his eyes. before you can say anything, donghyuck pulls his office door open, stepping aside as he does.

“after you.”

♕ ♕ ♕

the lee donghyuck that exists within his private office and the lee donghyuck that exists outside of it are two entirely different people. his posture is still easy, still open, still exceedingly confident, but the moment he steps out of his office his back straightens up, one hand going to adjust his tie and the other slipping into one of his dress pants’ pockets. he goes from hyuck to haechan, meaning fullsun, the name given to him by the media at some gala or the other a couple years ago. hyuck is your friend from college, a brilliant programmer and free entertainment for those close to him. haechan is a charismatic but cold leader, his eyes calculating as he surveys the empire he’s only just begun building.

he walks out after you, but immediately commands everyone’s gaze. donghyuck’s office is in the corner of the 18th floor - the highest floor of the skyscraper. all of the offices on this floor belong to executives - hell, your office is right next to his, your one wall with floor-to-ceiling windows adorned entirely with a row of potted plants both small and huge - but there’s always plenty of other people milling around on the floor: possible investors, lost interns, secretaries, and employees with questions. today is no exception: several pairs of eyes are directed to the ceo as you stroll out, him in tow. 

nobody says anything about the obvious band-aid on haechan’s neck. 

“i’ll see you after work,” donghyuck mutters discreetly into your ear, and you nod as imperceptibly as possible before giving your friend a parting smile. 

as you head back to your office, haechan’s secretary joins him in step, tablet in hand, to read him off his schedule. as you close your door behind you, ready to bask in the sunlight that’s filtering in, you can’t help but scrutinize the secretary’s slightly rosier-than-usual cheeks, nor the way haechan had straightened his shoulders while speaking to the other man. 

if you were one for betting, you’d put down money on the fact that you’ve probably just found the culprit responsible for donghyuck’s bright yellow band-aid. you shake your head sadly as you set your things down on your desk. 

the poor boy’s going to get his heartbroken soon. 

after all, if there’s one thing donghyuck and haechan have in common, it’s this: commitment is not in the cards. you know this better than anyone. 

♕ ♕ ♕

“hyuck, i-”

“shut the fuck up.” donghyuck hisses into your ear, tugging harshly at the front of your shirt as he backs you into the closed door of his office. the material rips away easily, buttons skittering onto his floor as he shoves his warm mouth against yours. your hands go up to snake around his shoulders immediately, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he draws whimpers from your lips. once you part for air, you watch as he studies you for a moment. his tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip, and his eyes are beautifully hooded. 

you’re already gasping for air. you’re already drowning in him. 

“this blouse was from saks, you asshole,” you manage to get out, though you sound more like a petulant child than the indignant business executive you are. he chuckles almost mockingly, simply raising an eyebrow at this before he starts shrugging his suitjacket off, placing it across the back of the chair in front of his desk. 

“it’s your fault for wearing a $300 shirt to work,” he throws at you, no bite in his voice. you can’t help but roll your eyes as you push yourself off the door, making to follow him as he settles down into his office chair. 

“you’re one to talk - your suit is, what, $4,000 at least? don’t get me started on the fact that you’re wearing a 5-digit watch.” you make your way so you’re standing directly in front of him, shirt torn open to expose your bra and part of your stomach and the top of your skirt hugging your waistline perfectly. donghyuck sticks his tongue into his cheek before leaning forward and tugging you onto his lap with ease, smirking as your skirt flies up momentarily. 

“touché.” 

his hands cup your ass, fingertips pressing into your skin as he forces them up past your safety shorts. you rise up slightly so you’re situated above hyuck, cupping his face as you look into his eyes. he grins up at you. 

“this,” he squeezes your left asscheek fondly before meeting your eyes with his own mischievous gaze. “this is why i instituted a casual dress policy.”

“one hell of a policy, considering the ceo himself doesn’t adhere to it.” 

“i don’t need to, baby,” your heart flutters at the term of endearment, and you will it to stop immediately. “after all, i’m the boss, remember?”

“you’re a pig.” you throw back, and he only chuckles before attaching his lips to the skin above your collarbone. donghyuck laves his tongue over the fresh bruises as he dots your clavicle with them, forcing you closer to him by forcefully pushing your hips down towards his. as his lips move southward, brushing over your open chest and spilling kisses onto the tops of your bra-clad breasts, you can’t help but keen loudly and grind down on him of your body’s own accord. 

