#shutting down after the phone call with her grandmother

[theblacktiecacti]

jay went to clown school. let’s talk about that

#art by me #jrwi riptide #jay ferin #i was drawing wherever the wind took me #and it took me to clown school jay #the best destination i could’ve hoped for #i feel like so much could be explored or expanded there in fanon #but i barely see anything #welp if there is none make some #sound off in the comments if you ever think about how jay rarely retracts into herself when faced with conflict #but instead goes to clown school or hitches a ride with the loserest boy she can find #and it’s the rare (and most impactful) moments when she responds differently #shutting down after the phone call with her grandmother #or blowing up after learning about lizzie and ava #or crying as she’s told to shoot her friend in the chest #but the every day conflict almost always gets humor as a response #which leads to very out of pocket moments but we love jay for it #oooooough jay ferin the way you express emotions is so important to meeeee #ALSO the fact that often it’s insult based humor or overly confident in self humor #let’s dissect that jay how do you relate to your friends in the hierarchical structure of the navy academy #did you feel like your humor had to subtly place you at the top? or you would not be enough? jay? #your relationship with kira hinges on fixing this structure by being better than it hm? let’s talk about that #let’s talk about how your life centered a lot around being the best even if not directly or intentionally #should i do a full analysis on this? #i kinda wanna do a full analysis on this

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Who is This? - Bucky x Reader

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

#bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #sam wilson #sharon carter #baron zemo #takes place in the falcon and the winter soldier #this had been going around in my head for DAYS!!! #1k #2k

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Stranger 1

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

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

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: My first time writing this character!

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

Your nails are crusted in dirt as you kneel in the garden. You grunt as you wrestle the roots of weed from the soil and toss it aside. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove as you hear the screen door snap shut. Your grandmother stands on the stoop, her hand on her achy hip.

“Did you hear, dearie?” She calls in her creaky voice. “Someone’s moved into Clyde’s old house.”

“Huh?” You catch your breath as you gather up the broken weeds, “it’s half ash.”

“Suppose they’ll fix it up,” she mutters as she leans on the narrow iron rail along the side of the backsteps.

“Suppose,” you agree as you stuff the green and brown foliage into the paper bag for the compost. “Who told you that?”

“I was just talking to Lynette on the phone. She also said Molly’s having her fifth.”

Five kids? You hide your chagrin at the thought. You don’t mind kids but that’s a lot to handle, let alone the pregnancies. Molly balloon’s up so big she can hardly move. Her last shower, she sat the whole time. Not much different than you, you guess. You sat in the corner and watched the silly games

“That’s exciting,” you say as you stand and dust off your knees, crumpling the top of the bag in your other hand.

“Ah, I’m sure you woulda loved to have four sisters? Maybe brothers? It’s a pity your mother never gave me any more grandchildren.”

“Mmm,” you suppress a frown, “yeah, well…”

“Anyhow, enough talk of spoiled milk,” she waves off, “I got a pie in the oven. You can take it over the Clyde’s once it cools.”

“I… why would I do that?”

“Oh my, don’t be ridiculous. We have a new neighbour, we have to be polite and welcome them to the village. It’s probably a nice family, or maybe someone your age. A friend?” She suggests, “I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’d make the walk…” she looks down at her hip, theatrically rubbing it. 

“Right,” you agree, the prospect of strangers making your tummy lurch. “Well, that pie will take some time.”

“Long enough for you to put on something clean,” she tuts as she looks down at your dirty jeans, “my lord, what would they think?”

“Yes, gramma, I’ll change, once I get this in the compost.”

“Good,” she smirks triumphantly and turns to swing open the screen door, the hinges whining shrilly.

You sniff and cross the yard. It’s not often there’s new faces in Hammer Ford. The village is a tourist trap at best and not a very lively one. Everyone calls each other by name and it’s second nature to stop and say hi. But that’s because you know each other; you have for years.

You lift the lid on the large bin and empty the bag into it. You could always lie and hide the pie in some bushes. Your deceit wouldn’t be hidden for long. Even in this sleepy place, word travels fast and someone always seems to be watching and waiting to pass it on.

🥧

You head out with the pie in a basket like some fairytale. You’re only short a red hood and a big bad wolf. You set off down the country roads, following the lazy curves towards the horizon. It’s after noon and the sun’s turning mild as it drifts across its pale canvas.

The old homestead is the second closest to your grandmother’s. The homes around Hammer Ford or sprawled out amid the plowed fields and green meadows. The cluster of old pines loom over you as you pass in there shadow and crest the hill that marks the edge of the property. Clyde’s tractor used to sit there, just by the broken down fence.

Ahead, down another stretch of road, this path unpaved, stands the decrepit house. The tragedy still singes the memories of the villagers. That night comes back to you in a blaze of orange and the smell of cinder. Poor old Clyde was buried behind Sacred Stave church.

You search the overgrown grass for a sign of life. There’s a black truck by the caved in garage but that’s about it. It might not be a family. It’s a lot of work to do with little ones around. If anything, it would only be the parents as they rebuild. Your mind wanders, wondering who would buy the old farm and why.

You come down the path, just along the ditch that dips behind a cluster of brambles. There’s a snap and a crack and you skid to a halt on the stones. You spin and look around, a heavy breath pluming into the air. Like the fire reawakened.

“Can I help you?” The deep timbre rolls through you and you step back on your heel as you face the man down in the ditch. He peers up at you above the scraggly top of the brambles.

“Uh,” you gulp and stare at him dumbly. He might think you’re lost. Or worse, trespassing.

His hair is short, only an inch on top and shaved even shorter around the sides. His beard is thick around his mouth, growing sparse across his cheeks, and two vibrant blue eyes beam back at you. The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink away. You can sense the city radiating off of him. He scares you.

“Hello? What’s up?” He waves as if trying to wake you up.

“Um, pie?” You say, cringing at your own speechlessness.

“Pie,” he repeats flatly.

You hold up the basket and blink. You never were very good at introductions. You were the only girl at school without friends. You were just sort of there.

“Pie,” you echo once more and hold out the basket.

He tilts his head, curiously, and huffs. He juts out his jaw and grunts as he pushes the brambles apart and climbs out of the ditchy. His denim jacket is streaked in dirty and pollen.

He takes the basket by the handle, his rough finger brushing yours. He peels back the cloth and to peek inside, “pie.” He utters the syllable a fourth time between you.

“Yeah,” your voice is wispy and small. “Bye.”

You let out a strained breath and spin, keeping yourself from breaking into a sprint. You stomp away frantically, smacking yourself internally for being so awkward. Well, maybe that’s a good thing. He’ll have no reason to talk to you ever again.

#chris #destroyer #dark!Chris #chris x reader #dark chris #drabble #backwoods au #au #series #the stranger

[stargazing-imagines]

Invisible — Conrad fisher x Fem!Reader *part two*

Description: after the events that took place, you keep your distance from everyone, even from Conrad and the gang

Warnings: family disown, cuss word or two, if there’s anything else, let me know

Fandom: the summer I turned pretty

Requested: no *send them in!!*

( read part one here!! )

It was the next day and you were in your room watching titanic and snacking on some junk food that you sneaked to your room, after what happened you decided to stay away from everyone that you know.

You’re phone kept ringing as you stared at the ceiling, ignoring the call.

“She’s not answering her phone.” Said Conrad as he looked down at his phone, with belly, Jeremiah and Steven by his side

“That’s weird she was over yesterday.” Said belly as she leaned on the island eat a snack “I’ll go over and see what’s going on.”

“I’ll come with you.” Said Jeremiah as he volunteered to go with belly, lately things have been heating up for belly and Jeremiah to the point where they are together all the time

“Ok but please text me.” Said Conrad “I’m worried about her.”

“Don’t worry, we will.” Said Jeremiah as he gestured belly to follow him

You finally decided to go downstairs, ignoring your grandmother in the process. You we’re currently with your watching huggy wuggy once again

“Can we please watch something else?” You asked your cousin as you held your hand out for the remote

“Please?” Asked your other cousin who looked at you “I can’t stand another huggy wuggy.” As he covered his ears

“Shut up Alex!” Said Aiden as he looked at his brother “oh and grandma says your not allowed to watch anything because your grounded.”

You rolled your eyes before staring at the television, then you heard a doorbell

“Y/n please get the door, I’m busy with Kelly!” Shouted your grandmother as her voice rang through the house

You rolled your eyes again before opening the door, when you opened the door you were greeted by your two friends

Belly, and Jeremiah.

“Thank goodness, we thought you have died!” Said belly as she came in and gave you a hug

“Grandma said no visitors!” Said Aiden as he pointed at your two friends, you walked closer to him pointing your finger

“Look I-“

“Y/n L/n!”

It was Kelly who witnessed the whole thing

“Why on earth would you shout at your cousin?!” Asked Kelly as she walked over to you

“Oh shut up Kelly.” You said “you made my life hell when you came here!”

“How?” Asked Kelly “all I did was try to include you in things.”

“Yeah right, you don’t even knowledge my existence.” You said as you crossed your arms “I can’t take this anymore, I’m going over to Conrad’s and there is nothing you can do about it.”

You walked out the door until your grandmother shouted

“If you walk out that door, you are not allowed back here.”

“Look, I know you are upset but you can’t just kick her out!” Defended belly “try being in her shoes for once, let’s go Jeremiah.” Said belly as she yanked Jeremiah by the arm, you stayed behind fighting tears from falling to your eyes. You looked up

“I’m sorry but I have to do this.” You whispered

Then you walked out

“Oh my gosh y/n!” Said Conrad as he gave you a hug “I thought something happened to you.”

“I’m fine Connie, it’s just… I need to stay here for a while.”

“Why what happened?” Asked Conrad as he looked at both belly and Jeremiah

“They kicked her out…” said Jeremiah

After Conrad heard that he flinched his fist along with his jaw

“Look, you can stay as long as you would like my mom doesn’t mind.”

“She can stay in my room!” Said belly “Taylor’s not coming till another two weeks.”

“Thanks guys.” You said as you smiled

“Does it hurt?” Asked Conrad as he sat across from you on his bed as you held a bag of peas onto your cheek from the incident that happened, you smiled

“It didn’t even hurt.” You said as you gently pushed him

“Look, I don’t want you going back over there.” Said Conrad “I’m going to talk to my mother and see if you can stay with us.”

“Conrad I’m fine, there just upset that I didn’t follow their rules is all.”

“Yeah but family don’t go around hitting their kids.” Said Conrad as he stroked your cheek “it’s just, your precious to me and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

You sighed before holding his hand in yours

“You won’t lose me…” you said “not now, not ever.”

He engulfed you in a hug, burying his head into the crook of your neck, you hugged back.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

——

The summer I turned pretty masterlist

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #conrad x reader #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher #tsitp conrad #tsitp imagine

[eomayas]

nip slip • kjm

pairing: exhusband!junmyeon x exwife!reader

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

synopsis: one wrong angle on facetime leads two ex lovers back to the same bed.

warnings: pwp, dilfy suho, p in v, no foreplay, swearing

“daddy’s calling!” your daughter gasps, rushing to answer the facetime call from her father. you glance down at her and her ipad. “hi daddy!” jisoo yells, and you shush her because you’re in a dressing room.

“hi, baby! are you excited for tomorrow?” he asks, and you tune them out as you start getting undressed. jisoo and her dad go back and forth, and your interest is peaked when he says, “baby, is your mom there?”

jisoo says yes and shoves the ipad towards you, your bare chest on full display for the camera. “jisoo!” you shriek, crossing your arms over your chest and turning around. “oh my god, jisoo!” you cry, your back still turned away from her.

“sorry mommy,” she says and you squeeze your eyes shut. you quickly put your bra and shirt back on, taking the ipad from her, your skin on fire from embarrassment.

junmyeons face fills up the screen, and you can tell he’s trying not to smile. after many years together, you’ll never not notice some of his quirks. “stop. what do you need?” you ask.

“is this a bad time?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.

“yes, it is,” you say, and he pokes his tongue in his cheek. “could you just call me later?” you ask. he agrees and you pass the ipad back to your daughter, slightly mortified that your ex husband just saw you bare for the first time in nearly a year, against your will.

you sigh and pull your hair out of the tight bun it’s in, shaking it out and running your fingers through your hair. you toss your keys and work bag onto the island in your kitchen, and take a moment to stretch against it. rolling your shoulders, you step out of your heels and crack rotate your ankles and press your toes against the base of the island to stretch your calves.

you’re grateful for the silence; jisoo being gone with her dad and grandmother, thus you having the house to yourself for the weekend. it’s rare that you have this much silence, even when shes gone. if your phone isn’t ringing, an alarm is going off.

as if you summoned noise, your phone starts to ring. you let out a breath and pad over to your work bag and fish out your phone. you stare at his name on the screen and debate sending it to voicemail before you remember that it could be serious, so you answer. “hello?” you say into the phone. you haven’t talked to him since your nip slip the other day.

“hey. soo forgot her stuffed bear and is freaking out. can i come over and get it?” he asks. it sounds like he’s already in the car, probably already on his way over here.

“uh, yeah. are you on your way?” you ask, leaning against the counter.

it’s silent for a moment before he responds. “yes—i’ll be there in about seven minutes,” he says, and you only roll your eyes because his new house is twenty minutes away from you.

“fine. i’ll see you soon,” you say, hanging up and gathering all of your belongings and going upstairs. you drop your work stuff off in your home office, and then go into jisoos bedroom to search for her stuffed animal before your ex husband gets here.

by the time you find the stuffed animal, he’s knocking at your door. you quickly bound down the stairs, still in your work clothes and heels, to open the door for junmyeon.

“hi. here,” you say, pressing the plush toy into his chest. he’s taken aback by your abrupt greeting, taking a small step backwards when you push the toy at him.

“wow, um hi—thanks,” he says awkwardly, shaking his head and blinking a few times at you. you avoid eye contact with him, like you have ever since you filed the divorce papers. while you look away, he lets his eyes roam your frame, your curves on display from the formfitting skirt and blouse you wear.

“is that it?” you ask, your body wedged between the door so he can’t see in behind you. there’s nothing to hide—you lived in this house together back when you got accepted into law school and he was at the end of his residency.

“i mean, i guess. you’re not going to invite me in?” he asks, almost like he can’t believe it. you frown up at him and he scoffs. “we were married for twelve years, y/n. my fault for trying to forge some kind of relationship with you despite it all.” junmyeon adds. his voice has a bitter edge to it, and you can’t help but feel slightly guilty.

he’s still broken up about the divorce—he never wanted it in the first place, and it took coaxing from his mom and several screaming matches for him to just give up and sign the papers. the sad reality of the divorce is that there’s no love lost on either side. you’re just better at hiding it.

out of guilt, mostly, you move out of the way to let him in. junmyeon thanks you and walks through the foyer, looking at all of the things that have changed or stayed the same. the picture of you, him, and jisoo hangs in the same spot it has since the day you hung it up five years ago. the runner on the floor is the same—everything is the same, except for the empty hook where he’d typically hang up his keys and white coat.

junmyeon walks deeper into the house and you follow close behind. having here after months of him not being here feels strange, like there is something out place. and you know what’s out of place and what this home is missing: his constant presence.

“so,” you say, slipping into the kitchen when he takes a seat at the island. you lean against the far counter and cross your arms over you chest, glancing at him but not letting your eyes linger anywhere for too long. “what’s up?” you ask. you’ve never been good at small talk, especially not with him. you’d rather get straight to it.

junmyeon chuckles and waves vaguely in the air. “nothing… just life, i guess. nothings changed at the office,” he says and you snort. “what?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed.

you shake your head. “nothing,” you say, but it’s something. you’re shocked he didn’t decide to fire the receptionist that you complained to him about, after you felt like she lingered around his office for too long. he said it was fine, and that he wouldn’t fire her because she was good at her job.

junmyeon stares at you for a beat before standing up from his chair. “well, i guess i’ll get going,” he says. you nod and push yourself off of the counter and follow him to the door. “it was nice seeing you. again.” he says, glancing at you with a teasing look in his eye.

you cheeks flush as you remember your mishap with him on facetime. when he blatantly checks you out, you shift the weight on your feet and press your hands into your stomach. “you should probably bring that to jisoo,” you say, nodding with your head to the stuffed bear in his hands.

junmyeon shrugs casually. “she’ll get it,” he says, and you two have a silent stand off. you finally let your eyes settle on him, and somehow you manage to not fall to the floor. “y/n.” he says when you avert your gaze to the floor.

