#feel like a nail u hammered in a wall. facts.

[piratebay]

17 31 & 33 for film questions! 💖💖

film questions

17. a movie that you know is bad but you can’t help but love it

omg in all honesty a LOT of the movies i like are. bad. lmao. but for brevity's sake -- to answer this question... batman & robin (1997). i just think it's fun 😭

31. 3 movies you’re expecting excitedly!

idk if excitedly is the right word! i feel like i never really pay tooooo much attn to what movies are coming out (and i'm playing an endless game of catch-up on pop culture) But i saw the trailer for smb watching one piece and. well. i'll watch it! idk what i'm gonna do abt crisp rat's voice tho.

i rmr everyone was talking abt brendan fraser's return w the whale and it looks interesting enough.

last one is not rly a "movie" movie... but when i looked up upcoming shows on fandango i saw, in select theaters, they're releasing a recorded performance of the magic flute! which. i do wanna see. c:

33. favorite musical

ok i Have seen. an awful lot of musicals. technically i prefer to see em live if i can, but some made-for-the-movie house musicals that are. p timeless imo are the wizard of oz and willy wonka ig.

but some of my fave shows i wanna see live (and not talk abt the movie versions :-] unless absolutely necessary. lol.) are the phantom of the opera, sweeney todd, the last 5 years, and les mis 🥹😣

#TYSM FOR ASKING THESE. these may be my most revealing favorite questions abt movies ever. #feel like a nail u hammered in a wall. facts. #cinemantique #answers #i've. seen more than 20 musicals live 💀 pain n suffering.

[thoughtyouwerentafraidofanything]

I was thinking maybe Kai loving the sight of his girl killing someone and smut with blood still on her from the victim, and he is praising her for being a good girl and letting her know how proud he is of her. Btw i loved the fic u posted its so good!!!😭

Kinda love this request, I'll try do it some justice. I apologise if it isn't what you were requesting.

Hot

Pairing: kai anderson x female reader

Summary: things get hot and heavy between you and kai in an alleyway beside a crime scene.

Warnings: swearing, blood, murder, smut, biting, hair pulling, praise.

Authors note: might write about a virgin Jeff pfister soon, don't know yet(thoughts???).

Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you felt kai press your body into the brick wall behind you, his hips against yours. You and kai were currently standing in an alleyway, your clown masks abandoned on the floor beside your feet.

"You done such a good job y/n" you heard kai praise in your ear as he began to tear at your tights. Your hands were busy unbuckling kai's belt, your breath would catch whenever your hand would brush against his very noticeable and present boner.

Kai loved the sight of you covered in someone else's blood, he'd be telling lies if he said the thought of you painted with it didn't make him hard at the slight thought, and the fact that he gets to fuck you moments after you just killed someone before you could clean the blood off your skin made his hips rut up into nothing in excitement.

"I always knew you could do it y/n"

Kai's tongue licked at your jaw as his hand slid into your underwear, his cold fingers rubbed along your slit before making their way back to your clit. You hips jolted into kai's hand, the swirling sensation his fingers were giving you made your stomach feel fuzzy.

Kai's mind was running through the scene that uncovered infront of him, he remembered how your body was straddling the much taller security guard, the knife you held plunging into his chest, one stab after another. You were a godess in that moment, a woman of death and torture.

The holes you made in the guards chest were spraying blood onto your body, but that didn't stop you.

Kai's hips pushed into you as he remembered the guard had pulled a gun on him without noticing you were walking to the entrance behind him. You pulled the knife above your head and shoved it into the security guards back, before turning him around and kicking him to the floor where you continued your actions.

"K-kai"

"You're so fucking beautiful right now "

Your hands were no longer at kai's belt but infact clawing to his shoulders, digging your nails into the fabric of his coat.

Kai's left hand held your neck in a possessive manner, you could only move if he wanted you to, he watched as the fresh droplets of blood ran down your face and fell on his thumb which was caressing your cheek.

His thumb now replacing his fingers down below, kai pressed down on your clit his fingers snaking their way towards your entrance. He couldn't even try to hide the smile from his face when he felt how wet you were for him.

His eyes trailed down your body, first taking in your blood covered face and the way the red liquid would gather at your lips making him want to kiss you, then the way your panties were pulled down enough so that he could see his hand being covered in your juices, he could only imagine what it looked like to see your pussy greedily sucking in his fingers.

The pressure was building in your lower abdomen as kai's fingers worked into you, the feeling of kai swiping something off of your face made you slowly open your eyes. Kai's thumb pushed past your lips and into your mouth, the taste of blood present as his finger pressed down on your tongue rubbing the blood all over your taste buds, you almost gagged at the taste but the feeling of kai's lips hastily pressing onto yours shut that instinct down as fast as it came up.

"I'm so proud of you y/n"

Not letting you catch your breath kai kissed you again this time for longer, his tongue pushed into your mouth and began to suck on your own, groans erupted from his throat as he could taste the blood from your mouth mix in with his saliva.

Using kai's left hand, he snaked his hand up the back of your neck and grabbed a fistful of your hair at the crown of your head and harshly pulled, the kiss between you and kai broke as your head was yanked back.

Kai stared at your neck for a while, the splatters of red decorated your skin nicely and all he could say was that red was definitely your colour.

Bringing his head closer kai's tongue licked at your exposed collar bone before dragging it up your neck, the feeling of his hot tongue against your cold skin made you swallow in shock.

His tongue lazily cleaned your neck, the wet blood collecting on kai's tongue and smearing across your skin even more.

"You're so good to me y/n"

You heard kai speak and felt his hand loosen it's grip on your hair until his hand was no longer near your head. Whining from the lack of attention your mouth and pussy was getting you huff deep breaths into the cold air, the moon lighting up the sky and emptying the streets.

The sound of kai's zipper being undone rang through your ears making your eyes snap back to him, his hands were pulling down his pants and reaching into his underwear pulling out his hard cock.

You felt kai's fingers pull your panties to the side, your eyes half lidded in exhaustion.

"Always so good to me"

The tip of kai was pressing against your entrance, his hand that was once fingering you was still covered in your juices, using those same finger kai spread it all over his dick readying himself.

Kai's head buried itself into the space where your neck and shoulder connected, his lips against your skin.

"Now it's my turn"

You felt kai's teeth bite down hard into your neck as he began to push into you, it took him two thrusts, the first to slowly press into you and the second was due to the feeling of you wrapped around him. Kai's mind went blank and his hips stuttered into you on their own.

"..to..be nice to...you"

Kai's hand grasped at your hip, the other tightly holding the underside of your thigh as he lifted it up to allow himself to reach deeper into you.

You mouth snapped open and your head leaned against the wall behind you, the scratches from the bricks not bothering you, your mind busy focusing on the way kai's cock was stretching out your entrance.

Your body jumped with every thrust kai gave, his eyes were screwed shut and his mouth was busy littering deep bite markings across your neck and shoulders.

"This is all for you y/n"

He slid himself almost completely out of your pussy before slamming back in.

"Because you're such a good girl"

His hands were pushing you down onto him by your hips.

"And because you look so fucking hot "

Police sirens screeched in the background, the loud noise getting closer and closer to the alleyway you and kai were stationed in. The blue and red lights lit up the dark sky, your head turned to the side and caught a glimpse of the bricks you were currently pushed up against changing colours, blue to red then back to blue.

You couldn't speak as kai's hand reached back down to your clit, this time rubbing in fast circles whilst pounding into you. This action caused you to let out a wail of pleasure.

"You feel amazing"

Your hand made its way into kai's hair, this time you were the one pulling at his strands harshly, this released some groans from kai as his thrusts became harder and deeper, everytime he would bottom out into you he would grind his hips onto you.

"Do you know how fucking good you looked stabbing him"

Using his other hand kai desperately grabbed at you tits through your clothes, his hand would harshly grab onto your flesh under the layers of clothing and squeeze gaining a whine from you in pain and pleasure.

"I want to see you do it again"

The voices of the police officers and orders coming through their radios grew louder, the thump of car doors being slammed shut echoed throughout the empty night.

"K-kai..people"

You tried to resist the ecstacy of kai's fingers rubbing against your most sensitive part and began to tap the back of his head and neck, warning him that the police could catch and arrest them.

"Just let me award you y/n"

You heard kai whisper into your ear, his tongue licked the shell of your ear then prodded at the hole before latching his teeth onto your earlobe.

"You deserve it"

You were biting your lip to keep the moans caused by kai sealed, the chance of you getting caught covered in blood with kai's dick shoved into you made you shiver in anxiety.

Your nails began to dig into the skin of kai's neck as your heart was pounding against the shell of your ribs, your back was arched pushing your front against kai's tensed stomach, your skin was covered in a light layer of sweat even though the air around you was cold.

Kai kissed you harshly, the taste of blood was no longer present in your mouth, by this time most of the blood had dried into your skin. Your lips were sore to touch as kai was biting down on them during the kiss.

You and kai were both very close.

His hips began to shake with every thrust into you, his pace fastened and moans began to leave kai's throat, the sound making you lean closer and closer to your orgasm.

The band in your stomach was tightening, ready to snap any moment.

"We got a possibly dead victim, bring out an ambulance "

Kai looked straight into your eyes

"Look at me"

The light slapping on your cheek made you unscrew your eyes and lazily look back at kai.

"Promise me you'll do it again"

Your mouth hung open, the feeling of kai's dick shoving itself into your pussy, dragging itself against your tight walls made your hips roll against kai's.

"Promise me y/n"

Before you could answer the knot in your stomach broke, kai's harsh thrusting finally pushed you over the edge, an animalistic moan left your throat as your eyes clamped shut. The feeling of you tightening around kai's cock made his eyes almost roll to the back of his head.

A few more thrusts was what kai could take before snapping his hips into you one last time and spilling his cum into you. You were already coming down fro your high and the feeling of being filled up by kai made another whine escape your lips.

You both stood there for a while, kai's now soft dick still inside you as his head rested against your heaving chest, his hips would roll into a couple of times as he himself was coming down from his orgasm.

Your shaky hand ran itself through kai's hair, you could feel his hot breath fanning onto your collar bones.

Finally pulling himself out of you kai shoved his dick back into his underwear pulling up his pants and redoing his belt. Your knees buckled a little when you stood up without the support of kai's body against yours.

You slowly shimmeyed your underwear to fully cover you again and pulled up your now loose tights, completely ignoring the large tears in the crotch area.

Kai's hand reached out to your hair, smoothing down the fly-aways .

"I always believed in you y/n"

#ahs #ahs smut #ahs cult #american horror story cult #ahs cult smut #american uorror story cult smut #kai anderson #kai anderson smut #ahs kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #evan peters smut

[twobellsilence]

Obligatory Encanto review

It was SO good.