“someone’s hasty to get marked up,” your friend points out, not waiting for a response as he reaches into the large hole in your shirt - a lee donghyuck creation - and around your back, popping your bra open. your mind is too hazy to respond at first, in part due to the way he slips your bra straps down your arms, chasing them with wet, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders before pulling the article of clothing off of you entirely. you can’t help but buck slightly against him as your breasts meet the cool air, and he takes this opportunity to wrap his sinful lips against one of your nipples, one of his hands coming up to run his thumb over the other one. 

“you’re - ha - you’re one to talk. mark? really?”

“he’s a good secretary,” donghyuck pulls his mouth off of you momentarily to speak, eyes sparkling as if he knows he’s teasing you, and you can’t help but flick your own eyes upward in annoyance. suddenly, you feel the need to have his dick in you immediately, as if it’ll fill the growing hole in your heart. you adjust yourself, and donghyuck watches, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you steady, as you pull your safety shorts off.

he immediately drops a hand to your leg, tracing a finger up the expanse of your inner thigh as his other hand reaches up to grab your chin, gently forcing you to face him so your eyes meet. your mouth goes dry just as he slips two fingers into your wet heat, and you can’t help yourself as you rut forwards, grinding on his hand. the whine you let out has donghyuck’s eyes becoming even more hooded, almost naturally smoky, and you can’t help but gasp at the sight. 

“he’s a good secretary,” donghyuck says again, and you realize he hadn’t finished his thought earlier. you hate that he’s speaking about another person when his fingers are knuckle deep inside your sopping heat, but it’s donghyuck - your hyuck, who’d held your hair back when you puked at frat parties and who let you crash on his dorm room floor whenever it was too late to walk to your own place - and you can’t say anything about it. “but if you wanted me to yourself, you could’ve just said so.” 

your heart stops, but not before he has the audacity to wink at you. 

“we need to fuck,” you choke out, finding it hard to breathe even though his hands are nowhere near your throat. “now.” 

the desperation in your voice, the way your pert nipples are right in his face, and the way you’re humping his hand like a bitch in heat all have donghyuck groaning and rolling his head back on his shoulders. he flicks his chin towards the top drawer of his desk right behind you, and you use one hand to brace yourself against his shoulder as you lean back to pull the drawer open. this unwittingly forces hyuck’s fingers to angle deeper inside you, hitting the bundle of nerves in the back of your cunt exactly in a way that has you moaning his name long and low. your grip slips off of the drawer handle without you meaning to, and you scramble, patting your hand haphazardly around in the drawer before you come across a condom. you pull it out, slamming the drawer shut triumphantly before turning back to hyuck. he pulls his fingers out of you before you come, much to your chagrin, but you realize that you’ll be coming around his cock in no time. 

“my blouse was actually about $600,” you say, your eyes meeting his as you tear open the wrapper. he lets out a chuckle before raising his fingers - covered in filmy strings of your arousal - to his mouth and wrapping his tongue around them like it’s the easier thing in the world. you feel yourself clench. he wraps one arm around you before shifting slightly, and you realize he’s unzipping his own pants.

“i’ll buy you another one.” is all donghyuck says before pulling out his thick length, and you swallow on impulse as his bulbous tip, oozing precum, comes into your view. you want it - need it, you decide as you recall his earlier statement about having him for yourself - and you need it now. you hand him the condom, and he rolls it on with a small grunt before both of his hands fly to your ass. just as you’re about to sit down properly on his cock, fill your voids the way they’re meant to be completed. donghyuck stops you with his hands on your hips. 

you look down at him, and your eyes meet his for what feels like the millionth time tonight. 

“are you sure?” he asks, and you fall deeper in love with him even though he’s doing the minimum. you’re sure, you realize, and you nod before remembering that he has to hear you say it. 

“yes, i’m sure.” your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, but donghyuck says nothing of it. he grips your thighs, spreading them as much as he can without pushing you off the chair - he’s grateful it has no handles - before pressing his tip to your entrance. you press both of your hands into your shoulders as you sink yourself onto his throbbing dick, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you do. it takes you a moment to adjust - usually the foreplay is much longer - but once you’re ready, you start bouncing on donghyuck’s cock, setting the pace for yourself. 

it doesn’t take long for you to get to the brink of orgasm - riding hyuck has always placed the head of his dick directly against the place inside you that makes you see white behind your eyes. for his part, he shoves you down onto himself when you start tiring out, tugging on a nipple in between his teeth or running his tongue down against your skin or slapping your ass and causing you to buck against him as he sees fit. 