“hmm?” you say. you don’t like the feelings that are going on in your head, your chest, your stomach. you yearn for him in a way that nobody else can satisfy. there’s a junmyeon shaped hole in your heart, your life, that is waiting to be patched up, or filled.

he crosses the short distance between the two of you, and you brace yourself against the wall. he reaches his hand out to touch you, but hesitates and drops it to his side. you wish he would just grab you, take you into his arms.

you lift your head to look at him, and his eyes give it away. you grab his arm and pull him towards you, noses only centimeters apart. you grab ahold of his biceps, pulling him closer. “just this once,” you whisper, and press your lips to his.

the kiss is rushed and messy, hands sliding everywhere. he presses you into the wall and you tangle your hands in his hair when he slides a hand up your leg and hooks it behind your knee.

his lips move down your neck in a hurry, but they don’t get far because of the turtleneck you’re wearing. you gently push him off and pull your shirt over your head and let it fall to the floor. he’s at your neck again, his hands sliding up your back to unhook your bra. “guest room,” you gasp, your bra hanging onto the last hook.

junmyeon nods and grabs your hand, dragging your down the hallway and into the spare room. you’re on the bed in seconds, pulling off your bra and holding onto the back of his neck as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. “jun,” you sigh, putting an arch in your back and pressing your chest further into him. he fondles with your other breast before switching sides.

when he’s satisfied, he pulls away and pulls off his jacket and shirt. you unzip your skirt and slide it off, and when you’re bare in front of him, he stops and stares at you as if he’s trying to burn this image of you in his brain one last time. “junmyeon,” you call, curling your finger and beckoning him to you. he crawls back on top of you, still in his boxers and you pull them down. “now, i need you now.” you breathe into his ear. you feel him tense before he’s stepping out of his briefs and pressing you back into the bed.

junmyeon likes himself up with you and pushes in slowly, both of you letting out shaky breaths. you hold onto his side as he keeps moving in slowly, letting you get used to the stretch again. “you alright?” he grunts when he sees the look on your face: mouth open but no sound coming out, and your eyes screwed shut.

you only nod hurriedly. “yes, more!” you pant, and he speeds up his thrusts. when you cry out his name, nails pressing into his side, he can’t help but pull almost all of the way out and slam back in.

“y/n, fuck,” he groans, squinting as he looks down to see where the two of you connect. there is already a white ring around the base, and he moans out your name. “i missed this.” he pants out, his hips ramming into you.

you only whimper every time he pushes inside and hits that spot repeatedly. “oh-“ you cut yourself off with a moan and you clench around him once, twice, and he twitches inside of you. “fuck, i’m there, myeonie!” you cry, reaching down to rub at your clit.

you chase your release, and it comes crashing down on you. you cling to him as your hips buck, matching his thrusts until he releases inside of you, his strokes faltering slightly but he keeps fucking you and pushing his cum back inside.

it’s not enough for either of you. you pull him down to you so he’s resting on his forearms, and kiss him sloppily. both of your juices slip down your thighs, but you don’t care. you hook a leg around his hip and flip your position so you’re on top.

he remains hard inside of you, and you don’t waste time bouncing up and down on him, taking him all the way. you keep going until your thighs burn and your legs shake, and he coaches you through it. “that’s it, just like that—shit,” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening.

you brace yourself against his thighs, rotating your hips. he gropes one of your breasts with his left hand and presses his other thumb against your clit, moving it in circles. “junmy!” you mewl, your legs starting to feel like jelly.

“i’m close, y/n,” his chest rises and falls rapidly. he plants his feet on the bed, your hold on his thighs slipping and lurching your forward. you catch yourself on his chest, and the air is pushed out of your lungs briefly when he starts driving his hips up into you, making your scream out his name and claw at his chest.

all that can be heard is skin on skin, heavy breathing, and his name leaving your lips. that same white hot feeling comes back, and when you come for the second time, you’re seeing spots. his final and hardest thrust comes with his own release, and he elicits the sweetest moan into your ear.

your body crumples on his, and you rest your check against his shoulder. he wraps one arm around you, gently stroking your back.

that junmyeon-sized hole definitely got filled.

#exo #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo x reader #exo x you #exo smut #exo suho #kim junmyeon #suho x you #suho x reader #suho fanfic #exo junmyeon #junmyeon x reader #dilf junmyeon #junmyeon x you #junmyeon

[holylulusworld]

Feral Cry

Title: Feral Cry

Square filled for @afgomegaversebingo​: Early heat

Rating: Explicit

Summary: He wants only you...

Pairing: Alpha!Soldier Boy x Omega!Reader

Warnings: language, angst, a/b/o, smut, unprotected sex, knotting, scenting, claiming, penetrative sex, this could be read as dubcon (it’s con to me. just in case), implied true mates

A/N: Please consider I don’t write canon for Soldier Boy most of the time. It came out a little softer than I wanted to.

Words: 1,7 k

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

AFG Omegaverse Bingo masterlist

Your day started like any other day. Your boss yelled at one of your colleagues, you forgot your phone at home, and you tried to get as much work done as possible before hurriedly making your way back home.

Your day started like any other day. It was normal until it wasn’t.

Vought found someone in the depths of an abandoned lab. No one told you what they wanted from you and your team as they led you into an abandoned and rotten building.

All you got were more orders before an armed man pushed you into a dirty examination room. You carefully stepped further into the room to find a man strapped to an examination table. Sedated. Unconscious. Helpless.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you recognized his features. Your grandmother was a huge fan of the cocky alpha back in the eighties. 

The infamous Soldier Boy. Presumed dead. Forgotten. Abandoned. 

Now he got found alive and it’s your job to check on the still unconscious alpha.

“Data.”

You look up from your computer as another armed man you never saw before barks at you. “Doctor, we need the data as soon as possible. Stop wasting our time!”

“Patience is a virtue,” you quip. Your grandmother was not a quitter, neither are you. The old hag never backed down and you try to follow her example. If you show weakness in front of those jerks, they will walk all over you. “We need to run a lot of tests. I don’t just push a needle into his arm and get all the answers.”

“Hurry the fuck up,” the man bites back. “Or you’ll get replaced.”

You slam the first test results onto your desk, huffing as the man glares at you. 

“Fine. Look for another expert in genetics and secondary gender. Or, how about you find someone who can distinguish an alpha from an omega for starters. None of your fine employees seems to be able to do so. Maybe they will be able to give you the results after one fucking hour after discovering one of the mightiest supes is still alive.”

“Don’t act as if you are special, bitch,” he walks off, but not without slamming the door shut with a loud thud.

“Yeah. Fuck you too, asshole,” you turn your attention back toward the results. “How did you not age one day, Ben? You must be very special. I can’t wait to find out more about you, Soldier Boy. What a nice specimen of an alpha.”

“He’s still sedated, Y/N,” your boss laughs as you carefully approach the examination table to take yet another blood sample. “Christ, hurry up. The bosses are breathing down my neck already.”

“I try to do my job and give you the results as fast as possible. Do you want me to do it right or mess up?” jerking your head toward the rest of the team you furrow your brows.

“Just hurry up, Doctor Y/L/N,” your lips twitch at your boss’ comment. You hate the arrogant bastard. “Give me—oh shit—” He stumbles back, his face suddenly a little too pale. “No, we need to get out of here.”

“What’s wrong with you?” the team flees out of the room, followed by your boss. You slowly turn your head toward the examination table, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine as Soldier Boy sits on the table, eyes glowing orbs. “Fuck, we got to…”

You dash toward the door, feeling your heart lurch in your chest as your boss locks the door. Your colleagues step away from the door, shaking their heads as you watch them through the small window inside the door.

You hammer against the door, calling for your colleagues to open it. They left you there, at the lab, after the supe opened his eyes. 

“Please open the door. We don’t know if he’s in the right state of mind. Please don’t leave me here!!”

No one hears your desperate cries as the alpha slowly moves toward you. Your throat constricts and you whimper as his breath fans over your neck.

“Omega,” he purrs in your ear, hands already grasping for your soft body. “Mine. Soft.” You shudder at the feeling of his hard body pressed against yours. “Nice. Warm. Mine.”

“Hi,” you squeak as he roughly twirls you around to slam your back into the door. His eyes roam your body, and you feel your heart thunder in your chest as he takes a step toward you to bury his face in your neck. “I-I’m your doctor, Mr.…Sir…Soldier Boy. D-do you remember anything happening to you? I-we just found you.”

He inhales your scent deeply. “Smells good, omega,” you swallow thickly at his words. 

“You need help, alpha.”

“Mine, my omega,” he fights to control the urge to just pounce at you. “Be good. Be mine. Sweet omega.”

“Please, just let me go,” Soldier Boy doesn’t need to know your body is screaming for the alpha’s knot or that you can feel your approaching heat claw its way toward the surface. “I need to go, please.”

“You’re mine,” his nostrils flare and his eyes, those glowing orbs drop to your crotch. Panic rises in your chest as you are aware of his intentions. If he gets his knot inside of you, he’ll claim you and this is the last thing you want him to do. 

“No, we—” his mouth claims yours in a clumsy kiss. He groans against you, hips jerking as you try to push him away. “Soldier…Alpha…you…”

“Mine,” he hoists you up to carry you toward the examination table. He puts you down on unsteady legs to look you all over. “Gotta knot this cunt good.” Soldier Boy rips your hospital coat down your arms, growling as you struggle against him. “My omega.”

“We can’t,” it’s an unheard plea falling on deaf ears. He ribs your shirt open. Your skirt ends up in shreds on the ground. “Alpha, you need to focus on my voice.” Your brain fights the need growing in your crotch. “Please.”

“Omega,” he grips your hips to press your ass into his crotch, groaning while grinding against you. You’re a ragdoll in his hands, limp and pliant you fall back against his chest. You are too far gone to care about consequences at this point. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he growls at your admission. Your heat broke the moment you scented the strong alpha. All you want is for him to take you in any way he wants to. “Only yours.”

He rips your bra off your body, hands clawing at your chest. Soldier Boy gropes your soft flesh roughly, not caring that you squeak and moan. “Please.” Your panties are no match to his strength, and you end up naked in the alpha's arms.

Soldier Boy wraps one arm around your neck, making you gasp in surprise.

“Mine,” he growls in your ear, making your cunt clench around nothing. Slick runs down your thighs; indicating that you are ready to take all the alpha has to give. 

Your heart beats out of your chest as a ting of fear grips your heart tightly. Can you let the alpha just have his way with you?

“Alpha, I—” you struggle against his strength, whimpering as he bends your body to his will, growling and snarling while ramming himself inside of your needy cunt.

“Fuck,” he doesn’t offer gentle words or time to adjust to his massive cock. Soldier Boy simply starts moving like a mad man. You cry and moan, as he sets a pace meant to break your body. 

Every hard snap of his hips punches the air out of your lungs. You battle the urge to fight him, to break out of his vice grip, but it’s no use. Your body surrendered to the strong alpha long before your mind caught up. 

Now you are his to use, to fuck, and ruin. “Take me, omega. I hear your slick coat my cock. You’re an obedient and sweet little thing, huh? I was waiting to get you alone,” he growls in your ear all the while fucking into you without restraint. “I gotta ruin this cunt, make you mine.” His thick and messy beard scratches your soft skin as he repeatedly rubs his face in your neck.

“Fuck,” you end up bend over the examination table, shuddering at the sensation of your heated body pressed against the cool metal. He presses his hand into the small of your back, holding you still while you squirm. “I’m gonna cum.”

Soldier Boy doesn’t care; he keeps on going long after you come around his slowly expanding knot.

He’s hungry for more than food after being locked away for almost forty years.

“Mine,” he wraps his arms around your body and brings you back against his heated body. “Take it.” You squeak and whine, as he uses your body to get off. “Fuck.”

Soldier Boy rocks his hips, and slams into you even when his knot makes it hard to move. “Too much,” he doesn’t stop and forces you to take every thrust. You come again, this time with a feral cry as his knot stretches you painfully wide. His cum floats your belly. “Alpha…” 

You are close to passing out when his teeth sink in your neck to rightfully claim you. Your omega surrenders to the claim while you prefer to not think about what tomorrow brings.

“Mine. My omega,” you are too weak to even respond. “You are going to be mine forever.”

“So beautiful, with my mark on your neck,” the alpha nuzzles your skin, and breathes your scent in. “I needed to show everyone you are mine.”

“Why did you chase the others away?”

“I lost my patience and had to make sure the others leave you here, with me,” he smirks against your skin. “You are meant to be mine, sweet doctor.”

There you were, believing he doesn’t remember his name, and he just played all of you. 

“What do you mean?” you gasp. “I don’t understand.”

“One of your bosses visited me in between your breaks,” he brushes his fingertips over your mating gland, or rather the mark he left. “I told them they can count on my strength if I get something in return…”

“What did you want?”

“You…”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Feral Cry #afgomegaversebingo #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #Alpha!Soldier Boy #alpha!soldier boy x omega!reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #a/b/o #the boys fanfiction #Smut #soldier boy smut

[agaypanic]

Benny weir x reader!! Hi I'm the one who's been requesting all the MBAV stuff and now I have another! Can you do one where the reader is a mage just like Benny and her grandma is like long time friends with Benny's grandma. So the gang is in trouble and asks Benny's grandma for help but she doesn't have the power to do so she asks for assistance from her long time friend and her grand daughter for help. When they arrive Benny is just enamored with the reader once he sees her. Like to the point you'd think he's never seen a pretty girl before. In order to stop whatever the gang is fighting against Benny and his grandmother and reader and her grandmother needs to do a powerful seance together. After seeing her power Benny some how falls even more for reader and just follows her around like a lost puppy.-🐇

Work Your Magic (Benny Weir X Mage!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: The way Benny acts around you, it might seem like you’ve put a spell on him. You haven’t, you’re just an impressive mage.

A/N: G/n means grandma’s name, also first fic since i graduated lets goooo

***

“What have you gotten yourself into now?” Grandma Weir sighed, taking a sip of her tea. She looked at her grandson, who looked at her sheepishly while holding something behind his back.

“You can’t be mad.”

“Show me.” Benny set what was in his hands on the table before her. It was a box made of rotted wood, covered in dirt and moss, and radiating in magic. “Benny, what the hell did you do?”

“It’s not that bad, Grandma.” She gave him a look, clearly not believing him. “Okay, the box has the heart of the most evil vampire guy ever, but it’s not that bad.”

“Benjamin Weir! We clearly have different definitions of ‘not that bad’ because this is probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done! How did you even get this? Why do you have it?” Grandma Weir pushed the box away, standing to move as far away from it as possible. Benny picked up the box again and followed after her.

“Ethan and I dug it up at the cemetery. We gotta destroy it to kill the guy before he takes over the world or whatever it is he’s trying to do.”

“Then destroy it! Get it out of my house!” Not hearing him make any movements, she turned to look at him. Once again, he looked like he was going to say something she did not want to hear. “Let me guess. You don’t know how to destroy it.”

“We do! It’s just….” 

“Just what?”

“We need to open the box, but we can’t. So I was wondering if you could do it.” He gestured for her to take the box, but she only backed away. “Please, Grandma.” Grandma Weir tapped a ring on her finger against her teacup, glaring at the box.

“Get my spellbook.”

***

After going through every spell in the book she thought would work twice, the box was still locked shut. Grandma Weir closed her spell book with a shaky hand, worn out from all her use of magic.

“I can’t do it, Benny.” She sighed, sitting down in her chair and stretching out her limbs. “Whoever’s heart this is, they obviously don’t want anyone to get it.”

“Please, Grandma. There’s gotta be something you can do.” She racked her brain, trying to find a solution. Still sore from all the magic use, she muttered a spell, and a small contact book flew to her from her purse. She flipped through the pages before pointing at the person she was looking for. She summoned the phone from her purse and started dialing the number, shooing Benny out.

“Make yourself busy; I gotta make a phone call.”

***

Benny leaned against the car with Ethan, waiting for his grandma to come out of the local airport. She had called one of her friends to help her with the boys’ box. Benny brought Ethan so he wouldn’t be stuck with two old witchy ladies by himself.

“Oh, I think I see them.” Ethan pointed out. Benny looked to see his grandma and a woman around her age walking out, carrying a suitcase. They paused their walk and turned around, Grandma Weir’s friend waving her hand to get someone to follow her. A girl, who seemed to be Benny and Ethan’s age, joined the two with her suitcase. To say she looked ethereal would be an understatement. Benny had no idea who she was, but he was hoping that all would change.