Of course, it's got its flaws. For instance, some character relationships needed more time to develop better, and a Certain Character got off too easily at the end despite the damage they caused to the family; there's also the topic of the musical-style songs, which are kind of lackluster at times and honestly disappointed the hell out of me for the most part (I'm one of the people who tried to defend Lin Manuel Miranda's involvement, but really, he could've put on a lot more sabor, yknow), and the Latin American dub's adaptation of them was actually kind of bad at times, making some verses sound almost non-sensical, though that's not really the case in the originals as far as I know.

Aside from that, however? I LOVED this movie. It was everything I wanted it to be and more, and it truly did feel like a love letter to Colombian culture. They got EVERY SINGLE TINY DETAIL right. The house was built bahareque style!! With guadua and all!! There's the MASSIVE wooden dining table rural houses often have!! The family had ajiaco for dinner at one point!! EVEN THE CLAY TILES made that Very Characteristic clacking sound everytime someone walked on them!!!!! The people who worked on this did their homework and you can tell they were PASSIONATE and COMMITTED to making everything feel as authentic as possible, and they nailed it. I also just have to talk about the skirts' animation??? Like, not only were they integrated into each choreography in an incredibly accurate way, their physics are also just. Spot on??? Like that is EXACTLY how they move and HDJABDJSJ idk everytime Mirabel moved her skirt i was MESMERIZED by how perfect each movement was. There's also a shot where a wall with "COLOMBIA" painted on it takes up almost the entire frame, which im pretty damn sure was a way to hammer home the fact that the country's name is spelled with an O and not an U. Whoever is responsible for this is a saint, legit.

I also couldn't talk about this film's authenticity without mentioning the subtext about violence and forced displacement of people in rural areas. This is quite a sensitive topic for us and, credit where credit is due, the film portrays it in a respectful, realistic way (within the scope of this Fictional part of Colombia, or course). It's not just used for shock value, but it's pretty much the root cause of the conflict in the movie, and it never downplays its gravity or undermines the feelings of the people affected by it. They could've just made a happy little movie about happy little characters living in a happy little land, but they decided to risk it and integrate this painfully familiar and very distinct aspect to it instead... and honestly? I commend them for that.

From a narrative standpoint, I love the way the movie didn't take a classic "you can do whatever you want to if you set your mind to it!!!" or "you can be whoever you want to be!!!!" approach to Mirabel's lack of powers. Not only did it make her a lot more relatable, but it also gave her role within the family a lot more depth; she does have a power, even if it isn't magical like her relatives', and her being special in her own way doesn't make her better than all of them either, which is honestly a breath of fresh air given how cliché these kinds of stories often tend to be. I also want to mention the way they made the house a whole character with its own personality - i'd take a bullet for Casita any day of the week.

All in all?? I truly, 100% recommend this movie. There was real passion and love put into it, and as a Colombian I can confidently say it is amazing representation for us. There are no words to describe how happy I am this is an actually good film.

#also i had Very Low hopes for Maluma being a voice actor in this but he was surprisingly good ngl #that's the only good thing I'll say about that man on this blog #also speaking of Colombian artists and voice acting. @Yatra haciendo cancioncitas te ves más bonito mi amor precioso #Encanto #Luke rants

[mysticm3ss]

let’s be forever [zen x fem!reader]

based on Normal Ending 2 of the April Fools DLC and also the reset theory. my interpretation of Zen’s POV during the final visual novel. enjoy~

Warnings: like one swear word. also angst but with a happy-ish ending.

Words: 1.5k

“I hope you’re not making a sad face. I’m smiling.”

It was only a half-lie, yet the words tasted bitter on Zen’s tongue. Though his lip was curled in a half-smile, the salty tears staining his cheeks and the sobs building in his throat far outweighed the acceptance he had so struggled to find.

He’d never see her.

Not her smile, her eyes, the blush in her cheeks...

The thought was more painful than a knife to the chest, but he kept a happy face. He couldn’t let her know that he was breaking apart, not now. He had to stay strong for her; had to be a rock for his princess to depend on. 

“At first, I couldn’t stand the fact that you’re in another dimension, but now I’m okay with it.”

His voice was thick with tears, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. He would never be okay with this; never be okay knowing that he could never hold her in his arms, kiss away her tears, run his fingers along her skin.

Zen closed his eyes, hand clenching into a fist at his side. His nails dug into his palm, and the refreshing pain jerked him back to clarity. 

He could not accept this. He would not accept this.

“I know that the feelings we have towards each other can’t be trapped in any dimension. That lets me endure… all the waiting I have to do.”

Waiting.

Yes, there would be waiting; the plan slowly forming in the back of his mind could certainly never come to fruition overnight. 

But Zen would wait forever for her. Decades upon decades, centuries upon centuries, millennia upon millennia. 

He could wait. Yes, he could handle that. The only thing he could not handle was the mere notion of letting her go. Not now, not after she’d revealed that her feelings were as pure as his own, even if her answers had been predetermined. 

He would not give up.

“I love you, MC. Let’s be forever.”

He closed the app on his phone, and finally, Zen broke.

His chest heaved with painful sobs that burned his throat and stung behind his eyes. Tears marred the fair skin of his cheeks, and his hands fisted in his hair, knotting in the pale strands as he slid down the wall of his apartment. Knees to his chest, he pressed his face into his thighs, the fabric of his pants soaking up his sorrow and muffling the pitiful cries that fled his lips.

What would she say to me, right now? He half wondered. Would she hold me? Whisper comforting words? No, I should be the one comforting her… she must be hurting, too…

The very notion had another sob gasping from his throat.

“Jagiya…” he whispered, the words swallowed by his knees. “I’m coming for you. I promise.”

Zen didn’t move from his place on the floor until the clock struck midnight. Slowly, he raised his head, eyes red and puffy, cheeks tight with dried tears. 

Dammit, pull yourself together, his mind hissed. Hyun set his jaw, and sat up a little straighter, neck held high as he dared to look at his empty apartment. The empty space on the couch in which he’d longed to cuddle up with her, the empty kitchen he’d use to cook for her...

He swallowed, releasing a shaky sigh, and nodded once to himself as he tugged his phone from his pocket.

There was only one person who might believe him--one person who had dropped hint after hint in the chat room, hints that he had never quite grasped until now. One person who might actually be capable of helping.

He dialled. Held the phone up to his ear, listened as it rang. Once. Twice.

Hyun was bracing himself for the voicemail when finally-

“Zen, what the hell? It’s like, midnight.”

“Seven?” 

Zen winced at the croak of his voice and cleared his throat.

“...Zen? Are you… okay?”

Zen closed his eyes, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Listen… do you ever feel like… like something’s off? As though… maybe… we’ve done this before?”

Seven took a long moment before responding.

“What do you mean?” His tone was careful, and Zen licked his lips nervously.

“I mean… MC. Do you ever think that maybe… she’s… not exactly… here?”

A beat of silence.

“So you worked it out, huh?”

Zen’s stomach dropped. There was no pretending that this was a dream anymore, no locking away this torment in the back of his mind in the hopes that it was all just a painful misunderstanding, the ghost of a nightmare that haunted his quiet moments and taunted his sanity.

No, this was real.

“Y-yeah,” Zen managed. “How long have you known?”

“A while,” Seven murmured, and Zen’s insides twisted at the pain hidden in the redhead’s voice. Eventually, the agent forced a laugh that didn’t quite hit as genuine.

“So, at least now we can bond over our heartbreak, right?” he chuckled dryly. “And Yoosung thinks he has it bad in the love department… At least he doesn’t remember… none of them do…”

Zen had never heard humour drop from someone’s voice so quickly.

“Seven… I need your help.”

“What~? My help~?!” Seven gasped dramatically, upping his energy in typical 707-fashion; anything to repress the pain, to bury it beneath laughter and pretend that it wasn’t eating him up inside. Zen thought he understood Seven a little better, now.

He took a deep breath.

“I need you to help me… get to her. Get to her world. Or… or if that fails… see if we can bring her here. With her permission, obviously.” Zen held his breath, waiting for his friend to beat down his idea; to tell him that it was impossible, that he shouldn’t even entertain the insane notion.

“Even if it’s not forever,” Zen tacked on. “I just… I need to meet her. To… tell her thank you.”

Seven was still quiet, and Zen’s gut churned anxiously. His jaw began to ache, and he noticed he’d been clenching his teeth. He loosened, closing his eyes and focussing on his breathing--breathing that stopped at Seven’s next words.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s try.”

There it was--that flutter in his chest, the hint of brightness in his eyes, the bounce that slowly sprung back to his step:

Hope.

__________

It wasn’t until eight months later that he got the phone call.

Zen groaned, rolling over in his bed, hand fumbling for his cell as his bleary eyes barely registered the time stamped on his digital clock.

4:06am.

“Dude, what the fuck? Do you know what time it is?” he grumbled, voice thick with sleep as he pried his eyes open, stifling a yawn as he pressed himself upright. Zen stretched his neck, then his arms, holding his bicep over his face to muffle another yawn.

“I-I think I’m close, Zen.”

Seven’s voice was urgent, brimming with excitement, and Zen straightened immediately. Any lingering traces of sleep snapped away as Zen’s heart leapt to his throat.

“I’ll be right there.”

The night air whipped against Zen’s face, his hair flying out behind him as he broke god-knew how many traffic laws until he finally parked his motorcycle before Seven’s bunker. He’d spent night after tireless night here the past few months--at first, things seemed futile. But when they managed to hack into the other dimension’s version of the internet, Zen finally dared to hope that this could actually work.

He could see her--at least once.

Zen bypassed the Arabic security with relative ease; he’d come here often enough in the past few months to memorise the few phrases he’d needed to. He shoved open the door with his shoulder, hollow footsteps echoing on the floor as he barely kept himself from sprinting to the monitor room.

Seven’s amber eyes were bright, though they were weighed down by heavy bags and framed by sallow skin that hadn’t seen the sunlight (or sleep, for that matter) in at least a few days. Zen’s heart hammered frantically against his ribs, and he took a sharp breath.

Ordinarily, he was sure Seven would have given him shit--he was still in his pyjamas, for Christ’s sake--but at the moment, the two of them were too focussed on the monitors flashing with code, anticipation brewing in their shallow breaths and the hasty typing of Seven’s shaking fingers.

The two fell into a determined silence, broken only by the sharp orders the hacker fed to Zen, who followed them to the letter.

And then, Seven stopped typing, eyes wide in disbelief as they found Zen’s.

“It-it’s done. Any minute n-”

He was cut off by a flash of blue-green light bleeding from the monitor between them. Zen squinted, eyes closing against the harsh glare. As the brightness eased, he finally blinked, eyes adjusting to the newfound darkness. All he could hear was his heart thrumming in his ears, all he could feel was the burning of his lungs as he held his breath in anticipation.

His sight finally adjusted, and he felt all tension drain from his body, replaced by sweet, vitalising relief.