you’ve been friends with benefits for almost a year, now, and the sex only gets better. 

you’ve been friends with benefits for almost a year, now, and everyday, every damn day, you curse your heart more and more. you curse your feelings when donghyuck whines as he nears his high, too, and you curse yourself for spending your ability to love deeply on the one person who won’t take it as he finally takes over, anchoring you against his body while his hips snap up into yours. he’s chasing your orgasm just as much as he’s chasing his, and when donghyuck pulls you down to smash his lips against yours, forcing you to taste the red wine he’d had with dinner on his tongue, while circling your clit with one finger like a madman, you can’t help but let go completely, clenching and spasming and shaking around his length and in his arms. this is all it takes to push him over the edge, too - he spills into the condom with a beautiful, keening whine against your shoulder.

it’s only when donghyuck looks up at you after catching his breath and his face falls that you realize you’re crying. 

“(name) - sweetheart, what’s wrong? did i hurt you?”

his recognition of your state has the dam breaking, and you shake your head frantically to soothe him as your tears start falling more heavily. he wraps his arms around you immediately, pulling you into his chest as he does. donghyuck waits patiently for you to speak.

“i - i can’t do this anymore,” you start off, and you feel his arms tense around you. before he can interject or argue, you forge ahead. “i cant! i can’t fuck you and stay your friend - just your friend. i can’t sleep with you knowing that you’re the only one for me when you’re out there hunting down anyone that looks at you, i just - i can’t. i can’t...” you trail off, breaking down into sobs again while burrowing your face into his shirt. it’s expensive, you know it is, and now it’s ruined with your tearstains. you try not to think about it. 

donghyuck is silent for one, two, three beats. for a long moment, all you can hear are the sounds of your own bawling, your own quiet sniffling and hiccuping. his hand runs a soothing trek down your back.

finally, he speaks.

“i haven’t fucked anyone else in 6 months.”

that is the one thing you’d never expected him to say. 

“but... mark? the hickey?”

“that’s all it was,” he says, forcing you back slightly to be able to look at you as he speaks. hyuck raises a hand, wiping your stray tears away gently with his thumb before continuing. “for 6 months, i’ve kissed people and made out with them, but only half-heartedly. every time it’s gotten close to getting heated, i’ve had to stop. do you know why?”

you shake your head, sniffling as you do. his heart cracks at how forlorn you look, how innocent and confused you seem. he’s suddenly well-aware of the fact that he’s still sheathed inside your dripping pussy. 

“because every time i was with someone - anyone - else, all i could think of was you. you’re the only one for me, baby. i think you always have been. i didn’t say anything because i didn’t think you’d want me.”

“not want you?” your voice is strong enough to sound properly incredulous now. “you know me better than anyone else. you’ve been there for me when i’ve needed you, and you’ve asked me to be there for you when you’ve needed me. we built all of this together. you’re everything, hyuck. you’re my everything.” 

he lowers his head almost bashfully, and you know that he’s processing what you’re saying. donghyuck’s never been good at registering compliments - it’s a side-effect of always moving, always pushing forward - but you can tell that he’s savoring your words. it makes him even more endearing in your eyes. eventually, he looks up at you again, soft smile gracing his features. 

“are we good?” he asks, and you can feel your heart sewing itself together again at the genuine honesty in his eyes. he really does love you back. you nod, before leaning in to capture his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. 

“we’re good.”

bonus: 

“this is great, and i’m going to ravish you when we get home, but right now i really, really need to get this condom off and you probably really need to piss,” donghyuck says, lifting his hips to force you off of him. you swing your legs over to stand, leaning against his desk for support as you watch him tie the condom up and toss it into the bin underneath his desk. 

“when we get home?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. donghyuck stuffs his cock back into his boxers and makes sure his slacks are on properly before standing up to situate himself in front of you. he takes both of your hands in his. 

“you think i’m letting you spend a night alone when you said i’m the only one for you? not fucking likely. now hit up the bathroom and then let’s go,” he says, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “i brought the bugatti today.”

#nct-writers #kwritersworldnet #thekpopnetwork #fullsunnet #haechan #donghyuck #haechan smut #haechan angst #haechan fluff #donghyuck smut #donghyuck angst #donghyuck fluff #nct #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream #nct 127 #haechan x reader

[writerbyaccident]

Not Letting Go (Yandere Bakugou x FemReader)

It was still strange to you, not being with Bakugou.