“Boys, help us with the suitcases.” Grandma Weir ordered when they reached the car. Benny immediately went to the girl, leaving Ethan to carry the other two suitcases.

“Thanks.” The girl said as she handed her bag off to Benny. She followed him as he put her case in the trunk of the car. “You must be Benny.” He almost choked. He knew nothing about this beautiful girl, yet she had guessed his name correctly. How was this possible?

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Your grandma has a lot of pictures.” She giggled at his groan of annoyance. “I’m Y/n. G/n is my grandma. She brought me as backup.” Benny was immediately even more impressed by her.

“So you do magic too?”

“I dabble.”

“Dabble?” Y/n’s grandma laughed. “Don’t let her fool you, honey. She’s one of the most impressive Earth Priestesses of her age.”

“She’s only saying that because she’s my grandma,” Y/n muttered, embarrassed by the compliment.

“Well, Y/n, I can’t wait to see you work your magic.”

When the group arrived at the Weir household, Grandma Weir immediately handed the boys’ box off to her friend, not wanting to be held responsible for it any longer. G/n examined it closely.

“Very powerful lock on this.” She murmured, showing the box to her granddaughter. “What do you think, Y/n?” The girl grabbed the box and immediately shuddered.

“Blood magic.” She set the box on the dining table and took a step back. “It’s definitely blood magic; no wonder you guys couldn’t get it open. Why do you even have this?” Benny laughed nervously.

“Long story.”

“Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum here are trying to kill a very powerful vampire, and his heart is in this box.”

“That’s strange,” Y/n said.

“Well, this kind of stuff is actually normal for us,” Ethan interjected. But Y/n shook her head, eyes on the box.

“No, it’s not that. Vampires don’t have their own blood once they turn into vampires. So either this guy used the blood of one of the people he killed, or he did this while he was still human to absolutely ensure he would never die. His heart is in here?” The boys nodded. “You can’t kill a vampire if they don’t have a heart to drive a stake through.”

“So this dude is evil and smart?” Benny sighed. “This is gonna be harder than I thought.”

“What should we do, G/n?” Grandma Weir asked. G/n stroked her chin, deep in thought.

“We could do a seance.” Y/n quietly suggested.

“Brilliant idea, Y/n.” Her grandma congratulated her, sensing what she was thinking. “Obviously, the owner of this heart isn’t going to just let us have it. We have to go through his bloodline to get it.”

“So, what do we do?” Benny asked.

“Take us to where you found the box,” Y/n answered.

***

“So, what are you doing?” Benny asked Y/n as he stood beside her, watching her wave her hands and mutter incantations.

“Cloaking spell.” She answered shortly. When the spell was finished, she turned to him with a smile. “We can’t exactly do this kind of thing out in the open for anyone to see.”

Benny and Ethan had taken the girls to the cemetery, where they found the heart in the box. The witches decided that the best way to get the lock off was to summon someone who shared blood with whoever made the lock and ask them to break the magic so they could get into the box. Not able to contribute anything to the seance, Ethan left Benny to work with the two grandmas and the pretty girl by himself.

“How long have you been practicing magic?” Benny asked, looking down and kicking up some dirt because he was too nervous to look at Y/n. It was as if he hadn’t seen a pretty girl before.

“Not too long. A few years, I think.”

“Wow. I thought you’d been practicing forever; you seem so good.” Y/n grinned, starkly contrasting her reaction to her grandma’s similar compliment earlier that day.

“No, I just have a really good teacher.”

“Kids!” Grandma Weir called for the teenagers, sitting next to G/n. “Get over here. It’s time.” The two scrambled to sit next to their grandmothers. The four spellcasters formed a circle around the enchanted box on the ground. “Everyone, join hands.”

Benny’s hand felt clammy in Y/n’s, and he hoped she wouldn’t comment on it. 

“Don’t be nervous.” She whispered to him, squeezing his hand as she closed her eyes. Benny just became more anxious. His nerves were not all due to the seance he was about to perform, although that was part of it. But the main reason he was so nervous was because he was holding the hand of a powerful and enchanting witch. He took a deep breath to collect himself. 

‘Asking Y/n to hang out shouldn’t be too hard after this.’ Benny thought, closing his eyes.

‘Let’s just hope you survive all this to ask me.’ A foreign but familiar voice sounded in his mind. Startled, Benny opened his eyes and looked at Y/n, who was already looking at him. Without saying anything else, physically or telepathically, she smirked and winked at Benny before closing her eyes again.

She was even more impressive than Benny thought now.

Seances were kind of scary. Benny felt like the wind was going to hurl him through a tree; it was so strong. He chanted incantations with the witches, gripping Y/n’s hand to ground himself. G/n called out to the ancestors of the blood magic’s owner to come, and after begging and getting whipped by the wind, one arrived. None of the spellcasters opened their eyes, afraid they would dry out or see something too terrifying. But they heard whispers of whoever had come pouring what was left of their soul into opening the box. Soon, the four sensed the energy leaving, and as they thanked whoever had come for coming, the wind settled into a calm breeze.

“That was…” Benny started, trying to find a word to describe what he had just been through. “Something.” Y/n laughed, brushing back the hair that had flown in her face.

“Something, indeed.” Benny’s eyes followed her pointed finger to the box, which was now open. “But at least it worked.

“You are so awesome,” Benny said to Y/n, in awe of her power. The teens’ grandmothers cleared their throats, and he suddenly remembered that he and Y/n weren’t the only ones in the cemetery. “Oh! You guys too!”

“As flattered as I am, Y/n did indeed do a bulk of the work.” G/n sighed, rubbing her hands. “The magic of a young witch can be very powerful, and her expertise just makes it more so.”

“Grandma, please.” Y/n dropped her head into her hands, not wanting to be the center of attention with a subject such as who has the most powerful magic in the group. Benny scooted closer to her, tucking a loose piece of hair she had missed behind her ear.

“No, she’s right. You’re like, really cool.” Benny mentally slapped himself. Really? That’s the best he could do? Y/n lifted her head to look at him, a small smile adorning her already gorgeous features.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Benny.”

#benny weir x reader #benny weir #my babysitter’s a vampire x reader #my babysitter's a vampire #mbav #agaypanic

[effortandmore]

worth all your while (ch.2) | knj x reader

chapter summary: you don't have to wait for long to hear from namjoon, which is great except your sister and your best friend won't shut up about it. (or: there is lots of texting, some phone sex, and we meet seokjin!)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol

chapter warnings: smut, way too much texting, swearing, alcohol. here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: mutual masturbation, phone sex, namjoon calls you baby because ofc he does, discussion of cunnilingus

chapter word count: ~6.9k (total 12.4k)

a/n: i was going to be awesome and format the texting properly, but i am inherently lazy, so here you go. thanks to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over. love you both.

previous chapter | next chapter | read on ao3

It’s not even close to two weeks before you hear from Namjoon.

When you finally touch down in the United States after your stupidly long layover in London, you turn your phone back on to a slew of messages. Your mom, wondering why you haven’t called to update her (because it’s not like she could check your flight status herself or anything), your sister asking if you still want a ride or if you’ll just rent a car, your editor wanting to know if you can resend your last revisions on your most recent article because in 36 hours he’d managed to delete the email permanently somehow… and then two texts standing out from the rest — no contacts listed, just two Korean numbers. One just looks to be a link. 

You click that one first while you wait by the baggage claim for your suitcase that’s going to take ages to show up. All it says is, “please sign,” with the link below. It feels like balls of yarn are being unfurled in your chest, rolling haphazardly around as your nerves kick up. You know what it is, you knew it was coming, but it still feels strange that it’s real. There’s a short-ish contract on the other side of the docusign link, and you know you should read it carefully, but it just seems… overwhelming. With a deep breath, you close the window and go back to your messages, opening the one from the other unknown number. 

Unknown [17:20]: Hi… I hope your flight was okay. You should have the thing to sign. I promise there’s nothing weird in there, but take your time 🙂

You shouldn’t find the fact that he texts like your grandmother endearing, but you immediately do. The smile on your face tells you everything you need to know—you’re looking at your screen with the dopiest grin and starting to realize you’re maybe in a little trouble. 

You [22:11]: so, no weird stuff?

Namjoon [22:11]: Hi! You landed. And no, no weird stuff

You [22:12]: why aren’t you asleep yet? 

Namjoon [22:13]: Too excited to sleep

You [22:13]: excited about the hockney?

Namjoon [22:14]: That too 😉

You’re fucked.

It’s not until later, when you’re safe and sound at your childhood home, blankets tucked up around you in the bed you slept in for seventeen years of your life, that you reply to him. 

You [01:03]: cute

When he doesn’t answer right away, you have to force yourself to not overthink it—both of you just traveled literally around the world, and he’s probably asleep, which is something you should be too if you want to have any hope of enjoying the next couple of days. You pull a sleep mask on, stick your headphones in, and fall asleep to a podcast you’ve never heard of. As you drift off, you think you probably already know what your dreams will be about. 

The next few days are a whirlwind. You sign the NDA when you wake up at some god-forsaken hour of the morning on the first day. Turns out, once it’s done, you feel a lot better. You won’t have to think about it again, and for some inexplicable reason, you know you can trust Namjoon when he says ‘no weird stuff,’ although you’re dying to know what he thinks would constitute ‘weird’ that isn’t fucking a journalist in an airport bathroom on a whim. 

Over breakfast, your mom and sister fill you in on the activities you’ll be expected to participate in over the week, in advance of your sister’s wedding. There are dress fittings, last minute visits to confirm details with the wedding planner, a family-only brunch, a rehearsal dinner, a bachelorette party… 

The list goes on until your Cheerios are gone and you’re feeling more overwhelmed than you were before you fell asleep. But your sister looks even worse off than you, her eyes a little wide and her hands a little shaky around her coffee mug, and you wish you knew what to say to make her feel better, but you’ve got no idea how to put yourself in her shoes. 

The whole marriage thing hasn’t even been on your radar as you’ve chased school, graduate school, work in the states, work in Korea… always more more more, trying to prove something to yourself. What that something is, you don’t even know. But it’s kept you busy enough that it’s been ages since you let yourself fall into anything serious—preferring friends with benefits and just plain friends to the hassles of an actual relationship. And based on the way your sister looks like she might crawl out of her own skin with apprehension, you think you’ve probably made the right choices. 

Your phone buzzes on the table, drawing your attention away from your mother’s long list of tasks. 

Namjoon [08:06]: You think I’m cute? 

You [08:06]: have you looked in a mirror lately?

You stare at the screen as you wait for a response. He’s been quick so far, so you wonder what’s got him pausing, those three imposing dots coming off and on the screen a few times before you finally get a message. 

Namjoon [08:09]: Actually, yeah. There’s a great one in the lounge at Heathrow…

Oh, fuck. The heat traveling up your neck is instant, all your thoughts immediately go to that stupid bathroom and the look on his face when he came; jaw slack, eyes dark, bottom lip pulled under his teeth… You feel like you might combust at the breakfast table. 

“Honey?”

Your head snaps up from your phone and you see your sister and your mom both staring at you. 

“Huh? Sorry!” You fumble with your phone and lock the screen, turning it to silent before you put it back on the table—face down of course. “Work stuff.” 

Lucky for you, it seems you’ve found the key to alleviating your sister’s stress, as her worried frown turns into a knowing smirk. “You must have dedicated colleagues! Isn’t it like… midnight in Seoul?”

To cover your panic, you take a long drink of your coffee and nod. “Yep, I got so lucky with this job,” you choke out. 

“Mmhmm,” she murmurs, thankfully not pushing it in front of your mom, who has already re-launched into super-party-planner mode. You exchange sympathetic glances with your sister, neither of you with the heart to tell your mother that she should just relax and let the wedding planner handle things.

There is so much to do in advance of a wedding, you really had no idea. It makes you feel guilty about most of the judgmental thoughts you’ve ever had when attending other peoples’. Everyone must just be doing their best, you think, as you watch your sister get poked and pulled and sucked in and tucked into her (absolutely stunning) dress. 

The shop is a small boutique one, way fancier than you’ve ever imagined yourself in. Your sister has always been kind of like that, though. She likes to have nice things, dress nicely, live up to all the expectations your parents had of the both of you. Sometimes, you think you do as well, maybe not with designer clothes and a rich fiance, but you have a good job that you’re passionate about and you’re happy—even if sometimes a little lonely. Parents always say that’s what they want for their kids above all else, so by that standard, you’re nailing it. 

Turns out, dress fittings take an exhaustingly long time. You’ve been sitting on the chaise outside the changing room for what feels like days, and it seems like she’s not even close to being finished. More champagne would be in order, but it’s still daylight and you don’t know how much day drinking you can get away with while you’re sitting next to your high-strung mother and your sister’s even-higher-strung future mother-in-law. 

The temptation to look at your phone is too high to resist, so you put your champagne flute down and check your messages for the first time since breakfast.

Namjoon [11:31]: Was that too much?

Namjoon [14:27]: It was too much. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I just can’t stop thinking about you. 

Namjoon [14:29]: That probably sounds creepy. Forget I said that. Can you delete text messages? It’s 2022 for the love of god. 

Namjoon [14:34]: Please just ignore all of this, okay?  I’m totally chill about everything, I promise. 

You [15:06]: imagine what the locals would say if they knew RM was a quadruple texter

Namjoon [15:06]: I fucked this up, didn’t I?

You [15:07]: no, you’re good. still cute

Namjoon [15:07]: Would it be weird if I said I wanted to call you? 

You [15:08]: not weird, sounds nice actually, but i’m at a wedding dress shop so maybe later?

Namjoon [15:09]: …You’re where? 

You [15:09]:  a wedding dress shop - my sister’s getting married this weekend

Namjoon [15:10]: Your sister! Cool!

You [15:10]: yes, very cool to be subjected to a week of my mother acting like a clinically insane person. anyway, i can call later if you’re around

Namjoon [15:11]: I might be, let me know when you’re free

You [15:11]:  will do - you’re probably busy. what’re you up to, anyway?

Namjoon [15:11]: Nothing much

You [15:12]: okay, man of mystery 🙄 keep your secrets, then

Namjoon [15:12]: It’s really nothing. You’d be surprised how boring I can be

When you slide your phone back into your bag and look up, your mother is practically boring holes in the side of your head with her death glare. On the pedestal in front of you, your sister looks like an actual angel, and instead of glaring at you, she’s smirking again. 

“What?” you ask both of them. 

“What’s so important you need to have your nose glued to that screen?” your mom asks impatiently.

“Nothing, just more work stuff.” You’re obviously lying, and they both probably know it. 

“I wish I had a job like yours,” your sister teases.

“Shut up,” you mumble under your breath. “You look beautiful, by the way.” 

“Thanks.” She blushes and turns to look at her reflection. “It’s pretty wild, right? Me getting married…”

“It’s perfect,” you assure her. “We’re all so happy for you.” 

You don’t find time to call Namjoon later that day, your mom keeping you busy with wedding-related chores until you need to start getting ready for your sister’s bachelorette party. It’s got you sort of on edge—you think you’ve been pretty calm in your texts with him, but inside you’re a livewire, all the curiosity and excitement of something new has you some combination of interested and skeptical. 

Once you’re ready, makeup on and squeezed into your small dress, you’re still waiting for your sister. She’s on the floor cross-legged in front of your full-length mirror doing her own makeup and swearing lightly under her breath. You’re not the only one with low-grade anxiety this week, it seems. On your phone, you find a playlist you think seems fun enough to get you in the mood to make questionable choices and carefree enough to distract you both from your current worries.

“This okay?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” she says, eyeing you from the mirror. “You look good, sis.” 

“Thanks. Been looking for a reason to wear this and I don’t get out much in Seoul.” The leather dress is impossibly short, in no way work-appropriate, and the only functions you go to where you could get away with it happen to be the ones you’re on the clock for. So it’s been hanging in your closet since the time you bought it on an optimistic whim, reminding you of the fun you’re not having most nights. 

“Seems like you got out somewhere,” she observes, flicking a mascara wand over her lashes. “You should send him a selfie, your tits are top-tier in that.” 

Your eyes roll so far back in your head you momentarily wonder if they’ll center themselves again. “I’m not going to send him a thirst trap.” 

She cackles at that. “Hah! So, there is a him to send it to! I knew it!” 