Hyun took a deep breath, and although his mouth was drier than cotton, the most beautiful word he knew found itself spilling from his lips;

“...MC?”

__________

hope u enjoyed, please reblog/comment if u did! xx let me know if u want a part 2, i have a few ideas!

#mystic messenger #mysme #mysme zen #hyun ryu #mm #mm zen #zen x reader #zen x mc #mm headcanons #mm hyun ryu #saeyoung choi #mm seven

[copias-thrall]

An Interlude

Please enjoy some s/m/u/t with these two goobers.

(Part 1; Part 2)

Sleeping 💤with Mary is an exercise in your tolerance threshold. 

He gets annoyed by the fact that you flail and always seem to elbow him in the face; you get annoyed that he shakes you awake to bitch at you. He also has the tendency to use you as a body pillow, which has had you waking up in a sweat because Mary is a goddamned furnace. 

Heaven forbid you say anything, however—last time you did, he heisted one of your pillows and pointedly slept on your couch.

And you think the boy would’ve known better than leaving his makeup on, but alack the day—it only took the one time of seeing your pillows covered in blood and white cake for you to have to buckle down on him at least using a washcloth. (“I don’t see what the issue is, it’s not like you’re the pinnacle of hygiene.” “A little body gunk is way different than cheap fake blood!”)

But it’s nice in other ways. Like: Mary is a goddamned furnace , and not only does that solve your cold feet problem, but you also get the added bonus of startling the shit out of him when you make use of his warm nooks. When you wake up from one of your slasher nightmares, instead of grabbing for your hammer, you grab for Mary. Plus, he likes to wake you up with his fit guitarist’s fingers steadily going to town on your clit.

He’s not always around, though—there are gigs; and his friends; and his own apartment. On those nights, you can luxuriate in being able to starfish and not have to play the “cover on, cover off” game. Also, you have your vibrator, which is always good for a slow, intense orgasm or a quick climax.

Tonight is one of those nights—Mary’s band was playing a short set before close at Mickey’s, which meant drunken carousing with his bandmates—so you brought out the big guns. A little porn on your phone, and you’re cumming in no time, shoving the toy hastily out of the way as your roll over to go to sleep.

You wake up early the next morning because there’s a solid boy sprawled over you. His head’s on your chest, one hand resting on a tit, and one of his thighs is between yours. His boxers are on, but his flaccid penis is hanging out of the slit. It smells like he’s sweating alcohol, but at least it looks like he got (most) of his makeup off.

Goddamnit, Mary. You don’t have to be up for another 2 hours! He’s out cold and—yep—drooling on you.

“Mary,” you say. Nothing. “Mary,” you say louder. Still nothing. You wiggle a little, trying to jostle him awake. Not even a twitch. You wet your finger in your mouth and stick it in his ear. This earns you a half snore and a body jerk.

“Mary,” you try again. A low rumble from his chest vibrates against you. He begins to slowly shift—unfortunately his slowly forming awareness starts and stops at the realization that he has a tit in hand, and he begins to fondle it. If possible, he presses into your further, and he starts rubbing his now hardening cock into your hip.

“Mare, c’mon,” you whine, trying to wiggle away. He grumbles and slides his hand from your breast down to your puss. Unsatisfied with what he finds there, he brings a finger to a suck into his mouth. When the wet pad of his finger makes contact with your clit, you’re appeased somewhat. He slides the digit up and down your slit—dipping down into your hole, then back up to circle your clit.

You close your eyes and rock into the motion. He turns his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, and soon enough you’re wet and slick.

“Mmm,” he rumbles, “there’s the juice.” Sluggishly, he squirms on top of you, slipping his dick to swipe in between your folds. You two rub at each other lazily, and Mary kisses you. He tastes like the bottom of a birdcage, so you push his face away.

“Your morning breath, dude.”

“Bitch,” he grumbles, but turns his head anyway to suck under your jaw. You put your hands above your head so you can brace against the wall, and Mary follows their movement with red, blurry eyes. 

Then he stops.

You wiggle your hips impatiently. “C’mon … wake me the fuck up and—”

“The fuck is that?”

“Huh?”

“That—what is that?”

You turn your head to see that Mary is referring to the vibrator that you hastily shoved aside last night.

“It’s just my vibrator,” you say as you rock your cunt, trying to get the head of his cock to stimulate your clit—but Mary slips free so that he has the reach to grab for your toy. He slides off to your side so he can examine it up close. You groan and bring your hand down to massage yourself.

He looks over at you. “It doesn’t look like dick.”

“Why would it look like a dick?”

“Uh, you know? So you can …” he makes a thrusting motion with it.

You sigh. “You’re thinking of a dildo. I don’t stick this in me.”

His eyes trail from the vibe, down your abdomen, to your cunt.

“It doesn’t get you off from vibrating inside you?”

“No. It’s more for … direct stimulation.”

“Oh.”

He’s staring at your hand as it works between your legs.

“Can I watch you use it?”

You stop and turn your head.

“You want to watch me use my vibrator?”

He nods, blood-shot eyes wide.

“You won’t feel … useless?”

“The fuck would I feel that? It’s hot watching your touch yourself.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say as you hold out your hand for the device. He watches as you turn it on to your favored settings. You spread your legs, only feeling a little self-conscious when he slides down to get a better view. The first press to your clit sends a delicious spark of pleasure through you, and you moan as your eyes roll back. Mary pets your inner thigh.

You proceed to play a little—never letting your toy sit directly on your clit or stay in one place too long. You’re aware that you’re writhing and letting out breathy moans. Mary’s eyes flit from the show between your legs, up to you face, then back down again. One of his hands tweaks a nipple, and you let out an Ah! as you mash against the tip. Another hand slips over yours on the device.

“Can I?” he asks in his growling stage voice.

“Yeah!” you gasp and bring your hands up to clutch into your pillow.

Mary takes a less nuanced approach, apparently relishing in watching you jerk and squirm as he puts the toy more directly on your throbbing clit. He’s staring at you, mouth open, as you pant and thrash. You feel your climax approaching—and you mean to warn Mary to back off a bit—but before you can, he presses in more and you can’t stop yourself from bearing down into the never-ending vibrations as your orgasm explodes over you in pulsating waves. 

Your back bows, and you feel yourself squirt everywhere as you scream over and over. When you're finished, Mary is stock still and gaping at you, so you have to push away from him as you turn and curl into yourself, thighs squeezed together. As you pant, you hear the toy turn off.

A hand trails lightly down your flank. “Are you all right?”

You raise a hand up, implicit instruction for him to “hold on.” You unfurl slowly as your blood evens out. Even though it’s just Mary, and he’s gross, you’re still a little embarrassed. You roll onto your back and drape an arm over your eyes.

“Shit. I should’ve asked you to put down a towel.”

His rubs a hand over your belly. “What just happened?”

You peek at him from under your arm. “Don’t you know?”

“Not really? Did I … hurt you?”

Still high from your intense orgasm, you start giggling uncontrollably. Mary’s face journeys from concern to confusion to annoyance. 

“Well, then what?”

You wiggle up into his lap (his cock still half hard and hanging out) and rub your face on his.

“Uh, you gave me a squirting orgasm. I should have warned you … the, um … direct pressure. I meant to say, but—”

He pulls your head back by your hair to stare at you.

“That was squirting?!”

“Um. Yeah. Don’t you watch porn?”

“Not that kind of porn apparently.”

“What kind do you watch then?

Mary opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Don’t change the subject.”

He’s searching your face, and you feel yourself flush. You start to back off him saying, “Look, it’s perfectly normal. I didn’t do it on purpose … you just kinda—”, but he gathers you back up.

“No, it’s hot. I just didn’t expect … I’ve definitely jerked off to the thought of making a girl squirt.” His smile spreads across his face, and he’s showing teeth. “And now that I know how to do it, you’re in trouble.”

“Fuck, Mary.”

He grabs handfuls of your ass and jerks his hips at you.

“In the meantime, you mind returning the favor? Want your hand on me.”

“Yeah,” you breath out.

He takes your hand and spits into it—despite knowing there’s lube … somewhere on your floor—before bringing it down to his cock. You wrap your hand around his heat and stroke slowly up and down. He leans his head back—Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows—before snapping it forward again to watch as you jack him. His eyes glaze over even as he grips and grabs at your flesh. You’re going to be bruised all to hell.

You work him over good, changing up between long, slow strokes and quick sweeps over his cockhead. Mary’s thrusting up into your hand, words tumbling out of his mouth.

“Oh fuck. Yeah. Yeah, just like that. Oh god—faster.”

You speed up your strokes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—don’t stop. Don’t stop. Fuck. Oh fuck.”

He surges forward and shoves his tongue into your mouth, so you really let your hand fly. His nails dig painfully into your love handles, and suddenly he’s grunting into your mouth, his cum now hot and wet on your hand. You keep working him, and when he tries to jerk away from your touch, you say,

“Shh, take it. Be a good boy and take it.”

He’s just chanting fuck over and over as he slams his fists into your bed, gripping your sheets in his grasp. His dick gives a kick, and a small spurt of watery cum shoots out before you finally loosen your hold.

Mary collapses back onto the bed, cupping his dick.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck,” he gasps.

You smile smugly down at him. “One good squirt deserves another.”

His eyes snap to meet yours. “Shut the fuck up. C’mere.” He puts his arms out. You flop down next to him and he rearranges you onto his chest. You not so subtly wipe your hand on his boxers.

He snorts. “Real nice.”

“It is your jizz.”

Despite telling yourself that you’re just going to rest your eyes for a minute, the next thing you know, your alarm is jerking you out of a sound sleep.

“Whatever that is, I’m going fuck it up if you don’t make it stop,” murmurs Mary where his face is smushed in your covers.

You scramble up the bed to turn it off. “Fuck,” you say, head in hands. You crawl out of bed and grab some loungewear before heading into the bathroom. The shower takes forever to warm up, but once it does, you allow yourself a few moments to stand under its warm spray before cleaning between your legs.

You’re never more aware of Mary’s presence in your apartment than when he isn’t up and about handing you a mug of coffee and a piece of toast. You blunder your way through setting the drip and merely grab a granola bar to nosh.

The morning’s half over when Mary finally emerges from your room. You’re in the weeds with an Important Work Thing, so you just grunt at him.

“Coffee?” he rasps.

“Counter. But it’s cold.” You gesture vaguely. 

“Whatever.”

You hear him pour a cup and the gulp gulp gulp as he swallows it down. In your periphery, you’re aware of him banging around your kitchen. He finally comes over and curls up next to you on the couch, munching on some toast. The two of you sit in companionable silence until he finishes his food and worms his head onto your lap. You absently run your unoccupied hand through his hair in between typing.

You’re pretty sure he dozes for a while, but some time later he says, “I feel like a Mac Truck hit me.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you were still drunk this morning.”

He grunts.

Lunch approaches, and you close your laptop, stretching as much as you can with Mary in your lap.