There was still a part of you that was surprised each time you walked past Bakugou’s table at lunch, each time you didn’t partner with him in class, each time you didn’t wait for him to walk you back to dorms. It went against every instinct that had been ingrained in you, and each time you went against those instincts, even nearly a month after breaking up with Bakugou, it still pierced you through with anxiety. It probably didn’t help that you still saw him all of the time, whether in class, at the dorms, or just around campus. But that, you supposed, was inevitable so long as you both attended UA. And it was, ultimately, something that you would be able to live with.

What you could not live with, however, were the seemingly infinite ways in which Bakugou had decided to make your life a living hell. Now, the two weeks or so after you broke up with him, Bakugou had left you alone for the most part. Other than, of course, the constant stares that you would find him giving you, stares that at first were smug and self-assured, then turned into confused resentment, and finally into bitterness. It was when that stare appeared that Bakugou seemed to have decided that he had had enough of sitting there silently and letting you get away with leaving him.

His first move was a relatively simple one. Somehow, he convinced each member of your class not to pair up with you for partner work, leaving you with no other choice but him. You, however, simply responded by working alone. Although, you still had to deal with Bakugou breathing down your neck, trying to brush up against you at every opportunity he could find.

Next, no matter how quickly you ran out of class once the school day ended, Bakugou would find a way to be right behind you. The first few days that he did that, he simply walked behind you in silence, as if he was trying to force things back to the days when he escorted you everywhere, insisting that he needed to stay with you to keep you safe. Soon enough though, he realized that you weren’t going to play along, simply ignoring him as if he wasn’t even there. And if there was one thing that Bakugou refused to tolerate, it was being ignored.

He moved then to take your hand as you made your way back to the dorms. Again and again, you pulled your hand out of his grip, Bakugou letting you with no more than a glare. He just had to wear you down, he reassured himself, to remind you of what you really wanted. Patience was never his strong suit though, so on the fifth day of you rejecting his touch, he simply tightened his grip and refused to let you out of it.

“Stop it,” you had hissed, partly in anger and partly in pain. Bakugou only seemed to hear the pain though, loosening his grip ever so slightly and bringing your hand to his lips as if he were about to kiss your pain away. Before he did though, something hardened in his previously soft eyes, Bakugou reminding himself that this was all your own fault.

“How long are you planning to keep up this tantrum?” he growled, his anger enough to have you wincing, even while he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

“As long as it takes,” you had tried to explain to him, “for you to realize that you can’t treat me like you own me, Bakugou.” None of your words seemed to register with him though, that is, except for the last one.

“It’s Katsuki,” he said with a disappointed frown. “You can’t call your boyfriend by his last name.”

Sighing at his single-mindedness, you spotted Iida and Uraraka making their way down the hall, and you slipped your way out of Bakugou’s grip to join the safety of their company. Bakugou stared at you intensely as you walked away, clenching his fists in rage at the way that you still seemed to think that those extras could take care of you like he did, that they cared about you the way that he did. His next move, he realized, would have to be to show you just how wrong you were.

The following day, at the start of lunch, you moved to join Izuku, Iida, Uraraka, Tsuyu, and Shoto at the end of their table, as was your new routine. It only took five seconds though before Bakugou had seated himself in front of you.

“Do you need something?” you asked stiffly, fighting the temptation to drop your gaze from the burning red eyes that seemed to only see you.

“Do I have to need something to sit with my classmates?” Bakugou answered with a smirk.

“K—Kacchan,” Izuku pleaded, “she doesn’t feel comfortable with you here. Can’t you go back to your own table?”

“Last I checked,” Bakugou scoffed, “we didn’t have assigned seating during lunch.”

“Be as that may,” Iida said, “if you continue to bother her, I will have no choice but to report you to Aizawa.”

“Report what? That I sat down at a table? That’s a pretty shitty definition of bothering.”

Sensing the full-blown argument that was about to break out around you, you grabbed your lunch with a roll of your eyes and left the table. It only took you a moment to spot where Jiro and Tokoyami and another moment to join them. Unfortunately, it only took Bakugou a moment to follow you. Exchanging a silent glance, your classmates seemed to agree not to get involved, turning their attention back to their food with sheer determination.

“I can do this all day, babe,” Bakugou told you.

“Good thing then that you only have till the end of lunch.”