Fuck, she’s good. “Fuck off.” 

“You have to be nice to me, it’s my night.” 

“I’m your sister, I never have to be nice to you.” 

“Quit arguing and send him a picture, dummy. If you don’t, I'll wait until you’re drunk later and send him something embarrassing from your phone.”

“You would never…” But you know she would. She’s done worse. She pins you with a look that says exactly that, so you sigh and pick up your phone, angling to get the picture right, fluffing up your hair a little and trying the pouting thing that other people always make look cute. You’re not sure it works for you, but she seems convinced when you show her the first couple shots. 

“It’s really not like that with him,” you protest. “It was probably just a one-time thing.” 

“You usually spend whole afternoons giggling into your phone like a teenager with your one-night stands?” she teases. 

And that is a good point… Sort of a good one. You’re not sure what’s going on with Namjoon, but he did text you first, and often, and kind of enthusiastically, so maybe he meant it when he said he wanted to see you again. At least sending a selfie might be a good way to test the waters. 

“Okay, fine. Which one?” you ask, handing her your phone. 

She points at one where you think you look the most desperate, but she calls it ‘sexy,’ so you go with it. 

His response is immediate. 

Namjoon [21:20]: Holy shit 

You flush and show her the phone, and in turn she claps and bounces around like the endearing weirdo she is. She’s always been your biggest cheerleader. 

You [21:21]: bachelorette party outfit - looks okay?

Namjoon [21:21]: Incredible. How do I get an invite to this party?

You [21:21]: it’s very exclusive, sorry

Namjoon [21:22]: What a tease

And you’re sure you’re about to reply with something witty and sexy and fun, but instead, your sister snatches your phone and shuts it off. “Time to go,” she says. “You can sext later.” 

“I am not… I would never—” you sputter as she laughs maniacally and pulls you up off the bed. 

“We really need to leave, but you can tell me all about him on the way to the club.” 

Turns out, a limo full of your sister’s friends with countless bottles of champagne means you do not tell her all about him on the way to the club. Nor do you when you’re at the club, dancing until you can’t feel your calves and drinking more pink cocktails than you’d ever known to exist. You don’t know your sister’s friends too well, but they’re fun: loud, excitable, supportive… You have a great time… maybe too great of a time, since your headache starts kicking in before you even get your coat back. 

While the rest of them continue drinking (mixing new kinds of liquors in on the ride back to the hotel you’re all staying at), you grab water from the mini bar and painkillers from your purse and start the delicate work of trying to make sure you can function in the morning. It wouldn’t be so bad, except you promised you’d meet Seokjin for coffee in the morning, and you haven’t seen him in ages. 

It’s much later—and you’re painfully sober—when you crawl into your hotel room bed and flick your phone back on so you can set an alarm for your coffee date. It’s a part of the morning you haven’t seen in a really long time; you’re going to feel like shit when you have to get up in a handful of hours, but your sister seemed to have a great time, so it was worth it. You check your messages, and if it’s only because you see you have one from Namjoon, that’s nobody’s business but yours. 

Namjoon [00:12]: What is it about you in a dress? I can’t think straight since you sent that. You’re making me crazy, you know?

God, you really like him. You feel the same way he does, like he’s making you lose your mind a little bit. It’s all so strange and fast, but easy, too. All you want to do is get through this wedding and get back to Seoul so you can see him properly. Even just to talk again. It sounds stupid maybe, but you really liked talking to him in that airport. He’s clever and quick and kind… he’s just everything. And it seems like maybe, maybe, maybe he might think something similar about you for whatever reason. 

It’s not fair, the timing of this whole thing. 

The next morning, you drag yourself out of bed and through a shower and your skincare routine. The coffee shop you’re headed to is close to the hotel, so you walk, hoping some fresh air will help the foggy feeling in your head from the poor choices you made the night before. 

It sort of does, but you still feel awful until you clock Seokjin sitting at a table in front of the shop, one big, sugary (if you know him at all, which you do) drink in his hand, and one bigger, but less-sugary (if he knows you at all) drink on the table opposite him. 

“Jinnie!” 

You practically launch yourself at him when you approach, and he squeaks out his surprise before pulling you into a tight hug. 

“You look like shit,” he whispers into your ear. 

That earns him a slap on the shoulder. “I’ve missed you too, brat. You, of course, don’t look like shit. Thanks for the coffee.” You sit and take a drink. It’s perfect. “It’s perfect.” 

“Of course it is,” he says smugly. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” 

“Missed you too, kiddo.” 

“Thanks for coming to the wedding with me.” 

“Are you kidding? Your sister has great taste—I wouldn’t miss it.” 

Kim Seokjin has been your best friend since… Well, since you can remember. He grew up down the street from you, and one day, he offered you a chocolate milkshake out of the blue when you were riding by on your bike. You accepted, quickly realized that it was not, in fact, a milkshake, but dirt mixed with a careful proportion of water. You spit it out, screamed and panicked, and Seokjin just laughed… and laughed and laughed. The next thing you realized was that his laugh was like a drug, and you sort of wanted to hear it all the time. So from then on, the two of you were inseparable. You made it a life goal to drag as much laughter out of him as possible, and he offered it freely and often.

Since you were kids, you’ve been there for all of each other’s firsts. He comforted you through your first breakup, you coached him through his first kiss, you were study buddies in high school, and then in college. You worked for free at his restaurant off and on when you graduated, knowing that his parents had basically chanced their retirement on his success, and by then, they were your family too. 

And now, he’s agreed to be your date to your sister’s wedding, since you almost never have any solid romantic prospects, and he never turns down a free meal. Or your company, but he’d probably not admit that out loud. 

“How’ve you been, my sweet, big-shot chef?” 

The tips of his ears flush pink, and it’s a tell that he’s got good stuff to share, so you settle in and listen.

“—and that’s when I knew I liked her,” he says as he wraps up the sort of life recap you do when you’ve known someone forever and they can fill in some of the gaps themselves. 

“When she fell down the stairs because you scared the shit out of her?”

“No, when she laughed about it.”

You nod knowingly. Seokjin has always liked people who don’t take themselves too seriously. People who can take a joke and make themselves the joke when needed. 

“She sounds lovely,” you say. 

“Wanna see?” he asks, pulling out his phone. 

His new girlfriend, in addition to apparently being clumsy, is fucking stunning. Of course she is, because Seokjin is fucking stunning, too. You hate that you immediately think they’d have the prettiest babies. 

“We’re going to have cute kids,” he says, like he’s got a little radio tuned in permanently to your thoughts. 

“That’s a big deal, Jinnie, to be thinking about kids.” 

He flushes even deeper and sinks into his seat a little, running a hand through his fluffy hair. “I think she might be it, you know?” 

“Shit.”

“Shit, indeed,” he agrees, nodding into his coffee. “How about you?” 

You huff out a breath and shake your head. “Nothing new, really. Just a lot of work.” 

“You’re a terrible liar, you know?”

“What?” “I already talked to your sister, she told me there’s a guy.” 

You’ll never survive this visit home, you think. Your eyes are going to get stuck facing inwards after all the rolling and you’re going to possibly commit murder. You can see the headlines now, “local girl kills gossipy sister and best friend day before absurdly extravagant wedding.” 

“There’s not a guy,” you mutter. “It’s not a thing.” 

“So there’s not a guy? Or, there is a guy and it’s not a thing? Or, there is a guy and there might be a thing, but you think if you let yourself be excited about it you’ll jinx it or something equally as stupid?” 

This fucking guy. Thinks he knows you.

“Option three, I think,” you mumble. He does know you. 

Mercifully, Seokjin lets it go when you say you’re not ready to talk about it. Your coffee goes fast, and you spend the afternoon doing a whole lot of nothing with him; you wander up and down the streets of your city, window shopping, catching up on all the gossip he has about people you went to high school with. You end up with very little time to get ready for your sister’s rehearsal dinner, which seems to bother Seokjin more than it bothers you. 

He whines to no one in particular as he fixes his hair in your bathroom, you pull on the floral-patterned dress that you don’t like but your mom told you to wear, and you dig out the color-coordinated tie you’d bought for your date. 

“You shouldn’t have,” he says, when he comes out of the bathroom and sees you holding the pastel tie up. 

“You know how my mom is,” you say.

“Taste in clothing worse than her taste in men?” 

“Just wear the tie, Jinnie.” 

He does wear the tie, and at dinner, your mom coos over how nice you look together, which quickly turns into her complaining that you can “never just find a nice guy like Seokjin,” and “isn’t it a shame that you two never dated,” she laments to your aunt. Your aunt, properly drunk as she usually is and as one should be at these kinds of things, takes this as an opportunity to shamelessly flirt with your best friend, who flushes pink and laughs a high-pitched, uncomfortable kind of laugh. He flips you off behind his back when you excuse yourself to get a drink and leave him alone with your would-be-cougar relative. 

All in all, the night goes well, and you and Seokjin both end up having fun. You dance like idiots after dinner, you say nice things in front of everyone about your sister and her fiance, and Seokjin gives you a dramatic standing ovation after your speech, which should be awkward but is hilarious instead. You stumble out of the restaurant together when it’s over, both a little tipsy, and share a cab back to your mom’s house to try and get some sleep before the wedding the next day. 

Once you have him all set up in the guest room with a quiet, “Goodnight, Jinnie” (because he’s asleep almost the instant his head hits the pillow), you head to your own room. 

When you’re settled in bed, you decide you should probably check your work email, and maybe reply to Namjoon. 

You [22:45]: glad you liked the dress - did you have a good day?

His reply comes after you’ve switched over to shooting off quick replies to some time-sensitive email in your inbox. 

Namjoon [22:52]: Pretty good, saw the Hockney 😍 You?

You [22:57]: was it everything you thought it would be? i’m good, saw my best friend

Namjoon [22:57]: It was better. Did you tell her about me? 

You [22:58]: nda remember? and he. he’s a he

You send him a picture you took of you and Seokjin at the dinner, one where he’s making a stupid face and you’re rolling your eyes at him. You both look silly, but happy. 

Namjoon [22:58]: Lucky guy

You [23:00]: that’s seokjin - i’ve known him my whole life

Namjoon [23:01]: Googles: how to be a seokjin. You look beautiful, btw

You [23:01]: please, i know you’re using naver - you’re ridiculous

Namjoon [23:02]: Ridiculously handsome? Ridiculously interesting?  Ridiculously into this girl I met through work

You actually stifle a quiet scream into your pillow at that. Who the fuck talks like that? He’s such a strange combination of awkward and forward and you think you might be more into that than you’d expected. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to say that. Just so he knows he’s not alone…

You [23:04]: crazy, i’m pretty into this guy i met through work

Namjoon [23:04]: 😁

It’s incredible how he can be so… dorky like this, when you’ve seen him on stage and he’s… not that when he’s performing. You think you like this side even more than the other. The best of both worlds, you decide. 

You [23:05]: goodnight, namjoon

Namjoon [23:05]: Goodnight ❤️

It’s just a stupid emoji, but you honestly think you might combust. You want to run down the hall and shake Seokjin awake and show him the whole chain of messages, and it takes all of your willpower (and the fact that you literally signed something saying you wouldn’t) to not do that. 

That night, you dream of Seoul, maybe a sign that you’re missing your new home a little. You miss gray skies and cozy cafes and the constant thrumming of the city around you. You dream of those things with a blurry-faced Namjoon by your side—you and Namjoon knocking shoulders on the sidewalk in Sinchon, you and Namjoon sipping coffee in the shop you like in Hongdae. When you wake up, you feel nostalgic for things you haven’t yet done, that you’ve only experienced in dreams. It’s a soft feeling, warm and comforting, and you realize you’re a little excited to get back and see if you can turn those dreams into something real. 

But first, you have a wedding to attend, and a best friend down the hall who will be an absolute monster if you don’t get up and help him make some breakfast soon. 

Your sister’s wedding is beautiful. She’s stunning, her new husband is practically giddy, and you decide you’d like that kind of love someday, where it practically radiates out of you, where it’s unmistakable to anyone lucky enough to bear witness. Their vows are simple and sweet, your mom cries, then Seokjin cries and you snap a picture to use as blackmail later. 

You dance, you facetime with Seokjin’s girlfriend, who is every bit as lovely as he’d described her, you don’t drink much because you want to make sure you’re coherent and available for your sister if she needs anything. They cut the cake just after nine in the evening, and by eleven, you’ve made sure a drunk-ish Seokjin is safely in a taxi on the way to his girlfriend. Shortly thereafter, you toss flower petals over your sister and her husband as they make their exit, and your duties for the evening are complete. 

When you finally make it home, you crawl into a warm bath, hoping to give your calves some relief from three nights of too-tall heels and too much bad dancing. You’re scrolling through instagram, checking out some pictures of a gallery show you’re dying to get to back in Seoul, when your phone rings. 

“Hi.” You grab your headphones to answer, and your voice is a little shaky when you speak quietly—you’re not sure why you’re so nervous. 

“Hey,” Namjoon says. “Is this okay? To call you?” 

“Wouldn’t have answered if it weren’t probably.”

You hear him give a breathy laugh. “How was the wedding?” 

“Good. Really good, actually. I think she’s really happy,” you say. 

“Sounds like you’re smiling,” he says. You are, and it sounds like he’s smiling when he says it, too. 

There’s a pause where neither of you speak. You can hear he has music playing wherever he is, something soft, with a steady beat. It sounds like something you’d like, maybe some kind of Japanese lofi hip hop… 

“Is that Nujabes?” you ask. 

“You know him?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“God, I think I lo—uh… nevermind. Yeah, it’s him. I listen to Modal Soul a lot when I travel. It’s relaxing.” 

You nod against the edge of the tub even though he can’t see you. “Yeah, I get that.” 

“So… what’re you up to?… That was lame, sorry… I guess I don’t really know how to do this.” He laughs at himself, and you laugh with him. He’s so goddamn cute you can’t hardly stand it. 

“You don’t know how to talk on the phone?” 

“Funny. Don’t know how to talk on the phone to the prettiest girl I know. Can’t believe you answered.” 

“It’s your lucky night, I guess,” you joke. “Anyway, I’m not doing anything. Just camped out in the bath trying to wind down.” You hear him suck in a breath, and you wonder if you said something wrong. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… Just… Can I be honest?” 

“Of course you can.” 

“Think my brain stopped working when you said you were in the bath.” 

Heat rises in your cheeks; you hadn’t even considered it was sort of a strange confession to make. Or a forward one, anyway. “Sorry,” you whisper. 

“Don’t be. Just sort of… wish I was there instead of here. Where I am. Which is not in the bathroom with you while you take a bath. Probably naked…” He trails off with a groan and then tacks on, more to himself than to you, “What is wrong with me?” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s nice to be… wanted, if that makes sense.” 

“You have no idea how much I want you,” he replies quickly. “I hope that’s not too much.” 

It’s not. You’re starting to think that it might never, ever be too much with him. Like he could talk and give and offer and you would always want, always take. It feels dangerous, how much you like him after so, so little. It scares you to think how far this could go, how deep you could get. Makes you wonder how much worse (better?) this will be when you’re in the same city again. 

“It’s not. Sort of wish you were here, too.” 

“Sort of?” 

“Maybe just… not in a bathroom again.” 

He laughs at that, some of the tension draining out of your phone call. You love the sound of his laugh in a different way than you love Seokjin’s, but it’s also the kind that makes you want to hear it more. 

“Yeah, a proper bedroom would be nice,” he agrees. “Thought about it a lot,” he says, half under his breath, like he’s not sure he wants you to hear. 

Your curiosity though… it gets the best of you. “Really? Thought about me like that?”

“Every night since London,” he says. 

“Oh… wow. That’s…” 

“Creepy?”

You laugh. “Hot. It’s hot, Joon.” Your bravery is back, or maybe it’s stupidity, but he opened the door, so you step through, your voice lowered. “Did you touch yourself?” 

“Oh, fuck… Yeah, I did.” He lets out a little nervous-sounding whine and you can almost picture him rubbing the back of his neck like you’ve seen him do in person and on tv when he’s a little unsure of himself. “Thought of you, and… And I came so hard.”

It’s instant, the way your body reacts to that. You feel heat building low, your mouth even waters a little. It should be embarrassing, it should be weird. You don’t even really know him… But you want. “Bet you looked good,” you say, because it’s true, because you’ve seen what he looks like when he comes, you can’t stop thinking about what he looks like when he comes and wondering when you’ll get to see it again. 