“Hey—not that I’m complaining—but what are you doing here? I thought you had … things.”

He pulls himself up into a sitting position, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“Uh, yeah. Things got—we we’re gonna have post-show drinks at O’Reilly’s, then head back to our place so we could get up and work on some new stuff. But …” He sweeps his hand out.

You squint at him. “But you came here instead?”

Mary looks at you and worries at the hem of his shirt.

“It was obvious pretty quickly none of us were going to be functional today.”

“What happened?”

“I came here.”

You blink at him.

“Clearly.”

He sighs and scrubs he face in his hands.

“There were some fans …”

“Fans.”

“Ok, groupies. Uh, regulars.”

A spike of anxiety hits you, but you push it down. “Ok?”

He rubs the back of his neck.

“Some of them are cool. They can hang. But some of the others don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. The guys were good to go, buying shots and doing bumps with some of them in the bathroom, but …” He gestures at you. “I got a girl.”

Stupid relief floods you.

“When it was clear it was going to turn onto an orgy, I left.”

He’s curled all the way into the other corner of the couch, still tugging at his hem.

“Am I to take it that you’ve … been an active participant before?”

He nods, looking miserable.

“Recently?”

Mary shakes his head vigorously. He takes your hand.

“Not since … not since you.”

You rub your other hand over his knuckles.

“Ok. Thank you for telling me, Mary. But your past history is … it has no bearing on me—on us—unless you think there’s a pressing reason for me to know. I trust your judgment. Nothing happened, right?” 

He squeezes your hand, his eyes wide and imploring. “Nothing .” 

You wonder who hurt him.

“Hey,” you say, scooting into his space. You take his face in between your hands. “I trust you, ok? Don’t fuck it up and we’re good.”

He sighs and presses his forehead into yours.

“Fucking it up is my specialty.”

“Oh crap! Mine too—I guess we’re fucked.”

He lets out a laugh. You pat his cheeks harder than necessary, and he snarls at you as he pushes you away.

“I need a snack. You want?”

“Whatever.”

You end up making a pretty sick sandwich—some lunchmeat; square cheese; hard, unripe tomato; and pieces of bagged lettuce with spicy mayo on an onion bagel—which you cut diagonally. Mary’s rocking a pretty terrible version of puppy-dog eyes, so you hand him half (your intention all along, but he doesn’t need to know that), which he practically inhales in one bite.

“You working tonight?”

He nods.

“You wanna go back to sleep? Cuz, I have to get back to work.”

He shakes his head. “Can I … do anything?” He makes a gesture around you apartment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You pretend to ponder, before saying, “As it turns out, my sheets need to be washed.”

Mary groans.`

“No takebacks!” you sing as you open up your laptop.

Your apartment may be a shoebox with no closet space, a window that opens to a brick wall, a weed you can’t stop from growing out of a crack in the wall, a toaster oven that catches on fire past 250º, and a hall light you can’t turn on because the lightbulb will explode—but it has an in-unit washer/dryer in the bathroom (something you’ve never been as grateful for since you started fucking Mary).

He grumbles as he strides into your bedroom.

“And don’t forget you have to—” you yell over your shoulder.

“I have to sit on it during the spin cycle so it doesn’t take off. I know, I know,” he yells back. He emerges with a bundle of bedsheets. “I do the laundry here more than you do, you know.”

“Don’t get on your high-horse—half of that’s because you do your laundry here.”

He sticks his head out of the bathroom. “Whatever. Like a few extra black clothes in your loads make a dif.”

You hear the lid close and the cycle start. Mary joins you on the couch soon after.

“You don’t really mind that I—”

“Oh my god, shut up. It’s fine.”

“K.”

You turn to him. “Anyway, I’ve always wanted a housewife.”

He gives you the finger.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

#mary goore #ofc #ficlet #my writing #feral cats fic #enjoy a little s m u t #as a treat

[kohanayaki]

Caught in the Middle (Steve Harrington x Reader x Billy Hargrove) Ch 4

Links: Ch 1   Ch 2   Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7

_____________________________________________________

Ch 4 .:A Date?:.

Sunlight streamed in through your window, ribbons of light cascading across your bed sheets. You could hear the faint sound of birds chirping as the morning greeted you.

And you felt like complete and utter shit. 

You groaned, your head pounding, as you tried to block out some of the light with your pillow. You'd gotten home last night at 2:00 on the dot, feeling fine. In fact, you even caught up on some homework before you went to sleep. Now you just felt like you'd been hit by a truck.

You looked over at the time, reluctantly getting out of bed when you saw how late in the morning it was. The kids were biking over in half an hour to go to the mall and you looked like hell.

You padded down the hallway, mustering up a weak laugh when you saw your brother passed out in his room, knowing he'd probably wake up to the same fate as you. 

As you made your way downstairs the smell of breakfast food made your stomach rumble on instinct. You were 'hydrated' plenty last night, but there wasn't much actual food. Your eyes lit up as you rounded the corner and saw your dad plating up some eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He grinned as he saw you, setting the plate down on the table in front of you. 

“And how is my daughter doing this fine morning?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Swell,” you said sarcastically.

He laughed, walking over to the cabinet to get you some Tylenol and a glass of water. 

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” he said, “I can't really say anything on this one, I'd be lying if I said I haven't done worse when I was your age. That hangover is punishment enough. Just drink water throughout the day, and go on and eat something greasy while you're at the mall too. But get your blood sugar up right now, I don't want you back in that car until your head's clear, you understand?”

“Will do,” you said, already stuffing your face, “Thanks, dad.”

“You're welcome,” he smiled, “Love you, drive safe.”

“Love you too,” you said through a mouthful of bacon. 

As he retreated back into his office you savored the taste of the feast he made for you. You smiled fondly as you did. Your dad didn't really cook until he became a single parent. When he took on the full responsibility of raising you and your brother, he tried his best to fill your mom's role, following the old recipe books she'd left behind. His first attempts were a general health hazard, but as time went on he actually turned out to be a great cook.

The sudden ringing of bicycle bells outside your house made you scarf down the rest of your plate, snatching your car keys off the table. 

You opened the front door to see the whole gang waiting for you.

“I swear, the only time you guys are on time for anything is when you're leeching off of me,” you said, unlocking the car and leaving them to figure out the seating.

“You know us so well,” Dustin said, hopping into the shotgun seat before anyone else could take it. 

“I forgot to ask earlier, but how was that summer camp you went to, Dustin?” you asked, turning on the engine.

“It was so cool,” he beamed, “Our counselor taught us how to make all kinds of inventions. I made a self-nailing hammer, a wind powered clock, and a radio tower so I can talk to my girlfriend whenever I want since her parents monitor her phone calls.”

“Girlfriend?” you turned to look at him. He smiled back at you, bright as anything.

“Yeah, we were surprised too,” Max said from the back.

“Although we're not sure she actually exists,” Mike chimed in, “Apparently she's as hot as Phoebe Cates.”

“Hotter than Phoebe Cates,” Dustin corrected, “And she's a genius too.”

“Riiight,” Lucas said. 

“Well I think she sounds great, Dusty,” you said, “It's pretty romantic you built that radio tower just to talk to her.”

“It's the strongest communications network in Hawkins across 150 channels,” he said proudly.

“Well, that's certainly impressive,” you grinned, ruffling his hair. 

Soon you pulled up to one of the many entrances to the mall, stopping at the curb. 

“Well, this is your stop, guys,” you said, “What are you gonna see?”

“The Stuff,” Mike said excitedly. 

“Isn't that rated R?” you questioned, a brow raised. 

All of them looked at each other, slightly panicked.

“Well, we'll see you later, (Y/n)!” Lucas said, flinging open the back door and getting out as fast as he could. Everyone else quickly fled after him, running towards the theater. You shook your head. They got themselves into a lot of shenanigans, but admittedly you were the one instigating it most of the time when you were younger, even if you were the babysitter. 

However, as soon as the kids left for the movie you were painfully reminded of the throbbing headache you had. You groaned as one of the strobe lights around the movie theater glared in your face, not helping matters in the slightest. 

You knew eating a bunch of greasy food technically didn't do anything for a hangover, but it sure made you feel a hell of a lot better emotionally. With that in mind you decided to walk over to the Burger Chef located inside the mall for a little pick me up. 

Luckily for you there wasn't much of a line. Only a few people were scattered around the seating area at the food court. You were looking over the menu hanging on the wall when a familiar voice broke your train of thought.

“(Y/n)?”

You looked around at the sound of your name to see Steve looking back at you, just as surprised. 

“Hey,” you said. You took a moment to look over him. He looked just as awful as you did, if you were honest. The deep-set bags under his tired eyes aged him an eternity, and he looked a bit green as well. 

“You too, huh?” You bit back a grin as you gave him a short laugh through your nose.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “In hind sight I probably shouldn't have mixed liquors, but hey, there's nothing I can do about it now. Figured some fries might help.”

“They always do,” you said, “What are you doing here, anyways? Aren't you on your shift at Scoops?” You noticed he was still in his work uniform.

“Lunch break,” he explained, “I don't really have long, but we can grab a table if you want.”

“I'd like that,” you smiled.

Steve was a little surprised at his own forwardness. Apparently he was hungover enough to not overthink everything that came out of his mouth. However he was even even more surprised at you agreeing to sit down with him. He didn't know why his brain was making such a big deal out of this; you ate lunch with him every day and hung out together all the time, but then again that was also including a group of other people. You and Steve had never really spent time together when it was just the two of you, except for when you iced his busted face after the basketball stunt, which hardly counted as a first date. 

He felt uncharacteristically nervous as he slid into the booth next to you. A year ago he would have been pulling out all the stops to make you his, but now he just wasn't so sure anymore. He was never afraid of rejection before, but when he thought of you as the one rejecting him he figured it would be better to not say anything at all. 

'Get yourself together,' Steve thought to himself, 'It's just lunch with a friend. Friends do that!'

“Penny for your thoughts, Popeye?” you said, flicking the fabric of his sailor hat. 

“Huh?” Steve said, snapping out of it, “Oh, nothing, just, uh. . .” he quickly picked up a menu, hoping to cover the majority of his reddening face with it, “Looking at the XXL Supreme. 2Lb beef patty with bbq sauce, ranch, fried pickles, beer cheese and. . . yeah, that sounds pretty gross.”

“I'll probably stick to a regular burger,” you laughed, glancing at the menu over his shoulder. 

You were so close he could feel the heat coming off your body and smell the sweet scent of your perfume. He scolded himself for being so weak, forcing himself to concentrate only on the food. 

Right at that moment a waiter strolled up to you, writing pad in hand. 

“Hi. Welcome to Burger Chef,” he said, sounding just as dead inside as he looked, “How may I serve you today?”

“A double patty melt with cheddar,” Steve said, “And a coke, please.”