With that you picked up your lunch again, this time moving to sit with Momo, Hagajure, and Ojiro. But once again, Bakugou was close behind. He was there when you sat down with Aoyama and Koda, and there again when you sat with Shoji and Sato. At each table, he was there, and each table either stayed silent or only protested weakly until they withered under his glare. Your options almost all gone by this point, you turned to the table you had looked forward to sitting with nearly every day for so long but now you weren’t totally sure would side with you.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted them, standing nervously at the edge of their table as Kirishima, Mina, Kaminari, and Sero stared at you in confusion. “If I sit with you, will you promise not to let Bakugou sit here?”

“But Bakugou always sits here!” Kaminari said.

“I know, but—”

“Don’t you think that this has gone on long enough?” Mina said with a pout. “I know you two had some fight, but you’re so good together!”

“It wasn’t just some fight,” you sighed, not in the mood to explain it.

“He really misses you,” Kirishima added. “He won’t actually say it, but he does. Can’t you make up with him?”

“I just—whatever. I’ll find somewhere else to sit.”

Cursing yourself for thinking they would side with you over Bakugou, you began to drag yourself towards the last table with one of your classmates sitting at it, wondering if you were really that desperate. As you approached Mineta, your doubt only grew, and you wondered if you should just accept defeat and turn around. Even though you didn’t glance back, you could still feel the return of Bakugou’s smug stare digging into your back, utterly sure that you were about to come crawling back to him like you should have done days ago. Still, you forced yourself forward, until you were sitting across from the purple-haired pervert himself.

“Uh, h—hi,” he stammered, already drooling at the fact that you had sat with him of your own free will.

“Hi,” you said bluntly.

“So, uh, what brings you—”

“Scram, you little shit,” came a voice from behind you, one that growled with a possessiveness that was intimately familiar to you. You watched as all of the blood drained from Mineta’s face, an image that you normally would have been thrilled to see, but now only informed you just how furious Bakugou was at your attempts to avoid him. Laying a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it tightly, Bakugou narrowed his crimson eyes at Mineta, threatening him in utter silence.

“S—sorry, Bakugou! I was just leaving, I swear!” Mineta insisted, scooping up his lunch as fast as he could and running to the other end of the cafeteria. Once again you were left with Bakugou, who quickly moved from standing behind you to sitting next to you, though he kept his hand on your shoulder the entire time.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Bakugou said, his eyes drinking in the image of you so close before him as if the sight of you alone was all that he needed to live.

“You see me every day,” you reminded him softly, fidgeting under his grip.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Seeing you in class, from a distance, when you won’t talk to me, won’t look at me, that’s not fucking good enough.”

“Well, that’s all you’re going to get,” you answered, about to stand up from the table. When you tried though, Bakugou stopped you, pinning you down with that one hand on your shoulder.

“I’m getting really sick of your attitude, you know,” he snarled. “I tried to be nice, to give you some space like you wanted, but I guess that was a mistake.”

“I didn’t want space,” you huffed. “I broke up with you. That means I’m not coming back.”

“See, that’s where I went wrong,” Bakugou said, his voice softer as he cupped your cheek. “I thought if I just gave you space, that you would remember that we belong together, and you would come back. But you being away from me just ended up making you confused. You need to be reminded that I’m the only one who can love you the way you need. Lucky for you though—”

“Is he bothering you?”

Turning around at the sound of a new voice, you saw one of the last people you expected standing there. It was Monoma from Class 1B. In all honesty, you had always thought he was kind of a jerk. He wasn’t even looking at you, instead staring at Bakugou with his usual self-satisfied smirk. But still, at this moment, it was as if heaven had found the one student at UA who wouldn’t let himself be intimidated by your ex-boyfriend.

“Yes, actually,” you told him. “He is.”

“How about you sit with me and my classmates? We in Class 1B won’t let him harass you. And given his reputation of bullying our class, if he tries to pull anything, I’m sure the teachers will intervene on our behalf,” Monoma practically bragged, holding out his hand for you to take. As you reached for it though, Bakugou pulled you back into his chest, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he ordered. At his tone, so darkly possessive, you faltered, your hand freezing. When you two were dating, that was the same tone he would use when you were in trouble, a tone that told you that something very unpleasant was going to follow. Even now, as you reminded yourself that Bakugou wasn’t your boyfriend any longer, you hesitated to disobey him when he gave you an order like that. So you let your hand fall, watching sadly as Monoma rolled his eyes and walked away. You weren’t able to watch for long though, as Bakugou grasped your chin tightly and moved your eyes back to his. Forced to stare into his eyes, you saw there the gaze that you had once loved so much, the one in which Bakugou looked at you as if you were the only other person who mattered, the only other person in the world.