“Baby…” he breathes out. “Are we really doing this?” 

“I think so,” you reply, your fingers skimming down your abdomen, dipping below the water so you can relieve just a little bit of the pressure building in your core. “If you want to.” Then you add, voice hushed. “I want to. Like it when you call me that.” 

Through your headphones, you hear his breath catch, and then get a little heavier. “I like it, too… Are you… Are you touching yourself?” 

“Mmhmm,” you confirm. “Feels good.” 

Namjoon lets out a whimper. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Can’t believe you’re real. Can’t believe you want me.” 

“Want you so much,” you whine, fingers moving across your clit, then down lower… You slide one inside, you’re slick with want, even underwater. “Want you to touch yourself, too.” 

“Fuck, I want you, too. Wish I could get my mouth on you—bet you taste so good,” he says. “Can’t stop thinking about getting you in my bed, on your back, fucking you on my tongue.” His voice is a little shaky now, too, and you close your eyes, letting yourself imagine it’s his finger in you, his hand playing with one of your nipples. “I’d make you feel so good, baby.” 

“Know you would… Already have…” 

It’s almost perfect, the sound of his breath in your ear, just like it was at the airport, and you can almost feel it now, the way it felt then. You rub circles over your clit, one leg coming out of the water to rest on the edge of the bathtub; you just want more. 

It’s almost enough, Namjoon’s breathy, short moans as he strokes himself on the other end of the line, your fingers working methodically… 

But it’s not quite right… you keep thinking about how full you felt with his cock buried in you, how you’re not sure if anything else will ever be enough again. “Love the way you sound,” he says. “Want to hear you always…” 

“It’s just… not enough. Want your cock…” you whine. 

“Yeah? Needy girl… You take me so well,” he says, voice thick with want. “So tight… Felt so good for me…” 

Your hand moves faster, you slip another finger in and gasp shallowly when you find your g-spot. For some reason, you remember when he called you a good girl in the airport—you wonder if you could use it to your advantage. 

“Wish you were fucking me… I’d be so good for you, promise.”

Namjoon makes a choked sound and his breath quickens. “Know you would, baby… Always so good for me… Fuck, I’m so hard for you, want to be inside you,” he says. “I’m close already… Wish you were here, wish I could see you.” 

“I’m close, too. Gonna come soon…please… ” Your thighs are starting to tremble and you feel your orgasm coming quickly—it’s going to be over too soon. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for.

“That’s it, baby… wanna hear you come for me… come on…” You know the urgency in his voice, a little desperate, like he’s falling apart the same way you are. 

That thought has you coming, orgasm spreading a warm shiver through your whole body as your leg falls back in the water and you close your thighs, hand still moving carefully over your clit. You whisper his name, your head resting on the edge of the tub as you blink your eyes open. 

“Fuck, you sound so good…” he says, almost pained, voice low and raspy. 

“You do too, Joon. So, so good… Love hearing you like this…” 

You know the instant it happens—his breath catches when he comes and you picture what he looks like… Probably so fucking good, and you wish you were with him and you want, want, want. Never enough… he makes you so greedy. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You’re amazing… Turn me into a mess.” 

You smile, starting to come back into your body a little. “You make me a mess, too… But I think I like it.” 

“I like it, too,” he says. 

“Good.” 

Neither of you speaks for a while, and in the silence, you realize your bathwater is cool and your skin is pruning from being in there too long. You hope your mom had enough champagne to sleep through whatever splashing and whimpering you were doing. The thought of her hearing makes you laugh, and also want to crawl under a blanket and never come out. 

“So…” Namjoon says, “Just another week or so until you’re in Seoul, right?” 

“Mmhmm.” You pull the plug in the bath and watch the water start to swirl in a little whirlpool down the drain. A good metaphor for what Namjoon is doing to your inhibitions. 

“You maybe… want to get a drink sometime?” It’s involuntary, the laugh you let out, and louder than you should. You slap a hand over your mouth and let yourself laugh silently into your palm. “What?” he asks. 

“You. You are such a dork,” you say, grin obvious in your tone. 

His is obvious, too. “Hey, now! I’m a famous rapper. People think I’m very tough.” 

“And a dork,” you tease. 

“And a dork,” he concedes. “I like you, you know.” 

“I like you, too.” 

“You sound tired. Going to sleep soon?” 

“I think so. Long day. Good ending, though.” 

Namjoon laughs. “The best. But messy. I should go clean up.” 

“Okay… thanks for this.” 

“Are you kidding?” he says, “I should be thanking you.” 

“Guess you’re gonna have to buy me that drink.” You climb out of the tub and wrap yourself in one of your mom’s fluffy towels. You wonder how parents always have the softest towels. Even when you spend a lot of money, yours never live up to hers. Like she has some kind of towel magic. 

“Can’t wait to buy you a drink, baby.” His voice is soft and kind and a little bit fucked out. It’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. He’s got some kind of magic, too, you think. 

“Goodnight, Namjoon.” 

“Goodnight.”

next chapter

#bts smut #bts fanfic #bts writing #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #namjoon imagine #bts imagines #bts fanfction #namjoon fanfiction #btswritersclub #kvanity

[collecting-stories]

Baba - Brian 'Otis' Zvonecek

Request: She meets her boyfriend’s family for the first time after dating for six months. Brian Zvonecek x fem pretty pls nobody writes for him anymore 😔

Summary: reader prepares to meet Otis' baba for the first time.

A/N: Thought about making this like...reader meeting 51 for the first time cause...family...but I feel like that's been done. And this isn't actually like meeting baba it's just, the frantic feelings of inadequacy beforehand.

One Chicago Masterlist

✰✰✰✰

Despite all efforts on your behalf to 'play it cool', you'd been internally freaking out about today since Otis mentioned it, casually, over breakfast before a shift, as if meeting the matriarch of his family was no big deal at all. 

"Baba doesn't even speak English," Otis said, reminding you for what was possibly the seventeenth time in an hour that his grandmother wouldn't even know what you were saying when she eventually met you, "you could drop the f-bomb and she'd have no idea."

"Did you just say f-bomb Brian?" You laughed, turning away from your closet to actually look at your boyfriend. "You know you're like, a grown adult who can curse, who I've heard curse, right?"

He stuck his tongue out at you once your back was to him again. He knew you had been nervous about today, and not just because you had made a point of telling him how nervous you were. He'd been filled to the brim with anxiety the first time he met your parents, separately because they were divorced. Despite your dad being the more awkward and uncomfortable of the two dinners, something you had prepared him for, as much as someone could possibly be prepared for, he'd been more nervous about your mom. So, he understood why you were so worried, you wanted to make a good impression on someone who was important to him. It'd been that way the first time you met 51. 

"Hey," Otis mentioned, having just thought about it and figuring it was worth mentioning, "you've met all of 51 and they love you. Even Herrmann's kids like you." 

"Yeah but that's different," you sighed, finally settling on a shirt and pulling it over your head. You were going with Otis to pick his baba up at the airport and then go to dinner. There was a Russian rrestaurant down the street from your work and she'd mentioned wanting to try it out when she came to town. Apparently she wanted to test 'how these Americans do with home cooking' or however she said it to Otis in Russian. He'd suggested stopping at the apartment to drop off her belongings before dinner but she insisted they could go right out. "51 didn't move into our apartment afterward."

"I know it'll be an adjustment-"

"Yeah, and if she hates me the adjustment will be me, finding a new apartment," you replied. 

"She's not gonna hate you!" Otis insisted, "besides, she loves everyone...pretty much."

"Promising Bri," you huffed. 

Otis grabbed your phone off the nightstand and held it out to you, "look, it's not like I haven't talked about you before...I mean it's been six months."

"Doesn't mean she'll like me!" You grabbed your phone and stuffed it in your pocket before heading out of the bedroom, Otis following after you. 

Joe was watching tv in the living room and he looked up when the two of you entered the room. "Ooo, is this the official 'baba meeting outfit'?" He teased. 

You nodded, gesturing to your clothing, "what do you think?" You had tried to dress conservatively, neutral colors and nothing she might find inappropriate. 

"You look great, baba will love you." Otis stressed, grabbing your hips from behind and pushing you toward the door.

"And when she doesn't?" 

"She will!" Joe called from the couch, giving you a double thumbs up. 

You didn't get an opportunity to answer because Otis had pushed you out the door and pulled it shut behind you after grabbing your sneakers. He pushed them into your hands and pointed to your feet, "put on your shoes, let's go."

"These are totally reasonable concerns Brian," you complained, pulling your shoes on and following him to the stairs. 

"I know, I know. I was totally freaked out when I met your parents and, hey, it went great...with your mom. Baba will love you, I know she will. I get that its a big ask, having her move in-"

"I don't care about that. I mean obviously, I want her to have the best care possible and if that means moving in, I'm on board. I just mean...that's not the issue. I don't want her to move in and think I'm annoying or pushy or whatever and tell you I'm a bad fit and then you think maybe she's right and then we break up-"

"Whoa, hey...none of that is going to happen," Otis promised, grabbing your upper arms to stop you from walking toward the front door of the apartment building. He gave a gentle squeeze to reassure you, "Baba has practically already met you, I talk about you all the time. She's not going to hate you, I wouldn't have proposed this if I thought she would hate you or that you wouldn't be onboard. It'll be okay, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Okay." You nodded. 

Otis let go of you, giving your arms one more squeeze before he did, "ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." You agreed, though if you were being honest you were feeling remarkably better than you had been only moments earlier. You knew Otis was right, he'd never make you uncomfortable and, knowing him, he'd probably talked you up to his baba so much that she recite back your coffee order.  When you'd met 51 for the first time, Sylvie had even given you some contraband Starbucks pumpkin spice sauce that she found on eBay as a 'welcome to the family' gift. Though, you knew you bragged about Otis to your family just as heavily, if not more. While there was probably nothing that could truly prepare you for meeting his baba, Otis had done a good job of getting you out of your head. 

#brian zvonecek x reader #brian zvonecek x you #brian zvonecek x y/n #otis zvonecek x reader #otis zvonecek x you #otis zvonecek x y/n #otis zvonecek imagine #brian zvonecek imagine #one chicago imagine #one chicago fan fiction #one chicago fanfic #one chicago fic #Chicago fire imagine #Chicago fire fanfiction #collecting stories imagine

[changingplumbob]

York Household: Chapter 9, Part 11

In this final part my evil one is now Artemisia, Deanna suffers through a bug and we get some new family photos!

The Yorks are Italian so if you see them using words that don't look like English it's Italian, or what google assures me is Italian. Caro/Cara: Dear Buongiorno: Good morning Piccolo: Little one Tesoro: Treasure Nonno: Grandfather Nonna: Grandmother Si: Yes Grazie: Thank you Per Favore: Please Buon Compleanno: Happy Birthday

Of course if Kelly needed a wardrobe refresh there was only one sim who would do, older sister Devin! As well as being obsessed with her image she’s also getting pretty wealthy. Free shopping spree anyone? Back in Tartosa Kelly and Devin get a commemorative selfie.

Kelly: Grazie for the shop Devin and... grazie for finding the breastforms as well

Devin: Nessun problema, my director Norah knows where all the trans friendly stuff is. I’m just glad one of my sisters may like shopping. I know we may have gone overboard on the make up…. But the grey highlights your eyes

Kelly: It’s nice. When I go to school or wherever I want sims to know I’m a girl you know?

Devin: I can only imagine cara

Kelly: Well as an actress your imagination must be pretty good

Devin: *mock shock* A compliment? For little old me?

Kelly: Shut up. It’s never happening again

Devin: Forget the Starlight Accolade, I have now reached the pinnacle of my career. Come, let’s go find pa and he can tell you his next plan

Aaron: I didn’t see it coming. She never was interested in dresses or skirts or whatever. But I suppose Deanna wasn’t either. How you reacted to Onyx made me think a lot about how I’d react so I suppose I have you to thank for not having a bad reaction

Bob who is much younger than Aaron can’t quite believe that he’s had a positive effect on someone so he just smiles and nods.

Kelly: I’m here

Devin: She means… *sing song voice* we’re here!

Kelly: Do you have to announce yourself everywhere

Devin: It’s called main character energy sis. Besides, everytime I enter a room my theme music plays

Kelly: In your head and your head only

Devin: Oh my gosh can you not be a toad face for five seconds

Aaron: *sighs* As you can see Bob the change has not resulted in less bickering

Devin: Pa, we’re Italians. If we don’t be passionate about something daily, somewhere out there our Italian cred pass gets revoked

Kelly: So why is Fergus’ dad here?

Aaron: Because he’s not just Fergus’ dad. He’s Onyx’s dad to

Devin: And I’m here because I’m brilliant at everything, but also baby names

Kelly: You called your kid Rilian Villareal. Had you written that down in full and seen how weird it looks before you chose it

(the watcher chose "Rilian" independently. She did not think about the pairing with "Villareal" and how the whole thing just looks like a bunch of l's and i's with a couple of r's for good measure)

Devin: *scoffs* Let’s just get the brainstorm underway

Kelly: Brainstorm?

Aaron: I thought Fergus and Onyx could come over after school and help us think of names to shortlist. Unless you’ve already picked one?

Kelly: No I hadn’t… grazie pa. But I still get to choose right?

Aaron: 100%. Just not a swear word

Onyx: I don’t know, I was just thinking of names that were genderless and Onyx came to me like the watcher put it in my head or something

Devin: We should pick something Italian!

Bob: There are lots of food choices. Someone’s kid is called Apple

Fergus: Pick a voidcritter name, they’re cool

With lots of phone googling, laughing, and discussion the group arrive at a small list of names Kelly is happy to choose from. She goes into her room to ponder and settles on her favourite, Artemisia!

Deanna didn’t go to classes today; she was sick all day and chose to finish her coursework between naps.

Artemisia: This seat taken

Deanna: Aren’t you worried I’ll infect you with my germs

Artemisia: Suits me. Let me be the carrier of contagion and those kids I only slightly hurt can suffer without it getting blamed on me

Deanna: Kelly I’m trying to work here

Artemisia: It’s Artemisia

Deanna: Ahto -who – what?

Deanna: Sorry goblin, you’ll have to write that down for me to follow- no, not on my textbook!

Kelly: Too late

Deanna: So do you want to be called the whole mouthful? Artemisia

Artemisia: If you're too dumb to say the whole thing then say Emi or Emisia. But why not make other people suffer trying to say my name

Deanna: Well that’s on brand for you

In the kitchen Aaron has filled Calista in on the days progress and they’re doing their best to practice the new name.

Calista: Artemisia… My daughter is Artemisia… My youngest girl is Artemisia… Have you seen Atemisia…

Aaron: Bob suggested apple

Calista: Of course he did, man loves his food. Thank you for taking the day to be with her. Ti amo

Aaron: The dyslexia is something we need to support her- Artemisia with as well

Calista: *sighs* We would have bought our dream house right before all these expenses came up. I hope we can afford all she needs

Aaron: We can tap into the retirement fund

Calista: And what about when they make you retire

Aaron: I’m a hard worker, I think I’d be allowed to stay on past 65 if I wanted to. We’ve still got 7 or 8 years of work to save up with

Artemisia: Look at that, I did my homework faster than you, Artemisia for the win!

Deanna: You also had less of it

Artemisia: Do you know what anemia is?

Deanna: Why?

Artemisia: You do science

Deanna: Physics is not the same as biology dummy

Artemisia: I got an email that my blood tests came back saying I have it, whatever it is. I better tell ma and pa

Deanna enjoys the silence as Artemisia leaves for the main house. It’s hard enough focusing normally but when sick it’s even more difficult. She’s just gotten back into the rhythm of the work when-

Artemisia: Means low iron apparently

Deanna: Ke- Artemisia! Can’t you go eat your food elsewhere? I’m trying to focus

Artemisia: Oh, am I a distraction for you? So sad. I think I might have to cry about that

Eventually Artemisia finishes and leaves, also leaving her plate for anyone else to take care of.

In the middle of the night Artemisia gets woken up by terrible news, puberty is arriving via facial hair!

Artemisia: Don’t look at me mantis, it’s awful

Mantis: *sits silently*

Artemisia: Oh I’ve just got to get rid of it

She leaps from her bed and heads to the spare bathroom where she knows Aaron leaves some razors in case of guests needs. After watching a few youtube videos she does her best to remove the offending hair. The whole time she’s telling herself, three more years. Just three more years then we can take stuff to make this stop. Three more, I can survive that.