“I'm trying to decide between-” you stopped yourself as you looked up, staring at the waiter. You thought he looked familiar and it was then that you realized he was one of the guys that bullied your brother in middle school. Your eyes narrowed as you recalled how he and his friends cut the strings on Kyle's guitar when he brought it to school one day. 

You saw a flash of recognition in his eyes and your lips curved upwards.

“The classic burger, simple,” you said, the fakest smile you could muster on your face, “But on a sesame bun instead of the brioche, no mayo, extra mustard, add caramelized onions and extra cheese, and don't forget the pickles. If you could add shredded lettuce instead of the whole leaf that'd be great. Oh, and a Neapolitan shake with chocolate syrup and no whipped cream.”

“We don't have a Neapolitan shake,” he said irritably and slightly panicked, trying to write everything down. 

“Well I heard in your commercial if you just ask, an employee would be happy to mix any of the milkshake flavors together,” you said, your smirk widening. What could you say? Being a bitch was fun sometimes- especially when the person on the receiving end was a total dickhead. 

“Coming right up,” the waiter said through his teeth.

Steve looked between the two of you before the waiter stormed off to the kitchen window, slamming his hand down on the bell with more force than necessary.

“So, what'd he do?” Steve chuckled.

“Bullied my brother really bad in school,” you said, “What goes around comes around, though. In a few years Kyle will be off to LA to start touring with his band and this guy will still be here covered in fry grease wearing a burger shaped hat.”

“Well I hope that's not my fate,” Steve said, only half joking as he took his uniform hat off, twirling it in his hands. 

You could tell even though he tried to hide behind the humor it was something he really was concerned about. 

“Hey, don't worry about it,” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, “You're not an asshole. . . anymore.”

You managed to get a laugh out of him at the end and you smiled, glad you were at least able to cheer him up some.

“Seriously, though, it's fine to not know what you want to do with your life yet,” you said, “Hell, I know grown ass men who still don't know what they're doing. You don't have to go to some fancy college to do something great.”

Steve looked at you, thinking over your words. He thought it was crazy how you were his age but you were so much more mature and optimistic than he was. The way you thought was unlike anyone he's met before in Hawkins, and it only further intensified his wanting to get to know you.

“Thanks, (Y/n),” he smiled.

Meanwhile, your little crew of gremlins had finished their film, now making their way to the food court for lunch.

“What do you think The Stuff tastes like?” Lucas asked to no one in particular.

“I bet it's like Betty Crocker frosting,” Dustin said dreamily.   

“Um can we not talk about how sentient parasitic goo tastes? Because we're literally about to go eat,” Max said.

Suddenly Dustin stopped in his tracks, making Will run into his back. 

“Dustin, what the hell?” Mike said, screeching to a halt before he could collide with Will. 

“No way,” Dustin said, staring far off some place the others couldn't see.

“What's wrong?” El asked, confused. 

Dustin pulled his friends behind the shrubbery next to the fountain, ducking in the cover as he peeked his head out slightly. 

“They're on a date!” Dustin said, a little too loudly. He ignored the stares he got from passersby as he continued to watch you and Steve laugh over your burgers in your shared booth.

“(Y/n) and Steve?” Mike said, “I thought he was still hung up over Nancy breaking up with him.”

“Well clearly the man's moved on,” Lucas said.

Max rolled her eyes, hitting him on the arm.

“Ow!” Lucas exclaimed, turning to her, “What was that for?”

“Just because a guy and a girl are hanging out doesn't mean it's a 'date',” she pointed out, “Maybe they're just good friends. I've seen them around each other a lot at school.”

“I think he finally worked up the courage to ask her out for real,” Dustin started theorizing, ignoring Max completely. 

“What do you mean for real?” Will asked.

“It's so obvious he's into her but he's scared of striking out,” Dustin said, “That whole Nancy situation really struck a blow to his self confidence.”

Mike tried to get a better look at what you two were doing, leaning over El's shoulder and squinting at the burger place. Suddenly his footing slipped from under him as he accidentally took a step on the wet tile near the fountain and fell on his ass into a bush. 

“Shit!”

You and Steve stopped eating your burgers and turned around at the sudden noise, but saw nothing but a ruffle in the plants nearby. 

“That was weird,” you said, looking around. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “Well, it's bear season, you never know when they'll sneak up on you.”

You laughed at that, the sound making Steve's heart flutter. He loved your laugh, even more so when he knew he was the cause of it. 

Suddenly Steve remembered his shift was probably starting, his lunch break was less than an hour long.

“Shit, I should've been back ten minutes ago,” Steve said, looking down at his watch, “My shift already started.”

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn't mean for this to go on for so long.”

Steve looked surprised, shaking his head vigorously. 

“No, no, I liked it,” he said, not fully registering how the sentence sounded out loud until your cheeks flushed.

“I-I mean-”

“I get it,” you laughed softly, “I liked it too.”

Steve felt like his heart was just shot through with cupid's arrow as you smiled up at him and offered to walk him back to Scoops. He hadn't felt this way since Nancy. After she broke his heart he was convinced he would never get over her, but now you were here, occupying all the free space in his mind despite only knowing you for a short while. What the hell was going on with him?

His mental debate came to an unceremonious stop when he realized you were already in front of the ice cream shop.

Steve turned to you and did his best to sound indifferent. He had a really good time, but he didn't know if you felt the same way.

“Well, I better get back to it,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, “You know, suit up, sling ice cream, appease the masses-”

“We should do this again sometime,” you said, effectively flipping the 'off' switch on his rambling. 

Steve seemed to freeze in this plane of existence, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah! I mean, that's what I was gonna ask you, but I didn't know if you wanted to, and. . .” he trailed off, kicking himself again.   

'When you talk you just make it worse,' he mentally scolded himself.

You laughed a bit at his flushed face.

'Adorable,' you thought. For being the former king of Hawkins High, he was still a giant dork.

“Well I'll definitely see you around this time, then,” you smiled, reminded of your first day back. Things were different between you two now, but that wasn't a bad thing at all.

You walked out of Scoops Ahoy feeling lighter, a smile on your face and your headache long forgotten. With your disastrous dating history, maybe Steve Harrington was the kind of guy who could be good for you right now.

The very thought made you feel giddy inside, but as you said yourself before, life had a funny way of changing your plans completely.

Read Chapter 5 here!

Taglist: @in-my-dreams-2000 @ggclarissa @iris1697 @5sosxgrethan @ohnoniella @sarcasticalphaofthelooserspack @aspiring-fangirls-world @wow-im-so-tired @hopesxxhigh @justanothercrazyassfangirl @too-many-lanes @whimsylavender @bish-ima-clown @amarachoren @mosiacbrokenheartstf @mcuvlxgs @xapham @metuel18 @immirandaq @nellaphine @multi-madison @gingertalksshit @jojo-buttercup @kyberhearts @mvdelaine @minnie-marvel @caitlin-rose28 @zandaleekrz @r3inventedd @void-fire-rose @macymafia @wanna-be-idle @newtsshelbys @kimmydespell @weyheyokay @r4ttusr4ttus @cynthianokamaria

#stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #billy hargove x reader #steve harrington #Billy Hargrove #reader insert #love triangle #stranger things season 3 #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #Lucas Sinclair #Max Mayfield #will byers #jim hopper #original characters

[cupofteaguk]

consequences (m)

summary: according to Hogwarts tradition, the Head Girl is meant to serve as a role model of academic achievement, outstanding reputation, and having a honest, good, and hard-working personality. you have no trouble with that; however, you’re not too sure if (regularly) sleeping around with star Quidditch player Kim Taehyung is part of the rules. 

pairing: taehyung x fem!reader

genre: hogwarts au, friends with benefits au | smut

word count: 18k

warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving, it’s very small though because idk how to write about sucking dick ANYWAYS), some sex education seminar, BANTER!!!

.

As soon as you walk into the Quidditch Victory After Party, you are expecting a small handful of things: maybe get drunk, maybe dance around with some classmates, maybe spend an evening in which you are able to be separated from your school title to a certain extent.

But this, this, this? This hadn’t been on the list.

“U-Uh, I’ve never done this before…” You manage meekly, your throat dry and burning from the nth shot of firewhiskey you’ve just downed, the darkened room both inside this little bedroom slash closet and outside within the actual party atmosphere makes it hard for you to see who exactly you are with. The alcohol blurs your mind and your senses and your common sense, making it hard for you to care.

“That’s cool,” The boy across from you comments although it sounds like he’s not paying attention; he’s too busy trailing his hands up from your waist to your scalp to pull back gently at the roots of your hair, exposing your neck and trailing his lips across the uncovered skin that makes your mind blank. You can feel his lips curve up into a smirk at the involuntary whimper that sounds from the back of your throat. His mouth doesn’t stop there, it ghosts across your temple, settling at the shell of your ear. “Me either.”

His voice is low, husky, painfully familiar—as if you’ve heard it before in passing or through arguments during the regular school hours—but your mind feels as if it has been through the gutter and therefore is undergoing lots of difficulty just to process what exactly is happening, much less who exactly you are with.

“O-Okay,” You manage, unable to remember what you had said to spur on that remark in the first place. However, it doesn’t matter, because the boy returns his mouth back to your lips, kissing the breath out of your lungs again and returning your mind back to the singular goal of returning the gesture. It’s sloppy for sure, tongues meeting halfway in a dance you can’t control. You aren’t even aware if you’re kissing back properly, but you assume you must be doing something right because the boy is making noises of approval and only seems to be pulling you closer and closer, nails digging into the material of your shirt, practically no space of distance between the two of you.

A roll of his hips sends a spike of pleasure through your body, one you have never experienced before and the sensation makes you gasp against his mouth. Every nerve in you feels as if it has been set aflame, weakening everything inside you with a desire you’ve never felt before, and it shows in your shaky knees and the way you have to grip his shirt to keep your bearings. It doesn’t work, because the next grind brings something heavy and hard at the junction of your legs and the overall sensitivity of your body leads to a failure of your knees to uphold the rest of your body.

You almost fall, but the boy locks his hands to your downward curve of your bottom. “Jump for me,” He gruffs and you try to follow through on his request.

Emphasis on the try, but you’re sure you can’t even walk in a straight line at this point so attempting something like a leap is a challenge for your mentality. However, you manage, and the boy catches you by the back of your thighs, pressing you against the wall behind you to distribute the weight as you wrap your legs around his waist. It takes you a few seconds to realize that maybe doing this was a mistake, because the action of curling your knees around his back opens up your legs and pushes the hem of your skirt higher and higher, leaving you more open and vulnerable so that the next sensation of that aforementioned heavy and hard pressure at your core makes all surges of pleasure rush straight to there.

“O-Oh fuck,” You whine, the repeated sensation spreading through your body as you are left with nothing other than to remain nearly boneless in this boy’s arms as he continues to hold you tightly, forcing you to take everything he’s offering to you right now. You think you utter his name, a breathless quality between teeth, but it all sounds like a hazy radio in your ears.