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[beaversatemygrandma]

Okay guys. It’s story time. I had something that literally has a 1:10,000,000 chance of happening. Starting to wonder if I should get a lottery ticket.

So. Driving down the road. Going the usual 40 and minding my own business when suddenly a deafening slam and the car shakes violently. Glass is scattered across the front seat and I’m dusted in shiny little sharp bits.

A Fucking Huge Tree Branch flew from the trees off the road and Hit My Car Right Above My Head.

We pulled over to check What The Fuck happened only to find a Stick Through the windshield of my car. The entire windshield is cracked and the top center is shattered with a thick stick poking through.

I shit you not. And this doesn’t even show the huge dent on the roof that’s the size of my torso. This branch was literally large enough to kill somebody walking by and we were lucky that nobody got skewered by a damn branch.

The fun part is neither my insurance company or the police count this as an accident. Now to figure out if replacing the windshield costs more than the car did. If so, that means it’s totaled and my insurance might force me to get a salvage title because the car is 17 years old. 😭

Like bud. Get tf out of my windshield.

Now I gotta vacuum all this glass up before even thinking about sitting in it again. And putting some more stuff under a cut to really tell just How Fucking Crazy this situation is.

There’s this big patch of old and dead trees near the powerlines on the side of the road that have been known to cause issues for Years. One year, one of the trees fell across the road. Not from a storm, no rain, no ice or anything. It Just Fucking Fell one day. And the power was out on that street for a day and the road was shut down for a Long Time. After storms, they spread large branches through the road, causing hazards. That’s relatively normal though. 

But on an odd chilly and super windy day: this is what happens. A Whole Ass branch from the tree takes out a car moving fast enough that this shouldn’t have happened.

Now. My dad has been running the idea that we should figure out who owns this property and get them to pay for the damages because my insurance is like “uhhhh what. That’s on you, but go to *some company that’ll overcharge me*” as if you could avoid a massive branch falling from the sky. If it’s the city, they’re paying for every repair. I’m getting the dents taken out, windshield replaced and i can pretend that hail damage on the roof was from that too. Fresh and shiny. Getting a new roof and windshield. Hell, if the car is totaled, suing for a new one. Get me a 2020 Camry to replace my 2005. Fuck you. Take care of the streets for your people. They’ve been complaining about this spot for YEARS. (not to mention the huge ass pothole like a hundred feet up from where this happened, but that’s another story of somebody getting the shocks of their car ripped out from hitting it) If it’s somebody who lives nearby, we’ll take it easy on them but ask for the hundreds or so it takes for a new windshield. We can fix the dents. Fix the dents, maybe get a wrap or something to hide the fact that this car is scratched up to all hell.

Hilariously, I’m still working on my driving permit and this doesn’t count as me getting into an accident (which nulls the permit if it’s my fault). But it’s a weird accident nonetheless and I HOPE I’m not stuck with paying a thousand out of pocket for this shit when I still need to do that to get my wisdom teeth out. Like fuck. My savings are going to be GONE at this rate.

What in the ever-loving fuck is my luck?

It also took like two hours for a cop to get out there so i could get a report so all bases were covered. Just sitting there. In a glass filled vehicle on the side of the road. The people in the house across the street ended up coming over asking if we were okay because of just how damn weird that situation was. Like. What. Has anybody else had this happen? Apparently there’s 6 yearly worldwide events of a tree hitting a moving vehicle and i want to know WHAT MADE THE WORLD MAKE ME ONE OF THE SIX THIS YEAR. Out of billions. Come on. Why.

....hold on. can you vacuum up glass shards? Or will that kill the vacuum too? 🙃

#taks speaks #honestly I’m just wondering how this is gonna play out #like this might turn into a money post and I’m sorry #but holy shit. that tree branch Hit Hard #I was literally deaf for a minute #I heard nothing but my ears ringing as glass shards got flung into my face #I literally looked up the stats for this event bc I don’t want to do all that math #it’s one in ten mil #like. fuck. that’s low #I’ve been in two car accidents in my life and this wasn’t what I expected to be the first one in this car #Ik the cracks are hard to see in that sunlight but they’re huge #all centered around the middle and all on the drivers side #my dad stuck his finger through the hole. it’s that big #it also knocked the front seat overhead lights out a bit #but the dent on the roof can literally just be pushed out and buffed so that’s fine #BUT GLASS. FUCK GLASS.