While this is happening Deanna is also having an awful night. With her term paper submitted she naps until she can take more painkillers. Unfortunately they seem to be making her woozy so she decides to skip a dose at her 2am dinner time. She manages to get back to sleep but in the morning she’s still feeling lightheaded. Another nap after breakfast clears up her illness and she’s awake for her exams. She averages a B+ this term, pretty good considering all the stress she’s been through.

Before work Calista and Aaron fit in some nectar creation, two more normal bottles of grape nectar tucked away to age. Artemisia may have flunked her exams today but she’s still riding high from the confidence of changing her name to suit her, so she’s unbothered. When everyone is home the family is invited around so we can get some photos of Artemisia looking like herself with her family. Joey is of course trying to show off despite being skinny… Zio Joey’s got this!

Alfred and Rilian eat in their high chairs. Surprising nobody, picky eater Rilian decides he doesn’t want to finish his meal actually. Instead he babbles with his twin. The others happily chat until it gets past the twins bedtime. Nonno Aaron is only to happy to usher the toddlers home before they start throwing tantrums.

Tamika: You haven’t seen me all rotation

Deanna: I’m sorry Mika, I got overwhelmed with everything

Tamika: Are you better now

Deanna: I think so. I mean I miss having Paris around but... I'm past the sad longing phase

Tamika: Good! Then we can start visiting the university nightclubs looking for guys and gals

Deanna: I don’t know if nightclubs are my thing

Tamika: That’s okay. We’ll check out the campus’ social pages, there’s bound to be some singles events, we’ll be each other’s wing woman

Deanna: Deal. Just… maybe keep the cute blondes to yourself for a while

And we finish this York chapter! Deanna may be single but she’s not falling apart, with my sim days to years maths it has been a year since she broke up with Paris. Artemisia is dreaming about making everyone at school embarrassed trying to say her name. Aaron and Calista haven’t gotten any promotions but are chipping away at the charisma skill. They do have years left to reach the top yet.

Previous ... Next (Chopra)

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0901 #KellyYork #ArtemisiaYork #DevinVillareal #AaronYork #BobPancakes

[seoksgrl]

happier than ever, 3. : knj namjoon x reader friends to strangers to lovers

tws: vomit, alcoholism, sa (very very brief but pls do not read if you are at all uncomfortable with this topic), mention of terminal illness and death

m.list prev | next

The sheets stick to your body when you wake up, rearing up as your muscles clench in fear. Your chest heaves, stuttered breaths puffing from between your dry, parted lips. 

It’s the first time you’ve dreamt of her, dreamt of anything, in months. You swallow, the action almost painful as your tongue sticks to the roof of your dry mouth. A sure sign you didn’t drink enough last night, even as the empty vodka bottle lays beside you on the bed. 

The room is a wasteland of discarded bottles, dirty clothes and a layer of grime you haven’t even thought to clean in the year since your mother died, and the sight of it all in the moonlight that streams in through the open blinds is a stark and painful reminder of your reality. You lay back in your bed, unable to look at it any longer, screwing your eyes shut at the planets painted on your ceiling, faded with age and flaking thanks to the dry, dank air in the room. 

The paintings have an unbidden memory shouldering its way into your unsteady mind, flickering behind your closed eyelids like an old movie on a projector. Your mother’s smile as she lays beside you on the bed, pointing out the planets and stars she spent an exhaustive amount of time painting for you. Her hands perpetually stained with paint, the corners of her eyes crinkled, the softness of her laugh whenever you pronounced the names of the planets wrong. 

Your stomach clenches violently, and you barely have time to react, throwing yourself to the edge of the bed just in time to vomit on the floor, your throat sore and aching once you’re done. Tears track your burning cheeks and you inhale sharply, wiping your mouth with one hand and opening your bedside draw with the other, pulling out a miniature bottle of liquor you stole from the convenience store. You down it in one gulp, grimacing before you toss it with the other bottle on your bed, standing and wiping up your vomit with an old t-shirt. You toss it onto the pile of your other unwashed clothes, deciding to get to it later, even though you know you never will.

The time on your phone reads eleven thirty PM, and you rake your fingers through your hair as you walk to the bathroom, throwing the dry, unbrushed strands into what can only be described as a bun before you leave the house. The bars are still open near your house, and you figure two hours is more than enough time to banish any more memories from rearing their head. 

Namjoon has been holding back on calling his grandmother, but he can only avoid her for so long. He doesn’t even know why he feels this unquenchable need to stay in his hometown, not when you’ve made it pretty clear you can’t stand the sight of him. His chest feels hollow at the thought. 

His fingers fly across his phone screen before his guilt can convince him not to, the ringing line taunting him, turning him back into a shy fifteen year old again until it finally clicks, and his grandmother’s warm voice drifts to his ear.

“Gang-aji, I’ve been waiting for you to call,” Namjoon smiles at his grandmother’s term of endearment, something she adopted almost instantly after their first meeting, even as he was approaching adulthood.

“I’m sorry, I got a little held up,” He frowns, unsure how to explain the fact that he can’t quite come home to his dying grandfather just yet because his ex-best friend hates him and needs his help. In the end, he decides to be vague, “There’s some stuff here that I can’t leave. I know you and grandfather need me, but -”

“Namjoon, I told you not to worry,” His grandmother says, her voice soft, “I expected you to become nostalgic visiting your hometown, you don’t have to explain that, my gang-aji,”

“I wish it was just nostalgia,” He says quietly, clearing his throat, “How is grandfather? Any changes?”

“He’s still sleeping, he hasn’t woken up since you left. They are feeding him through some kind of tube,” She hums thoughtfully, and Namjoon can picture her now, sat on the plush chair beside his grandfather’s bed, looking at the wires and monitors that are effectively keeping him somewhat comfortable. “I don’t think he likes all this fuss,”

“Did he tell you?”

“No,” She says, a laugh caught in her throat despite the circumstances, “even asleep, I can read the man like a book,”

Namjoon chuckles, moving from the small, aged bed at the Lunar Hotel to the window, pushing aside the lace curtains and peering out at the empty road below. Namjoon is still the only guest, and from what he can hear, Jooheon spends most of his time doing DIY around the place, hardly needing to stand at reception. Namjoon can’t help but wonder why what he remembers to be such a bustling beach town would fall into this ghostland he currently sees. 

Namjoon turns away from the window, wishing he could be in two places at once, “If anything changes, I’ll come right back. Send the jet and I’ll get there fa -”

“I know, Namjoon. We can manage. Your grandfather wouldn’t want you stuck in a hospital all day watching him sleep,” Namjoon almost speaks over her, eager to have his grandmother know that he will be home if his grandfather even twitches the wrong way, but she continues speaking, “take some time. You’ve done nothing but work the last few months, and when he…” she inhales sharply, and Namjoon feels his hands twitch to call ahead and take the jet anyway, “Eventually, you will be in charge of everything, and you won’t have time to visit Yeocho,”

The statement is sobering, and Namjoon’s mind automatically flickers to you. If he can help it, he wants to do better than before, wants to stay in touch with you once he’s gone, wants to make sure you’re doing okay and that you never feel alone. 

But first, he has to get you to actually speak to him. Sober.

“Right, you’re right. Of course,” Namjoon sighs, “Send harabeoji my love. And you halmeoni, I love you,”

“Love you, gang-aji,”

Namjoon can’t stay in his room all day, but he finds himself battling with the urge to visit you, to see if you’re okay. He knows the reaction he will get, that you will tell him to leave, and maybe that would be for the best, but he knows it wouldn’t feel right. The idea of leaving you alone, especially after seeing the state you were in, the mess of your childhood home, the empty bottles and smell of stale alcohol that clung to the fabric of the couch he spent his night folded onto, it all leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The only person who might know anything further about what your life has looked like since he left, aside from your asshole ex Seokjin, is Jooheon. 

When his foot hits the bottom step, Namjoon looks around the small lobby, empty and half-painted as Jooheon stretches to hit a corner behind the reception desk which is currently covered in a white sheet. He walks over, hands in the pockets of his slacks - he makes a mental note to have an extra set of clothes sent over, or maybe he can just buy some, surely there’s a store around here some -

“Namjoon, hey,” Jooheon smiles, clambering down the ladder and landing with a thump, wiping fresh paint on his grey overalls, “you need anything?”

“No, I’m good,” Namjoon replies, “I was about to go see Y/N, actually. We didn’t exactly have the best reunion yesterday morning, as you know,”

Jooheon gives an understanding nod and smile, his eyes giving Namjoon a weary look, “Yeah, Mina was out with her friends last night, said Y/N turned up at the bar pretty late. She didn’t look too good apparently,”

The sounds of that fills Namjoon with dread, and he begins to come to terms with the fact that these instances of drinking weren’t just coincidences. He knows now, more than ever, that he can’t leave any time soon, but he has no idea how to approach this whole thing. He can’t exactly turn up at the house and take you to rehab by force, but he also isn't prepared to sit here and watch you drink yourself into oblivion. He needs to think of something, or maybe he just needs to try harder. 

“Are you good?” Namjoon asks when he sees Jooheon wince, bending down to fetch a rag from the floor, wiping his hands as he blows out a long breath.

“I feel like I’ve been trying to fix up this place for years,” He looks around, a mournful look in his eye, “we’re losing money, nobody wants to travel out to random small towns anymore, not when there are better, up-to-date places nearer to the big cities. I don’t know if any of it’s worth it, but I can’t sit and do nothing,”

Namjoon feels for his friend, coming from a background where every hotel his family owns is booming, the demand growing enough for the need to open more, he hates to see a smaller, family-owned business struggle. 

“Well, I’m gonna be sticking around anyway, I’d love to help out,” He proposes, shrugging, “I’m pretty good with a hammer,”

Jooheon smiles, slapping his friend on the shoulder, “I’d love that, man,”

His back is sore by the time Namjoon finds his way to your house, a route he memorised years ago and the journey still hasn’t faded from his mind, even after so long of walking through concrete laden streets instead of quaint, dirt paths. He still has paint staining his hands, but even after your anger with him yesterday, he can’t imagine you’ll mind. 

The door is slightly open when he reaches the porch, and a prick of alarm rings true in his chest. A dozen scenarios sweep through his mind, and images of you lying face down on your living room floor taunt him as he pushes the door open. The living room is close enough that he can see the sofa, and can see you on it.

Back pressed to the sofa cushions as another man looms over you, kissing your neck. Your eyes open slowly, blearily and briefly widen when you spot him in the doorway, and the second he hears the looseness in your voice, his feet are carrying him over. 

“Whoops -”

“What the fuck -” The man grunts as Namjoon lifts him off of you by the elbow, stumbling a few times as he resists the urge to throw him to the floor.

Namjoon pins the man, shirtless and several inches shorter than him, with a cold glare, “Get the fuck out before I throw you into the street,”

The man glances around, almost as if he might want to take his chances with Namjoon, but he decides against it, bending to pick up his shirt and shoes, “Fuck this shit, man,”

The echo of the door’s slam is the only sound left for a while, Namjoon’s eyes crossing from the windows to where you sit, swaying in your seat, eyes hazy even as you glare up at him. When you stand, he resists the urge to steady you as you wobble slightly, the scent of liquor quickly reaching him as you step closer, frowning.

“You kicked out my date,”

“That wasn’t a date, Y/N, you’re too drunk to stand let alone do anything else,”

You scoff, turning away, “I was fine,”

“He was taking advantage. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol in that man’s whole body, he shouldn’t have come home with you,” Namjoon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “at best he should have just dropped you off at the door,”

“I’m not a dumb little teenager anymore, Namjoon, I don’t need you to look after me,” You’re breathing heavy now, but there’s a glassiness to your eyes that he feels isn’t solely from the alcohol. All over again, he feels like shit for leaving, for not keeping in touch and for being unaware of all the bullshit that life has dealt you over the past few years. 

“I just want to help you, Y/N,” He steps forward, sighing when you flinch away from his touch, “Please,”

You blink rapidly - your tell, Namjoon recalls. There are a handful of memories that suddenly rush to greet him, most of which are the two of you trying to make it through Titanic without crying. You always lost, much to your frustration, blinking quickly in an effort to stop the tears from falling.

They don’t fall now, though, and instead you just stare at him, angry and dishevelled, smelling of booze and still a little something that reminds him of home, somehow. It makes his stomach clench at the juxtaposition of it all. 

“I don’t need your help,” You say, lip trembling, and you move forward, hands pushing hard at his chest, “Just get out! Get out!” you’re screaming, shoving him back to the door, and all Namjoon can do is watch helplessly and do as you ask. He can’t force you to listen to him, but he’s not done trying. Not by a long shot. 

“I’ll leave now, but I won’t stop, Y/N,” Namjoon says quietly when you finally stop screaming, panting as you watch him with his hand on the doorknob, “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. But I’m not giving up on you,”

He opens the door, stepping out and resisting the urge to look back, desperate to see a glimpse of the girl he took for granted and left behind. But he doesn’t deserve to see her, not yet, and so he closes the door softly behind him, not turning even when he hears you throw something hard enough for glass to shatter.  

taglist: @maryseesthings @rkivesfilm @btsffreader92 @creolesoul2seoul @kissme-ornot

pls let me know if you wish to be added

#namjoon angst #namjoon smut #bts x reader #bts smut #bts angst #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts fic #bts scenario #namjoon scenario #namjoon fic

[queenshelby]

The Fourth Season (Part Six)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap (20 Years), Fluff, Angst, Death of Family Member 

Words: 2,067

Notes: In this Fic, Cillian is 40 and the Reader is 20. Cillian is divorced and the Reader is single. This is not based on Cillian’s real life.

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

An hour later….

It was at around 9 o’clock that night and just after you had gotten off the phone with your parents, you heard a knock on the door of your and Natasha’s apartment. It was a loud knock and the sound of it startled you.

“Who is it?” you asked as you walked towards the door reluctantly since, usually, no one would be visiting you at this time of the day. Thus, it could have been anyone. Even the press. It would not have been the first time they got into the building.

“Cillian” you then heard next and, with that, you opened the door.

“What do you want?” you asked almost sternly, seeing that, earlier that day, he was being rather rude towards you.

“Can I come in?” he asked and, unbeknownst to you at the time, he was determined to confront you about the fact that, clearly, you had told Natasha about the kiss you had shared two days ago, which was something that bothered him.

“Sure” you sighed even though you did not really want to see him and, as soon you realised why he was at your apartment, you wished that you had shut the door right in front of his face. You wanted him to leave again, right now, but Cillian had other ideas.

“Why did you tell Natasha about us Y/N? You know how fucking bad this looks for me?” he spat as soon as the door shut behind him and you quickly became overwhelmed with emotion. Your feelings were in turmoil, especially now, and you just wanted to be left alone.

“Not now Cillian. I can’t deal with your shit right now. Please” you said harshly before bursting into tears and this reaction of yours was a reaction that Cillian did not expect.

“Y/N, I am sorry if I did upset you, but we will need to talk about this. You clearly told Natasha what happened between us and, quite frankly, this is something I cannot…” he began to say, thinking that it was him who made you cry and that this was all about the position he took after the kiss.

But, little did he know that your tears had nothing to do with him and, thus, you were quick to interrupt him.

“Oh, for fuck sake Cillian, not everything is about you” you blurted out before crying some more, causing your face to turn red. “My grandmother passed away this evening. My father just called me to let me know. We were close and it saddens me, okay? She was like a mother to me” you cried before addressing the elephant in the room.

“But, for what it’s worth, I simply told Natasha something she already knew. She picked up on the fact that there was something between us and I simply confirmed her suspicions because I do not lie to my friends. Now are you done?” you then said with great anger in your voice and, to your utter surprise, Cillian approached you and took you into his arms in a very comforting way.

“Fuck, I am sorry Y/N” was all he said but his words did not matter to you. It was his gesture which did and you appreciated his caring touch even despite the tension that had already built up between you over the past few days.

Silently, Cillian held you, just like this, while you cried and stained his white t-shirt with your tears and some left-over mascara. His touch was soft and his skin felt warm against yours as he hugged you tightly for a while until, eventually, you calmed down.

“Would you like me to make you a tea?” Cillian then asked, seeing that you were struggling with your emotions still and you nodded quietly before he walked into the kitchen while you sat down on the sofa and pondered on about your life.