The only thing that doesn’t sound like low quality grumbles is his voice; his grunts and hisses, the way he whispers, “H-Have to—be inside you—right now—!” against your skin before you hear the struggle to unzip jeans with one hand, tugging down the fabric before his cock is actually pressing against your center, real and hard and ready and you gasp sharply, tightening briefly around nothing.

“Please, please, please—!” You beg for absolutely everything and nothing at the same time, but it all makes sense in your head and he must get it too because he presses you harder against the wall.

Slim fingers dance up your thigh, immediately finding solace in your covered core and you’re surprised to realize just how wet you are down there, and judging from the groan of approval that leaves the boy’s lips, he’s surprised as well. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” He marvels, not hesitating to tug the material of your panties to the side in order to have full access, immediately dragging his finger up your slit. Your legs twitch on their own accord, unconsciously finding yourself rolling your hips against his hand in an attempt to create any sort of friction you can find. “Look how desperate you are,” He muses, biting the shell of your ear. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“H-Hurry up,” You protest, the sensation of his fingers leaving your clit similar to being dunked with a bucket of ice water. The dejection doesn’t last long, however, because you feel his length pressing against your slit, dancing along the entrance, making you shiver with an anticipation you’ve never felt before.

Well, you’ve never had sex before, so if anything it heightens the adrenaline and the desperation, dimming the fact that your very first time will be in some back room of a party that is clearly struggling with its concept of is-this-a-bedroom-or-a-storage-closet-or-a-room-for-the-forgotten. Somehow, it doesn’t matter where you are or who you’re about to have sex with, because the emotions and the sensation is so earth-shattering and desirable—even more so when he actually slides into your walls, the stretching pressure making your toes curl as you shut your eyes and pant in and out to the rhythm of his increasing thrusts.

The music right outside the door drowns out the cries, the whimpers, the yes, yes, yes that slip your lips like a mantra, even as your core tightens with the build up of your first release, even as the rubber band snaps in your belly and paints white across your vision, even as you dig your nails into the back of his shirt, even as you whimper with oversensitivity, crying out something that comes from pure muscle memory at this point, something that sounds a little bit like—!

.

“Kim Taehyung?”

You don’t mean to shout the name, you really don’t, because the shouting brings a sharp ache to your temple similar to if someone had driven a hammer through your skull. In fact, you wish that had been your fate compared to this, suffering from the Worst Hangover In The History Of Hangovers, lying on the floor of a closet that looks nothing like your bedroom in the Gryffindor common room with a sore neck, an arm loosely wrapped around your waist—a pressure you hadn’t noticed before but you certainly do now and its owner belongs to—!

“Kim Taehyung!” You find yourself repeating, jerking away from his touch and immediately regretting moving with such a frenzied touch because the world starts to spin like a headrush but worse and you have to hold your head to keep yourself from toppling back onto the ground. “Holy shit…”

Next to you, Kim Taehyung grumbles and groans from pain as he rolls onto his side and gruffly peels an eye open. It’s hard to tell if the redness in his eyes is from the extremely early morning or the hangover he’s probably suffering from like you, but that doesn’t stop him from giving you a quick up-down—the beginnings of sunrise seeping in through the stain glass windows above and around making it easier for you to observe each other.

The longer you stare at each other, the more you start to take in the boy across from you, from his messy hair to his soften limbs. You’ve known Taehyung for nearly four years at this point, so how you couldn’t seem to figure out in your drunken haze that he was the boy you fucked in the closet is almost going completely over your head.

It seems like he is also suffering with the same dilemma, what with the way he’s furrowing his eyebrows together and trying to put the pieces together in his mind. Finally, he gruffs out a form of laughter that is far from humorous. “Well fuck,” He starts, sitting up slightly and running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

You tap gently at the space between your eyebrows. “You think I was?” You glare at him. “You lied—you said you had never done this before…” You gesture between the two of you, referring to his comment from last night that you are vaguely amazed you are able to recall.

Taehyung produces a small smirk, that god awful smirk that he has used on you one too many times and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I wasn’t entirely lying. I’ve never had sex in a closet before and I’ve never had sex with a Head Girl before.”

You ignore the slight increase of your heart rate at his words, chalking it up as embarrassment and vague humiliation at the mention of your title in such a setting and making you wonder even more why you had not at least had an idea of who you were getting into such a predicament with. Kim Taehyung has been on your radar ever since he climbed his way to Seeker position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and even a year before that. Now, he was never on your radar because those stupid schoolgirl reasons everyone else around you speaks of that just makes you want to roll your eyes. It was more because he became known as the boy who would walk late into class, the boy with his uniform never in the right place, the boy who lived and breathed Quidditch to the point where it distracted him from anything else that could matter—which was fine, but it drags him away from his studies and from the prospect of good grades and leaves him resorting to do simple things like practice Quidditch constantly and flirt with anything with two legs and a pretty smile.

Truthfully, you don’t think he’s the stereotypical bad kid your professors seemed to think he was, but you are wary of him. Or, at least, you always told yourself that you should be careful of him.

And now you had to go right ahead and sleep with him.

Judging from the way Taehyung’s smirk seems to widen across his face, he can read a semblance of the thoughts swimming around in your head. He’s probably very use to the variety of expressions you can display, especially considering all the arguments the pair of you get into in the hallways. Ever since you became a Prefect during your fifth year, the boy has basically been your number one on your hitlist with all the times you’ve had to yell at him to fix his uniform or study for his exams and he’s always amused himself with trying to see what he could say to push all the right buttons with your temper. It’s only gotten worse ever since you were chosen to be Head Girl during your last year at Hogwarts, and now you’re pretty sure you’ve just ruined whatever remaining shreds of dignity and respect Kim Taehyung could have held for you just because you wanted to have a little fun and got a little too carried away.

“W-Well,” You stammer, straightening into a standing position and readjusting your skirt by attempting to press down on it with your hands as a means to distract yourself. “Consider that the first and last time. This doesn’t change anything, alright.” You swallow, juggling between saying one last thing or just making your escape right then and there. “You better get out of here before a professor finds you here. And fix your shirt in case they do.”

Taehyung stares at you for a second before he too makes a move to stand up. “Maybe you should fix my shirt,” He challenges. “Since, you know, it’s all wrinkled in the back ‘cause of you anyways.”

You flush harder at the accusation, though true, and you settle with turning around and escaping through the door and into the now mostly empty room that previously held the party. There are a few exceptions that take the form of passed out peers on the floor, snores, and quiet whispers, but not enough to draw attention to yourself as you run a hand through your hair and quickly make your way down the hall. It’s definitely early, but not too early that being seen out of the common rooms is a rarity, so you are able to blend in with the public well enough. Luckily, a majority of the hallways you take back to the Gryffindor tower are empty and the ones that do have people don’t seem to recognize you with your lowered head and quickened pace.

The common room is empty when you step through, the snaps and pops from the rundown fire the only source of noise as you make your way up to your private room, quietly uttering your password before you disappear into your bedroom and find yourself immediately finding solace on your bed, finally letting the previous events play out in your mind.

You just slept with Taehyung. You just fucked Kim Taehyung in a closet at a party. You are Head Girl and you—fucked—someone: a popular jock who has probably fucked around with more people than you could count with two hands. Someone who now had the complete and total freedom to go around telling anyone he wanted to.

You bite your lip. What was going to happen when Taehyung told people? What was going to happen to you and your reputation? Would everything come crashing and burning to the ground? Would people look at you different? Or would everything, strangely enough, be normal?

You highly doubted it, and the fact that you had so little faith in how the situation would play out leaves you with nothing else to do other than simply bury your face into your pillow and wish this was all some very strange very unreal dream all the while ignoring the small and tiny part of you that remembers the sensation of curling up your toes and feeling his arms around your waist and his smile at your eyes and the white against your eyes—and how an even tinier part of you wants to relive that.

.

You had never considered the possibility of Taehyung never telling anyone about that night. You had spent hours in front of the mirror, rehearsing any and all different circumstances to any questions peers and professors might ask you, yet you hadn’t prepared for things to be completely normal as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. Peers still smile at you, still listen to you as you dawn your Head Girl badge across your sweater vest, professors still ask you questions about your day and your assignments. There’s no flicker of ulterior motives hidden in their eyes, no questions or no whispers that follow you behind your back.

“You okay?” Park Jimin, Head Boy of the student body, inquires as you slip into the vacant seat next to him in the library. “You’ve been looking a little nervous these past few days.” The corner of his eyes crinkle teasingly. “Are you hiding something?”

“What? No, of course not,” You brush off, managing an equally as teasing smile as you detach your bag from your shoulder, using that as a brief distraction as you dig around for your homework assignments. “What makes you say that?”

“Don’t know,” Jimin lists with a shrug, turning the page of his own Herbology parchment. “I feel like you’ve been a little more quiet, looking over your shoulder a bit more, being a little more observant…”

You give him a dry glance, although you can feel your heart spike for a second. You hadn’t even realized you were doing those things in an attempt to decode if Taehyung had told anyone at all about that night. Perhaps you were getting way more caught up in it then you ever wanted to. “You know,” You say. “Anyone else telling me those things and I would have kicked them in the shin for being creepy.”

“I’m just saying!” Jimin protests. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

“I think so too,” You return with a crinkle of your nose before starting on your assignment, but it’s difficult to concentrate because Jimin’s report of the observation has forced your mind into a flashback of your memory in regards to what had happened. You were definitely drunk during the whole thing, but your skin seems to have memorized the burning sensation of Taehyung’s touch, what that desire felt like, and your leg twitches of its own accord.

It’s borderline irritating how easy it is for Taehyung to pierce through the depths of your mind, especially since you’ve spent the past four years being immune to his physical appearance and charm. One night with him has been all it took to plant a longing in your mind that you couldn’t escape.

You want to believe that it’s simply because of the sex, that Kim Taehyung had been your first and that has left an imprint in your mind because of your own personal beliefs in regards to how you thought your first time would actually play out and what you thought it would represent with you. You try to convince yourself that you can’t get Taehyung out of your mind because of the sex and not because you had sex with him.

That reasoning does not help explain why your heart immediately seems set into autopilot as soon as you walk into the Gryffindor Common Room and make your way up the stairs only to find the man himself lingering outside your room.

You stop short and have half a mind to turn around and run away until you have to scold yourself for feeling like that. Why do you have to feel like that? You reprimand yourself, biting your lip with a little more force than necessary. Taehyung is just a boy, a stupid boy. Sure, he gave you some really great sex—actually no, shut up, it wasn’t that great. You can’t even remember it. It was probably terrible, terrible sex. Being drunk always makes everything seem so great.

The realization helps steel your nerves long enough you roll your shoulders once, twice, before resting your hands at your hips. “Kim Taehyung,” You greet, cocking your head to the side just enough to see him snap his head up at the sound of you. “I haven’t seen you around all week.”

Considering that the last memory you had of him was during his hangover stage, he does look significantly better. He’s more washed up, his hair taking on a more fluffy complexion, his clothes actually look put together for once, but his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them before under sober lenses and the sight makes you nervous. “Miss me that much, princess?”

A typical nickname, a common one when it comes to you, so you remain unfazed as you make a noise in the back of your throat. “I just noticed that my job has been a little easier this week.”

“Ah, the responsibilities of being a Head Girl,” He muses, taking a step towards you. “Surely you can spare a second to see me?”

The closer he steps towards you, the more nervous you find yourself, but you try not to let that phase you as you will yourself to meet his gaze. “What do you want, Taehyung?”

He smiles a little, jerking his head to the side. “Can we take this inside?”

Your legs twitch again without your permission as you press your lips together. “No,” You say as if this should have been obvious. “No, we cannot. Whatever you have to tell me, you can tell me out here.”

He leans back a little, watching you with half-lidded eyes before his smile transforms into a lazy smirk. “If you insist. I wanted to return this back to you—!”

Your eyes widen as he barely digs in through the pocket of his robe and produces an almost flimsy black panty, one that you recognize almost immediately. You stare at it in horror as Taehyung holds it high.

“You forgot this the other day,” He reports in the type of voice that makes you wish he would lower it. “I’ll have you know, it still smells like you—!”

“Give me that!” You shrill, grabbing the panties and clenching it tightly in your hands before stuffing it in the pocket of your own robe. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Stealing my… private belongings!” You hiss the last word, after the fear of using the actual word scares you off for some reason. Taehyung’s smirk widens at that. “Come with me!” You continue, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him into your room, making sure to shut the door behind you. “What is wrong with you?” You repeat, whirling around to face him.

“I thought I was modeling a perfect citizen,” Taehyung drawls, performing a slow 360 rotation as he takes in your room. “Wow, I’ve never been in here before.”

“First and last time,” You cut in. “Don’t ignore the question. Don’t you have any decency?”

“I asked you to take me into your room,” He points out. “It’s not my fault you didn’t know what I was referring to.”

“I didn’t know you would flash my underwear like that!” You crow. “I thought that maybe we’d—!” You cut yourself off, face flushing in a vague show of absolute horror because oh god, oh god, were you really about to suggest that a part of you was hoping you and Taehyung would… have sex… again?

Unfortunately, Taehyung is not as stupid as people paint him out to be, because the realization seems to hit him just as quickly as it hits you and he lifts the corner of his lips. “Maybe we’d… what?” He inquires, taking a bold step towards you.

“N-Nothing,” You stammer, swallowing, cursing yourself, because you’ve been able to mask your emotions for almost an entire week and Taehyung is able to make everything crash down around you from one look. Stupid, stupid.

“You were hoping that I’d fuck you again, huh?” He drawls, only continuing on his quest to pursue you, to see how far he could push you until you could snap. He would always do this out in the hall, but this goes far and beyond any usual banter the pair of you engaged in. For one, his words never made you want to actually grovel at his feet and never made you feel a throbbing go straight down to your—!

You flush at his jargon. “D-Don’t say it like that!”

His smile widens. “So it’s true then?” He inquires in the type of voice that makes it seem as if he’s making a statement more than he’s asking a question.

“I—!” You counter, but it’s a weak attempt and Taehyung knows it judging from how he’s practically grinning from ear to ear now and you are torn before wanting to strangle him or throttle him or kiss him or throw him out of your room and hide here for the rest of your life. The sudden onslaught of opposing emotions is throwing your entire mindset through a loop.

Your back hits the wall and you sharply inhale as you realize that you are stuck. Taehyung doesn’t take pity on you; in fact, he seems to relish in your entrapment because he keeps walking, only stopping when he’s standing right in front of you. “Is it?” He asks, leaning forward and resting his palm in the space next to your head. “Well, Princess?” He tilts his head when he realizes that you’re not going to answer him, yet he seems fine with that because he moves even closer, breath fanning over your neck, the warmth of his body seeping through his clothing and giving you so many flashbacks of the events from a week ago that you shiver. The closeness between you and Taehyung leaves little hidden, and you can practically feel Taehyung’s smirk in the air. “Was it true?” He whispers, his question not what you were expecting.

You shut your eyes and try for a swallow. “What?”

“That you’ve never done this before?” He asks, suddenly right next to your ear, his hot breath making your whimper and attempt to jerk away from his touch but his hands lock themselves around your waist, trapping you against him. “That you’ve never fucked anyone before?”

You don’t have an intention of answering, but Taehyung’s hands on your hips, his lips against your ear, you feel a pull not unlike what you experienced while you were drunk on firewhiskey. “And so what if it’s true?” You manage, albeit a little breathlessly but you get your point across.

“No reason,” Taehyung returns quietly, casually, as if he was discussing the weather with you or any upcoming assignments in the classes you share together. “I guess that makes me your first, huh? Hate to break it to you Princess, but it doesn’t get much better than this.”

At that, you can’t help but manage a quiet scoff. “A little full of yourself, aren’t you Kim? I bet I can find someone better, someone who also doesn’t walk around with his head in his ass. Someone who I can sleep with without having to get drunk firsthand.”

Taehyung stills for a moment, pulling away from you long enough to look at you with a glance that almost makes you regret the words you have just spoken. “You think you won’t want me to fuck you while you’re sober?” It’s an innocent question, but his grip tightens just enough on your waist for you to notice.

You bravely attempt to meet his glance. “I know I won’t want to.”

His eyebrow twitches. “Is that a challenge?”

“I-I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Is that so?” He asks back, pulling you by the waist across your room. You don’t know where he’s taking you until you feel a pressure at your lower back and you can barely crane your head back far enough to realize that he’s pressing you against your dresser.

With your head turned away from him, it gives Taehyung the opportunity to come in and deliver a kiss to your neck that delivers a tickling sensation at your skin, forcing a shocked gasp from between your lips as your hands immediately come out to curl themselves tightly into the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt. “Taehyung!” You retort, but you don’t know if it’s a sign of discouragement or encourage. It doesn’t seem to matter because the last thing you see is Taehyung’s smirk before the hands at your waist turn you around so that your back is facing him.

“You know I can never turn down a challenge, Princess,” Taehyung drawls from behind you. You almost don’t hear him over the roar in your ears and questions in your head in regards to if this is really happening or not. But you don’t think you could have ever thought up this scenario, even in a dream.

Without a warning, he gently grips the back of your neck and bends you over the surface of the dresser. The sudden position is so compromising that you let out a squeak of… protest? Desire? You can’t tell, especially when the sensation of Taehyung’s fingers curling into your nape is more than enough to silence you into submission as the muscle memories from that night come flooding back.

“Do you want me to fuck you now?” He inquires, still using the same tone he applies to asking the professor questions about the lecture.

“N-No!” You retort hotly. The longer you are locked in this position, the easier it is for the realization on what exactly is happening to hit you in the head, and the easier it is for the corresponding flush to light up your cheekbones. “T-Taehyung, you idiot! Let go of me—!”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale when the boy tugs once, twice, thrice at the hem of your skirt before dragging it up to your hips, leaving your legs and butt completely exposed to him. His hum makes your face flush even deeper to the point where you’re sure it’ll fall off at this point. “No one’s told you that you have a great ass, huh?” He further emphasises his point by using his vacant hand to run up your leg, up the back of your underwear, settling at the waistline of the material.

You curve yourself to the moon and back for wearing a skirt today, even if it is part of the school dress code. Why, why, why would you do something like this to yourself? Why would you let Kim Taehyung get under your skin after just a singular touch? Why was a part of you enjoying this? “N-No…” You reply quietly, biting your lip. His touch was softer than you remember, his fingers smooth and…

… currently traveling down your ass and very quickly settling itself right in the junction between your legs.

Taehyung runs a finger up your covered slit, the contact with your nerves making you shiver as a needy whine escapes from the back of your throat on its own accord. The feelings you had tried to repress come back in full force as the oncoming anticipation leads to an increasing heart rate. You’re so caught up in the sudden wave of desire that you don’t feel the additional weight on your back until Taehyung’s voice is by your ear: “What about now?”

“I—I—!” Your voice fails you, mainly because you have completely forgotten the original question that is meant to correspond with Taehyung current inquiry but also because the friction he has just created between your legs is so sinfully delicious that the only thought in your mind is that you need something different and you need something more. You bite your lip hard, however, refusing to cave so easily into Taehyung’s whim. This is what he wants, he wants to break you because it’s part of this game he has thrust upon himself. You’re better than this. You’ve put up with him for four years, after all. “N-No…” You choke out, cursing yourself because it doesn’t sound as strong-willed as you had originally intended.

And Taehyung knows immediately, because his fingers return back to their position at your slit, this time starting a painful, slow pace up and down. You swallow thickly at the slow build up in your stomach, despite your previous desire not to be swayed as you tighten around nothing. “Hm…” Taehyung hums in mock disappointment, continuing the action as if it means nothing at all, even when the ecstasy starts to fill your head. “That’s a bit disappointing to hear,” He remarks quietly, continuing the movement a few more times until it feels like your mind is swimming through a gutter, forcing you to emit quiet moans that refuse to stay in your mouth where they belong. Your head is screaming to keep a grip on yourself, but it’s hard when your body is practically humming with a desire, and that desire floods all the way straight down between your legs. You notice it, and Taehyung notices it too because he starts humming again. “You’re so wet already though, Princess,” He grumbles, a low voice that sends a shiver down your spine.

You clench your teeth together.

You whimper when Taehyung’s finger leaves you, finding home again at the waistline of your panty. This time, the boy doesn’t wait a second before he’s pulling down the fabric so it locks at your knees. The cool from the air brushes against your slit and you suck in a breath because you hadn’t realized how wet you actually were.

Taehyung continues to waste no time, the hand not wrapped around your neck returning to your now exposed clit as he immediately starts to rub slow, wide circles against the bundle of nerves. The gesture is far from uncomfortable, it fills your head with even more desire than before, the sensation unlike anything else you’ve ever experienced before that you cry out a little, hands desperately trying to grab onto something to stabilize you but the surface of your dresser is smooth, leaving with attempting to claw on with no success. “T-Taehyung—mm—!” You moan, sucking in a breath as you trying to stretch yourself away from Taehyung’s finger but also tug yourself closer because although the approaching orgasm is still underneath the water, you can still feel it floating upwards and you don’t know if you’re ready for this right now.

“That’s a shame,” Taehyung says instead, collecting enough of your juices that have leaked out before he travels up your slit and rubs, once, twice, and sinks two fingers right into your opening with no warning. There’s no resistance because of how wet you really are, but that still doesn’t stop the way you cry out something incoherent, digging your nails into nothing.