“I don’t know what to do Cillian” you then said, crying again, causing Cillian to query what you meant by that.

“Do about what?” he asked while boiling the kettle and taking two cups from the cupboard above the grey stone top bench. To your surprise, he remembered exactly how you liked your tea. Strong, with milk and honey.

“The funeral is next Thursday but the mid-season break is not until next Saturday. I cannot miss it but I also cannot leave” you told him just as he mixed the honey into the tea before, finally, walking over to where you were sitting.

“Where is the funeral?” Cillian then asked and your answer caught him by surprise.

“Cork” you told him and he did not even realise that you were Irish until that point. You did not have an Irish accent and had talked about living in Birmingham and London before, but never Ireland.

“Cork?” he thus asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Yes, it is in the south of Ireland” you explained, causing Cillian to laugh. You knew that he was Irish but he also appeared confused by your answer, so you ought to provide some clarification.

“I know where Cork is” Cillian chuckled. “I am from Cork” he then told you and, of course, you should have known. But you did not. You only knew that he was living in Dublin.

“So is my father, although my mother is from Birmingham which is where we lived until my sister’s passing. After she died, we moved to Cork for a new start and we joined this Catholic congregation. I mean, my parents had always been strict with religion but, let me tell you, this congregation is next level. My grandmother hated it. She was the only in the family who had some sense and now she is gone” you told Cillian, which was a conversation you had avoided until now. Your parents were different indeed and Cillian cocked an eyebrow when he heard about your strict upbringing.

“Y/N, I am sorry” Cillian said again while placing his hand on to yours gently and you began to cry once more, telling him how proud and supportive she was when you took up this role.

“Are your parents not supportive of your career?” Cillian then asked you, seeing that this would make everything worse for you. He knew that, if you did not get along with your parents and if they did not support you and your choices, then pushing through this difficult time would be hard.

“No. I was in law school until recently and my parents were not happy about me deferring two semesters so that I could be on the show” you explained to Cillian before telling him that, after school, you moved to London with James who you had met through school. Him and his parents were part of the same congregation so your parents approved of him. You both went to university together as well, but then he quit suddenly and moved to Los Angles in order to pursue an acting career. Unfortunatly for him though, he only ever scored a small part in a low budget horror movie and now he was here, with you, by chance.

“Talking of coincidences, eh?” you said, referring to the fact that James landed a role on the same show as you.

“Coincident you say?” Cillian chuckled. He clearly knew more than you did and the fact that James scored a role in Peaky Blinders was no coincidence at all. “James’s father invested three million pounds into the show. Did you not know that?” Cillian then asked you and you were gobsmacked. You had no idea.

“No, I did not” you admitted and Cillian cocked an eyebrow again.

“I hate to say it, but James did not get his role on merit” Cillian then said and you could not help but sigh.

“Oh god that is so typical. His father always does that. He bought us a unit in London and then, when James left me, he kicked me out within days. Apparently, I was a bad influence for his son” you told Cillian who laughed.

“I can see that. You are bad seed for sure” he then teased you and you gave him a little nudge in response.

“Hey” you said, breaking out in laughter yourself, which was exactly what Cillian was trying to achieve.

“I am just teasing you” he admitted nonetheless before asking you something else, trying to divert you away from your grief.

“So, what is after Peaky Blinders for you?” Cillian asked and this, too, was a sore point for you. You had no choice but return to Cork which was something you did not want to do.

“I will probably move back to Cork because I cannot afford to live in London on my own. It is too expensive” you thus admitted.

“So, you are going back to studying then?” Cillian wanted to know, causing you to nod.

“Yes. I am going back to law-school. That is what my parents want me to do” you told him, causing Cillian’s eyebrows to furrow.

“And what do you want to do?” he asked and this was a tough question for you to answer.

“I would love to work in theatre” you admitted and Cillian encouraged you to do exactly that.

“Then this is something you should pursue. There are theatres in Cork. Dublin is not far. You can go there for auditions and, after being in the show, you will have options, trust me” he reassured you, causing you to laugh.

“If my father would hear you right now, he would probably attempt to smack you across the face” you told him and, seeing that your father was the same age as Cillian, you thought that this was rather humorous.

“Well, I have been there and done that and I am not looking back. Also, I have learned again today that, sometimes, we all need to take some risks in pursuit of happiness” Cillian said in response like a wise old man.

“Really? So how many risks have you been taking lately?” you teased him, seeing that he did not want to take a risk on you.

“Apparently not enough” Cillian admitted before quickly changing the topic again. He knew where you were going with this and this was not something he wanted to address right now.

“Now, with regards to the funeral, I will talk to Anthony and the team about it Sunday. Your scenes can be moved back as they are filmed on site” Cillian thus suggested but you shook your head.

“I do not want to cause any trouble though. This is my first job in the industry. Despite, Sunday is your first rostered day off in two weeks and you should not be spending it on set…” you told Cillian with some concern, but he reassured you that it would not matter.

“Y/N, it is fine. I will deal with it. I am a producer of the show as well and I can guarantee you that, you missing two additional days on set, will not be an issue” Cillian told you while carefully retracting his hand from atop yours.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it” you said and, whilst you wanted to hold on to his hand for a little longer, he wouldn’t allow it.

“You are welcome. Now, I better go and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a four o’clock start for me”

Cillian said before asking you whether you will be okay on your own.

“Yes, thank you. I will be fine” you responded before seeing him out but, just as he was about to leave, he turned around and asked you something else.

“So…uhm…Y/N…” he began to say before revaluating the situation.

“Yes Cillian?” you asked, waiting for him to finish his question.

“Do you want to go for a run Sunday morning? It might clear your head a bit and we could do breakfast after. I will cook” Cillian suggested, causing you to nod shyly.

“Actually, I would love that. I only have one scene to shoot at 3 o’clock that day, so how does 7 o’clock sound?” you asked and Cillian had no objection to the time proposed by you.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #thomas shelby #Tommy Shelby

[estrellami-1]

Soft Touch Baby

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Pt 12 | Pt 13 | Pt 14 | Pt 15 | Pt 16 | Eddie’s POV | Song | ao3

(This one was a bit harder to get out… I had a buffer until now (and now I have a little bit of a buffer again but it was hard to get there), So most of this I wrote yesterday/last night. Paired with the fact that I’m Seriously Considering I might have SAD… I’m doing great 🙃 anyways I hope y’all enjoy!!!)

Steve looks down as he feels color rush into his cheeks. "She found so many books it's almost embarrassing. It basically boils down to one of our fundamental human needs is touch. Any touch. Holding hands, a hug, doesn't matter. Supposedly helps with a buncha stuff, anxiety, stress, shit like that. Can even help with sleep." He raises an eyebrow at Eddie, who toasts him with his water before taking a sip. "So she started touching me more. And it really does help." He bites at his lip for a second. "It, uh, didn't help for sleeping until last night."

Eddie nods slowly. "I understand, I think, but I see you touch the kids all the time."

Steve shrugs helplessly. "Ask Robin. Something about a difference between touching and being touched."

Eddie bites his lip. "You know I'm ignoring the being touched. That's too low a hanging fruit."

Steve snorts. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

Eddie nods like it's settled. "Well, good then. And, uh. You want touch... you can come find me.”

Steve smiles. Doesn't remark on the color on Eddie's cheeks. "Thank you."

Eddie nods, dipping his head once, focused on his pancake. His leg starts shaking. He doesn’t look up. “What we said earlier,” he begins finally. “About… needing it. That goes both ways?”

It’s somehow both a question and a statement. Steve nods, takes his empty plate over to the sink, turns on the tap. “Yeah. Course.”

“Cool,” Eddie murmurs, almost lost underneath the spray of water against the plate. Steve hides his smile as he squirts soap onto the sponge.

Eddie leaves not too long after, stating something about the band and songs and tuning. He hesitates in the doorway. Steve very carefully doesn’t say anything.

He leaves. Steve very carefully doesn’t feel anything.

He tells himself it’s stupid, that they’re not even together, that he couldn’t realistically hope Eddie would stay longer, with no real reason to-

He calls Robin. “Hey, dingus.”

“Come over?”

He knows the face she’s making, trying to figure out the tone he tried not to have. “Yup. I’m bringing ice cream and The Princess Bride.”

Steve chuckles softly. “I expect nothing less. See you in twenty?”

“Yep.” The line goes dead.

Steve chuckles again as he replaces the phone back in its cradle, looking around. Eddie had helped him clean up last night, so the only thing left was the pan Eddie had used for pancakes. Steve very carefully doesn’t feel anything.

“Stefano,” Robin greets twenty minutes later, waltzing in like she owns the place. Doesn’t even bother knocking. He just smiles at her.

“Hey, Robbie. Still not my name.”

She moves closer, grasping his chin between her fingers and moving his head to one side, then the other, like a grandmother would do. She hums. “You don’t look awful.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes at her bluntness. “Gee, thanks.”

She flaps a hand in his face. “You know what I mean, shut up.” Ice cream is suddenly pushed into his stomach. “Here. Rocky Road, it’s freezing my hand off, you hold it. Ready for the movie or not yet?”

He considers, knows he’ll have to tell her one way or another, decides. “Not yet. Couch?”

“Grab some spoons!” She calls over her shoulder, already halfway there.

They sit facing each other, the ice cream slowly dripping condensation onto the couch cushion between them. “So?” Robin starts. Steve looks away.

“He stayed the night.”

“Knew it.”

“Christ, Robs, nothing happened,” he says, laughing. “We drank, we smoke, we talked.” He swallows. “He… he didn’t know, but he said, um…”

“Steve…”

“Yeah. I, uh. Shut down.” He shrugs, looks away. Remembers. Smiles. “He got me to open up pretty quick again. I told him. He said the word’s no longer in his vocabulary.” Robin giggles. “Told him about all the head shit. Just… talked. Went to bed.” He bites a lip. “I had a nightmare.”

“Christ, Steve-”

“Yeah. Think he woke me up. Maybe I woke myself up, I dunno. He was there. I was still halfway in the dream, still freaked out, couldn’t see him. Didn’t know it was him. Didn’t do anything, thankfully. He didn’t either, just stood there, slowly came to sit on the bed, kept…” he ignores the crack. “Kept sayin’ how I was safe, it was just him.” He takes another bite of ice cream. “I, uh.” An incredulous almost-laugh. “I didn’t shut down. Kinda the opposite.”

Pt 10

Taglist:

@thegingervulcan @snapshotmaestro @the-redthread @tiny-enthusiast @thatonepotatochild

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #robin buckley #soft touch baby #Ngl i kinda forgot this started out as #touch starved Steve Harrington #oops #we’ll get back there eventually #maybe #we’ll see

[blainesebastian]

mutually assured satisfaction (pt5)

words: 2,370 ship: austin butler x reader summary: reader’s agent approaches her with a PR stunt to date austin butler and promote both their careers. a mapped out plan, an electric relationship–what could possibly go wrong?   notes: masterlist is on my sidebar :) thanks for any comments, reblogs, likes and asks! always appreciated  warnings: grief via losing a family member  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @kittenlittle24, @slowsweetlove, @namoreno, @strokesofstokes, @callthedarknessdown, @kibumslatina, @al-co-hol-youlater, @frogoerson, @dancer4j 

It’s one of those inherent things that as soon as you close the door to your apartment after the charity event, you just know. You don’t even need to check the message from your mother even though you eventually do—there’s this terrible weighted ache in your chest that makes it feel like two cinderblocks are sitting on your ribcage. There are so many emotions swimming through you, unable to be pinned down, and you feel guilty above everything else. Guilty for being too busy, for not visiting enough, for not always picking up the phone, for a hundred things in your childhood and adolescence that don’t even make a difference now but for some reason feel like they do.

Guilty for not being there one last time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

--

Everything just sort of comes to a screeching halt, like the world stops spinning for you. You attempt to communicate with people—Christina, the director on your movie, but it takes about a day for you to even move in a way that matters. Crawling into bed, you effectively shut down in a sense that you’ve never done so before. Your work ethic and your job mean so much to you but…none of it feels important right now, even though you can hear your grandmother’s voice inside your head telling you to stop moping around. She’d never want this for you, she wouldn’t want you to push people away or to jeopardize your career to mourn her.

And yet you cannot get yourself to do otherwise.

Christina informs you that your movie release has been put temporarily on pause and while you’re grateful for the moment to breathe, every bout of air you draw into your lungs is incredibly painful. It hurts to even be. You appreciate the time but are having difficulty even picturing what it’ll look like to move on, to go back to work, to pretend that your life hasn’t lost someone important. How do people do that?

What feels worse is that Austin has been trying to get ahold of you. A series of texts and then finally a few phone calls. For the first time in this thing together, you don’t know what to say to him. There’s this barrier that you seem to be straddling, the urge to tell him that you’ll be breaking up in a few weeks or so anyways so what’s the point of him trying to get in touch with you like this? He doesn’t actually care about you, everything has been fake, blown out of proportion, a façade.

And then on the other side—how desperately you want him to be here, to comfort you, to have his arms around you while you try not to feel like everything is falling apart. His lips on your skin, how his fingers feel running through your hair.

These opposing emotions pull so hard at you that you remain motionless, not doing anything, and a few days go past.

--

When there’s a series of knocks at your apartment door, you lift your head from your couch to squint at the wood. You’ve made it out of your bedroom, showered, and have eaten something, so, you don’t feel like a complete slug or failure. Your bones hurt, which feels like the weirdest sensation of grief. That heaviness that just…refuses to dissipate. Running a hand through your hair and over your face, you already know who it is even before he starts talking,

“Y/N—c’mon, I haven’t heard from you in days. Open the door.”

Sitting up on the couch, you let out a long sigh through your nose. There’s this twinge of remorse thrumming in your chest at giving Austin the silent treatment you just…didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know how to say it. Nate gave you one piece of advice, one request from all the fucked up stuff that happened in your relationship and it was to let Austin in.

Already doing a great job at that.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.” Austin sighs and while he sounds frustrated, you can pinpoint inflections in his tone where you can tell he’s worried. He’s not going to go away until you talk to him, so you pull yourself up off the couch and glance down at the leggings and oversized sweatshirt you’re wearing. This is gonna have to do.

“If this is about those articles, fuck them okay? They’re graspin’ at straws.”

Shaking your head lightly, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You know exactly what articles he’s referring to because Christina sent you the links to a few of them. Of course someone was at the charity event with a camera snapping pictures and they got some of you and Nate hugging hello and then you at the bar kissing Austin and decided to put aggravating click-bait titles along with them.

Are Nate Riley and Y/N L/N getting back together? Y/N L/N was seen cozying up to boyfriend Austin Butler at the same event— Is she playing both men?

Stupid.

Ironic almost, the language Austin uses to talk about the editorials and the actual articles themselves. The camera is essentially seeing something more honest than anything else—the fact that this whole thing is a fraud.

As you approach the door, you pause for a few moments to try and collect yourself or at least…figure out what you’re even going to say. Pulling all the locks free, you slowly tug the door open.

Austin takes in a short breath when he sees you, eyes sweeping over your form. He frowns, his eyebrows drawn together in a look of concern. He looks comfortable today, a simple pair of blue jeans, booties and that sherpa lined jean jacket he likes to wear. He leans against the doorjamb, waiting for you to say something, but the words are stuck in your throat.

“What’s up with your disappearin’ on me?” He asks softly, reaching out to gently tug at the fabric of your sweatshirt. “I was worried.”

You swallow, running your hand over your face because you really feel like an asshole now.

“If this is about the articles,” He starts and you quickly put your hand up to stop him because,

“No,” You whisper, pulling the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands, “It’s not the articles.”

Austin frowns again and patiently waits for a few moments but when you don’t say anything, he takes a step closer to the doorway, “What’s goin’ on?”

Swallowing down a lump in your throat, you stare at Austin as if you’ll be able to say the actual words about what’s wrong. But it’s in that moment you realize that you haven’t said it outloud yet, as if it won’t be true if it’s never said. You’re suddenly struggling to breathe and remain standing upright, your breath getting stuck in your lungs and oh god, you’re going to start crying right here and now even though you’ve finally just stopped.

“Hey,” Austin reaches for you, gently touching your arm, “What’s wrong?”

And that question alone breaks the dam wide open. Your composure crumples, one hand covering your face as a choked sob leaves your lips. Austin is quick, doesn’t ask for permission or concern himself with the distance you’ve created over the past few days. He draws you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. One slips along your back, rubbing at your shoulders, while the other works its way into your hair. This was the last thing you wanted, to allow yourself to fall apart in front of Austin, to let yourself feel much of anything given that you needed to be able to get out of your apartment and function within the next day or so. Go back to work, live your life.

Seems undoable any way you look at it.

You turn your face into Austin’s chest and hide there, burrowing into his shoulder, shuddering cries emptying as he squeezes you close. He carefully moves you inside your apartment, the door closing behind him. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just keeps you against him, hands constantly moving, swaying gently left to right with you in his arms. You can’t imagine what he must think of you within these moments, no context as to what’s going on other than just knowing something isn’t right.

After a few minutes you pull yourself back from him, wiping your face. The skin of your cheeks is hot, splotched red, tear tracks left behind. You take a moment to gather yourself together to speak, sniffling as you look up at him,

“It’s m-my gram.”

Austin’s face shadows with understanding and his features twist with empathy as he cups your face, running his thumb along your cheek, “M’so sorry,” He whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He lingers, thumb swiping back and forth on your skin, only pulling back when you take a step away.

You sniffle, running your hands over your face.

“What can I do?”

Shaking your head, you can’t even begin to think about an answer to that question. You know that Austin is coming from a genuine place, that he means well, but…there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing that you can even think of to tell him. There’s this skittering in your chest that feels like beetles crawling over your ribcage, slipping into your bloodstream, making you feel incredibly antsy. As much as it doesn’t make sense, you want to be alone, you don’t want him to be here. You can’t handle the soft way he speaks to you or the way you feel when his skin touches yours,

Such a small voice in the back of your mind says don’t push him away and yet that’s exactly what you do.

“Nothing,” You shake your head, “There’s nothing you can do.”

Austin runs a hand through his hair, “Why don’t you lay down on the couch, I can at least make you some tea or somethin’.”

“You’re not listening to me,” You swallow, “I don’t want you here.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his jaw working as he nods because…he knows exactly what you’re doing and he’s debating on whether he should let you do it or not. You’re not sure what you want out of him more, this entire thing so damn conflicting, a battle of emotions welling inside your chest that you feel like you might crack open at any moment.

“Y/N, I can’t imagine how you must be feelin’, but don’t do this,” He shakes his head, holding your gaze, soft blue eyes boring into yours, “Don’t push me out, let me be here for you.”

You feel yourself bristle, a chill wrapping down your spine. Drawing your arms across your chest like a shield, you swallow over that ache in your throat, like shards of glass, “You’re not actually my boyfriend, Austin.” And you hate the words even as they come out of your mouth but you desperately need that distance, that invisible wall between the two of you.

Otherwise…everything starts feeling far too real, far too raw, and you’re not sure you can handle that.

“I don’t want you here, I need you to go,” You sniffle, running a hand over your face, “Please, just go.”

Austin lets out a soft sigh, hovering for just a few moments before he finally does as you ask. He opens up your door and tilts his head back to the ceiling to seemingly collect his thoughts. Once he does, he looks over his shoulder at you,

“This PR stunt might be fake, but I care about you, you know that, —that’s real. And I’ll be here when you’re ready.” And closes the door after him.

You stand there for a slow few minutes, the sound of the door closing echoing in your ears. It does not take long for tears to well in your eyes and for you to sink to the floor, pulling your knees against your chest.

--

You fly home for the funeral, a quick two-hour flight that somehow feels like eons. It’s definitely not a time that you’ve been envious to be home. Usually you love visiting, making it back for holidays, birthdays, any time you can and yet that guilt still remains that you didn’t make it back in time or enough for your grandmother. A small part of you knows that’s not fair and yet you can’t stop lathering in it, soaking in the remorse, the feeling coming out of your pores at this point.

It's a quick trip, you have to go back to work in two days, but you don’t dare tell your parents that. They’ve always been supportive but they always have a quick word or dig about not spending enough time with your family. It’s something that you’ve had to sacrifice to follow your dream, your passion—your grandmother understood that and supported you. Told you never to feel guilty for it because regret is a bigger killer. Your parents have seen your movies, watched your interviews, your mom especially has always been a cheerleader but emotions are naked and raw right now, the last thing you want to do is make anything worse.

You sit in your childhood home, on the couch, listening to your dad make small talk about the time of the funeral and the wake and suddenly you feel like you’re being yanked into a black hole because your body automatically reaches for—something, someone next to you and come up with air.

It’s a stark realization but you automatically understand what it means.

Standing from the couch, you excuse yourself to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and take your phone out. Eyes blurring with tears but attempting to swallow them down, you draft a text—you are aware of how desperate it sounds, maybe a touch pathetic, but these emotions are strong enough to drown. Austin’s words vibrate in your mind, I’ll be here when you’re ready.

I was wrong, I need you. I’m so sorry. I really need you.

And hit send.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #mas series #mas

[countrymusiclover]

3 - Memaw's Car

Part 4

It's About Time

Tags just ask - @lover-of-books-and-tea @bvbwestfall l @bubble-blu @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley @skeletonontheroad

Raising up the slingshot in my hands I drew the rubber band back with my right hand and held the other part in my left one. Firing it off the rock that was on the band launched off and hit an old tv we were throwing rocks at in. “Dang. It's your turn.”

“Don’t worry I’ll break it.” Georgie takes the weapon from my hand and drew it backwards, firing off the second shot where it hit the screen on one of the corners but it still didn’t break it.

Eyeing the old tv in the alleyway I knew if we wanted to break it or blow it up we were gonna need something stronger. “I think I saw some matches in the garage. I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” He said watching me run around the corner of the alley back to his house.

Rummaging around in some of the boxers in the garage the backdoor peaked open where I heard Missy’s voice. “Y/n, what are you doing?”

“Hey Missy, I’m looking for some matches. Your brother and I are going to blow up a tv.” I spun on my feet seeing the nine year old girl holding her Cabbage-patch doll.

Her eyes twinkled. “Woah. Can I come watch?”

“Not this time. Just in case something goes wrong.” I said to her digging around a box finding the small box waving bye to her. Coming back to the alleyway Georgie takes one of the matches and strict it on the ground.

He held the light match smiling brightly at me before he threw it on the tv and we ran like hell. “This is gonna be fun.”

“Woah ah!” I screamed landing on the ground with Georgie lifting his head up seeing the tv bits on fire. “I can’t believe it worked.”

Georgie ran a hand through his hair seeing some house lights come on and we heard one of our neighbors hollering. “What the hell is going on out there!”

“Let’s go before Brenda Sparks sends the chickens after us.” I told him scrambling to my feet and we ran back to the Cooper house coming in through the front door seeing his Memaw on the phone and the twins waiting to hear what she had to say.

“What's goin' on?” Georgie came up beside me.

Sheldon responded. “Dad's in the hospital.”

“What?” Georgie gasped. “Why's Dad in the hospital?”

Memaw held up her hands trying to calm him down. “He's gonna be fine. He had chest pains. He's gonna be fine.”

“What are we doin'? Why aren't we going to the hospital?” Georgie looked from me to his family members beginning to get mad.

Memaw eyed her oldest grandson. “Nobody's goin' nowhere. We're just gonna stay calm, have a nice dinner, and wait for your mama to call and tell us what's what.”

“I'm not hungry.” Georgie stomped off to his room slamming his bedroom door behind him.

I slumped my shoulders chasing after him, knocking on his bedroom door softly and he opened the door where I walked inside and shut it behind me. “Georgie, can I come in…hey he’s going to be okay.”

“I want to go see him, Y/n.” He began sliding his shoes back on and changed his tea shirt.

Sitting down on his bed I bounced watching him get changed. “Georgie, your Memaw is right that we should wait until we hear something.”

“I don’t want to sit around and wait. I won't sleep through the night.” He grumbled running his fingers through his curly locks.

Sitting in silence on his bed I debated on agreeing with his grandmother but he made a good point. “Fine, let's go see your father.” Getting to my feet we exited his bedroom instantly.

Georgie and I creeped down the hallway to the twins shared bedroom where he creaked the door open seeing they were both awake. “I'm goin' to see Dad. You guys want to come?”

“How? Meemaw said we have to stay here.” Sheldon asked with Missy already climbing out of her bed covers.

Georgie asked his brother with a groan. “You want to go or not?”

The four of us snuck outside noticing Connie passed out in a lawn chair snoring like a bear. Georgie slowly took her keys from her pocket coming over to us when Sheldon asked. “What are you doing?”

“I'm driving to the hospital. You can come with me or stay here up to you.” He said looking between the twins.

Missy answered. “I'm comin'.”

“Me too.”

Georgie eyed his brother. “Sheldon?”

“You're 14. You don't know how to drive.” He explained.

Georgie sent him a simple glare. “I drove a tractor at 4-H camp. It's the same thing.”

“But you sat on the farmer's lap.” Sheldon said uneasy.

“Then stay here. Come on, Missy, Y/n.” Georgie walked to the elderly woman’s car. He got in the driver’s seat and me in the passenger side. Missy reached over the console from the backseat turning on the radio. “What are you doin’?”

“Travelin' music.” She simply replied.

The back door of the car was opened where we all turned our heads seeing Sheldon wearing pillows and a football helmet. “Ugh. I'm coming with you.”

“Why are you wearin' my helmet?” Georgie questioned.

Sheldon groaned in the backseat. “I don't expect this to end well.”

“And the pillows?” Georgie made a face.

Sheldon grunted finally setting. “Same answer.”

“Turn it off. I've got to concentrate.” Georgie told her.

“Aw.” Missy whines as I buckled my seatbelt and we were off towards the hospital.

Sheldon begged. “Please drive slowly.”

“Relax. I know what I'm doin'.” Georgie clicked his seatbelt buckle on turning the steering wheel and we drove away from the house. We had gone off into the grass twice, almost ran through a stop sign and hit multiple trash cans.

I began feeling worried that we were going to get lost or end up in an accident. “Georgie, are you sure you know how to get to the hospital?”

“Yeah. It's right across the street from the Dairy Queen.” He answered peaking his head over the wheel as best as he could.

Sheldon chimed in. “Which Dairy Queen?”

“What are you talkin' about?” Georgie asked confused.

He told him. “There's two.”

Missy started saying from the backseat. “You're gonna hit it!”

“Which is the one Mom takes us to?” Georgie asked, looking around for the restaurant anywhere.

“You're gonna hit it!” Missy warned him and sure enough he hit a fourth set of cans.

Gripping the seatbelt in my hands Georgie hit the brakes throwing us almost all through the windshield causing me to whip my head around snapping off at my best friend. “Georgie let me drive now.”

“Y/n, I’ve got this.” He attempted to talk his way out of this.

I glared at him with him sitting on the side of the road seeing an ambulance fly past us. “No you don’t. I’m sorry to say it but you don’t.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Georgie raised his voice.

Throwing my hands up in the air I kicked the floorboard. “George Jr give me the car keys now. That’s an ambulance and our best action is to follow it!”

“Ooh, you're in trouble now!” Missy smiled brightly at him seeing me undoing my seatbelt coming around to his side of the car. Flinging his door open and snatching the keys so he had no choice but to let me drive. He switched places and we finally made it to the hospital.

We came running into the lobby of the hospital seeing their mom and Connie before their mom went to check on their dad. Connie held out her hand. “Georgie. Give me my damn keys.”

“I have’em actually, Connie.” Reaching into my pocket I dropped them to her hand.

She asked the four of us. “How did I beat you here?”

“We kept hitting garbage cans.” Missy answered her question.

Connie covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God.”

“I need to wash my hands. There are germs here that can kill you.” Sheldon got up to his feet.

His memaw grabbed his arm. “Hold up. Now, y'all like it when your meemaw babysits. Poker, candy, firecrackers.”

“Yes.” The kids said and I nodded in agreement.

“Well, if your mother ever finds out what you did tonight, that is never gonna happen again.” She warns us.

Sheldon gasped. “I can't lie to my mother.”

Connie glared at him. “Sure you can.”

“Sheldon, remember what Georgie taught you about lying and remember I know what scares you.” I warned him with my arms over my chest with me pointing two fingers at him. He never said anything and we only ever talked about it when we were much older.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#it’s about time #georgie cooper #georgie cooper x reader #montana jordan gifs #montana jordan #connie tucker #memaw #mary cooper #george cooper #young sheldon #the big bang theory #best friends #teenage parents #teen pregnancy #missy cooper #raegan revord #sheldon cooper #wattpad fanfiction #ask box is open for feedback #comments really appreciated #texas

[nct-charlee]

Jeno + Chaewon (NoWon)

“Nobody won…NOWON!”

// masterlist // NCT DREAM

(korean, english)

warnings: nothing (pls tell me if i missed something)

WC:

First Meeting

"The first time I met Chae it was with my parents. Her grandparents happen to be my next door neighbor and invited us over!" (all members gasp or say "wow")

The summer of 2008 Charlotte's parents thought that it was only fair she would spend her summers with her grandparents

Charlotte had never been to Korea since she was born, but her father made sure she was able to understand and speak it, and she finally went by herself in July

When she had gotten there the schools around her grandparents house had gone on their break

So they decided it was best to invite their neighbors over for lunch!

"Back then she was so quiet. I thought she couldn't speak or understand korean." (Charlee laughs in the background) "All I said was 'hi' ."

When her grandfather had opened the door she had stood right behind his legs and peeked behind them to see a little boy around her age

"Come in! Come in! This is my granddaughter, she's visiting from the US," Her grandfather had begun to put his hand on her shoulder moving her from around his legs.

She bows and says a small 'hi' before running into the kitchen to help her grandmother cook

Charlotte had always been a picky eater and then it was even worse. She wouldn't eat tteokbokki, she struggled to try bulgoggi and never wanted to try any soup

The whole lunch Jeno watches as she just eats rice

After Charlotte pulls on her grandmas clothes and points to her toy box, her grandmother tells her to take Jeno with her

They both walk in silence and sit down on the floor as she opens the box and hands him a Pokemon poke ball. She herself grabs the tiny pokemon figurines and her trading cards

"Hi..." Jeno points to himself before saying "Jeno." He smiles, it even reaches his eye.

He struggles to find the next words to express that he too like Pokemon so he just settles with, "Pokemon," and putting a thumbs up

Charlotte laughs to herself more than at him, and Jeno joins in on it, both of them giggling

"Hi Jeno, I'm Charlotte, but you can call me Chaewon." Charlotte smiles and giggles again, "I speak korean too, you don't have to speak in english."

Fan Favorite Moment

During a live when she starts talking about pre-debut stories, Charlee talks about how close they were even before they became trainees

"My grandparents loved when I came over during the summers, they always thought it was nice to see me being around a kid my age during break," Charlee expresses while looking at comments.

"hmmm, yeah. Jeno and I were really close to the point whenever it was the weekend and during my school year he would call from my grandma's phone!" She even says it again in english

Comments start to go crazy ranging from 'woa, he really liked you', 'that's so cute!!' and even 'my NoWon heart <3’

On Screen

"Nobody won. It's fine because we're NoWon"

Popularity: 7/10

Nicknames: Chae, Won, Wonnie, Corgi

The "best friends to bestest friends"

The “puppy” duo (the name given by Mark and Jaemin), Charlee hates it and Jeno embraces it passionately

Jeno is somehow always hanging off of Charlee, he is one of the few members that openly show affection

If it’s not Jaemin clinging onto Jeno and Charlee SOMETHING is wrong

During the “CharTea” episode that featured all of 8dream (ep. 2: Mister Mister 7), Jeno talks about why she’s so cold and quiet on camera

He talked about how often staff are likely shut her down and that she came to him so he could voice her opinion for her

Even during interviews this is seen, but now it’s everyone of the boys doing it

He was also the one to say she should do her own content to show everyone that she can in fact do without the boys (in fact she prefers to do that!)

Off Screen

She's pretty much a part of his family and him to her

Their parents jokingly say Jeno might be the first to take the name “Meyers” (they also joke that all of dream might take the name Meyers)

They’re opposites on camera! Charlotte isn’t very shy and Jeno is very shy

Even the way they talk to each other, Charlotte is more likely to baby him !!

One of the first tattoos she had gotten was dedicated to 8dream, each member had a little doodle she drew that reminded her of them

His was a little poke ball

“stop looking at me weirdo”

“no. Chae.”

#nct added member #nct addition #nct dream added member #nct dream oc #nct female addition #nct dream #nct dream 8th member #nct dream female member #nct oc #nct female member