“O-Oh my god,” You whine, the pleasure increasing tenfold and it’s not like what you experienced that previous night with Taehyung. It’s better, it’s so much better, because you can actually feel everything, from his fingers curling into your neck to his fingers pressing into your folds and every single inch that pleasure that threatens to overtake you. “T-Taehyung—p-please—f-f-fuck—!”

Taehyung merely tsks at your overwhelmed expression. “What am I going to do with you?” He muses, keeping his fingers still for a few seconds before he moves them out and pushes them back into you. The friction makes you gasp. “Do you want me to do that again, Princess?”

“Oh fuck,” You whisper, all rationality flying out the window as you say the only thing your mind is currently hardwired to say. “P-Please, please, please, please do that again.”

He chuckles, and continues his pace, not too fast but not too slow but enough for all words to fail you except his name, occasional curses, and a whole lot of sputtering. The way you occasionally tighten around Taehyung’s fingers only drives him to increase his pace until he’s almost pistoning them inside of you. “Hm, you feel close,” Taehyung observes, shifting until he’s hovering right over you. “You seem close too, you’re dripping all over my fingers and down your thigh.” The way he paints the picture of your desperation only makes you more and more eager to reach your more rapidly approaching high. “Do you want to cum? Should I fuck you now?”

“Mm—y-yes, yes please, I-I do, I do—please,” You manage in between shaky breathes, eyes shut tightly together as you can feel your orgasm swimming closer and closer to the surface. You find yourself unable to focus on anything other than the building pleasure, the noises from your throat, the way you tighten around Taehyung’s fingers more and more, the rubber band in your stomach threatening to snap and the way you need it, you crave it so badly you think you’ll actually die—!

But it never comes.

It stops as Taehyung pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you feel as if you have just been dumped into cold water. You can feel the coiling of your release slowly start to fade away, leaving you behind with a desire stronger than ever and a heart practically beating out your chest. You feel alone at the dresser, the reality sinking in as Taehyung’s fingers tighten momentarily around the back of your neck before it disappears.

“I don’t think you deserve it, Princess,” He observes, forcing you to peel an eye open as you attempt to breath in and out at a careful pace while also being swarmed by an overwhelming load of different emotions and information. You feel a mix of anger and irritation but also humiliation and stubbornness.

You slowly push yourself off the table, whirling around. “Kim Taehyung—you ass—!”

You cut yourself off when you turn around just in time to see Taehyung sucking his fingers, his eyes watching you and you wonder if he can physically see your heart trying to crawl its way up your throat.

“You taste good, Princess,” He speaks smoothly, but you think you might detect a hidden strain underneath. You don’t get to find out, and Taehyung doesn’t stick around long enough for you to ask, because he gives you one last up and down. “See you around, Head Girl,” He remarks, smirking one more time before he turns around and leaves your room, leaves you more riled up than ever.

You tell yourself that you would never conform to whatever game Taehyung has lined up for you, that you would never return to him no matter how much that desire only continues to bubble up underneath your skin. You tell yourself that you’re stronger than this, that you’re stronger than Taehyung’s expectation to have you bending to his will, that you’re stronger because you’re the fucking Head Girl of Hogwarts and you know better. You know so much better than Kim Taehyung, and you weren’t going to conform.

Turns out, it only takes three days of wet dreams, of waking up to the sensation of Taehyung’s fingers… or mouth… or… the other part of his body between your legs, of seeing his face in the hallway and having to see that god awful smirk being sent in your direction that does nothing but bring back that desire back. It’s a distraction, a terrible painful distraction that makes your legs jittery and your nerves feel like they could set on fire. It only takes three days before you corner Taehyung after his Quidditch practice, after he’s done dealing with the handful of fangirls that tail after him, lingering outside the locker room.

“Princess,” Taehyung greets, balancing his Firebolt across his shoulder as he leans back, giving you a glance, staring at the Head Girl badge pinned to your white polo shirt. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We need to talk,” You let out.

“Do we now?” Taehyung inquires, actually grinning now—grinning from ear to ear. “About what exactly?”

Clenching your teeth together once more, you decide that you are much too riled up to play this game with him anymore. “Shut up,” You hiss between your teeth, surprising both of you when you step forward to close the distance, grab the lapels of his practice robes, and crashing his mouth to yours. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, gently taking your shoulders, pushing you back. You glare at him. “What? Do you want this or not?”

For someone with a relatively calm and cool facade throughout this entire cat and mouse game, he looks flustered as if he hadn’t been expecting you to come back so quickly, or at all. “N-No, I do—fuck, I do.” He’s a little breathless, but it doesn’t matter because he pulls you back and kisses you before pushing you into the locker room, into the empty bathroom, into one of the back empty showers. He pins you against the wall, taking you from behind, making you orgasm whilst sober for the very first time, sealing a deal.

A deal you aren’t too sure of yet, but a deal you know that will change everything.

.

Following the events in the locker room, something changes between you and Taehyung. That… thing the pair of you did—sex, it’s sex; apparently you’re just a 14-year-old girl at heart who can’t stop blushing at the stupid three letter word because of how exposing and intimate and otherworldly it is—starts to become… a normal thing, mostly without you realizing it because if you had noticed thing might have gone down a completely different road.

Given that you are the sexually closed off Head Girl who did not even know what a dick looked like until Kim Taehyung, it makes more sense to say that he’s the one who starts to introduce the concept of casual sex to you, all without actually having to use the words.

It starts with little things.

Like the first moment that marks the shift in your relationship with him; Taehyung, trailing after you in the hallway and doing everything to remind you of the time both of you spent together without having to say anything at all.

“Kim Taehyung, what do you want?” You bark, looking over your shoulder and taking in the way he follows behind you, practically next to your head with how close the proximity is. “Don’t you have a class to fail?” You retort, whirling around and surprising him by getting right into his face. From the increased closeness, you can see the vague glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” He remarks back with a shrug, lowering his voice. “Don’t you have a Quidditch player to bend over for?”

The question makes you choke, entirely too red-faced for your own good as you stare at him with a look just as wide-eyed as it had been when he was dangling your underwear right in your face. You’re glad he at least has the common sense to lower his voice while also catching you while you are currently occupying a less crowded corridor of the castle. “W-What?” You sputter.

Taehyung smiles. “Or is that just for me?”

You clench your teeth together. “I-In your dreams, Kim Taehyung,” You snap back, but there’s a waver in your voice housing an uncontained desire the boy has only gotten better and better at picking up and his smirk widens.

He ends up bending you over in one of the empty classes.

Or the second time when he catches you in your private bedroom while you’re stressing over your rapidly approaching Charms final and opts to help you relax by lying you down across your bed, locking your ankles around his back, rolling his hips into yours, gently gripping your neck as he fucked you, making you see stars in what you eventually concluded as the best orgasm you’ve ever had.

That’s when things start to take on a natural air of casualness you hadn’t previously anticipated ever occurring with Taehyung, happening like a pattern. Whenever you were distracted or stressed or simply overtaken over that desire, you’d show up at Taehyung’s Quidditch practice and he would get the message immediately in a way that lead to sex against the lockers, or in the shower, or behind the bleachers that one time when you were desperate and Taehyung still has not let that go to this day. The roles are reversed more often than not too, so Taehyung would go to you whenever he was in a mood that would transfer into sex in your room, in the library, or in the Prefect bathroom.

That is a pretty long story. Anyways.

Naturally, you are reluctant to admit what exactly is going on between you and Kim Taehyung although you are just as much as player in this little game as he is. Even without an actual conversation to set rules, boundaries, or labels, it’s all unspoken for in the way you seek Taehyung out and vice versa before unrolling into the same arrangement that had been uncurling for incidents too often at this point to count with one hand. Seek each other out, have sex, talk about random life occurrences or just random things in general, and go back to what the pair of you were doing beforehand.

The casualness that Taehyung displays helps ease your consciousness in a sense, because although you’re sure there’s nothing wrong with having sex, there’s probably something wrong with having relatively meaningless sex with someone known to have… relatively meaningless sex on the daily. It’s not in the rulebooks or anything but you are sure that it’s more than enough to tarnish the good reputation your professors selected you on.

Besides, you’re sure about the unlikeliness of people finding out about you and Taehyung on sheer will of rumors. It’s not like anyone would believe it. You and Taehyung clash so much outside the hall that you doubt people would stop to think and consider the possibility of you (literally) fucking around with the boy you could barely go two days without spitting out insults to. And vice versa. It works out.

However, it’s definitely a whole new sensation to maintain these two very conflicting facades within your school environment. On one hand, there’s the mask around the campus: the Head Girl exterior who dawns a bright badge and walks around the hallways and upholds personal and academic standards to the entire school, who smiles at everything the professor says and all around serves as the cookie cutter mold for good behavior. Yet, on the other hand, there’s the mask you wear with Taehyung—still just as shy and hot-headed as your normal Head Girl appearance—with dashes of throaty moans and animalistic desires to get at it behind bleachers or within bathrooms.

It’s easy to keep those things separate, however, because Taehyung is the only one who sees both masks you showcase throughout the day and it’s easy with him. There’s an ease that comes with spending time with him and yet that comes with a territory and a little warning bell in the back of your mind that’s telling you there’s a risk when the lines start to blur together.

You furrow your eyebrows together. “Uh, I’m sorry, what exactly did you need us to do, Professor?”

The Professor opposite of you hums for a second before she snaps her fingers together and seems to recall. “Oh, yes, that’s right! The other professors and I were discussing and felt it was best if you and Park Jimin gave a presentation of safe sexual practices. We’re all well aware that those… urges… have arisen significantly over the past few years and know that it’s definitely within everyone’s best interest to at least bring attention to the important facts. You and Jimin are meant to lead the school, which involves providing your peers with the information they need to be as careful and safe as they can be. Do you think you guys can manage that?”

You and Jimin exchange a quick glance at each other, and you’re sure you look about as nervous as Jimin does at the thought of giving such a presentation to your classmates—or, not necessarily about the presentation itself but giving a presentation about sex. You yourself could barely got two seconds without going completely red at the thought.

Jimin is definitely much more calm and collected and good-hearted than you are, so naturally he smiles and accepts the assignment for the both of you. Your meek nod is more than enough to reassure the professor about your willingness to participate, because she beams and claps her hands together, dismissing the pair of you after explaining that she would let the other professors know about both the Head Girl and Head Boy consenting to the presentation.

“Well, this sucks,” You report, stuffing your hands into the pocket of your robes. “What are we even supposed to talk about?”

“Don’t like talking about sex, huh?” Jimin teases, not seeming to notice the way you flush slightly at the accusation. You think that perhaps at this point, you might know a little too much about sex and that’s what makes you apprehensive. “That’s okay, we’ll suffer through this together. They’ll probably only require the younger year students to show up anyways so it won’t be too awkward. The kids might be too shy to talk about these kind of things to the teachers, so it’ll be good to have us there to answer questions they might have.”

You turn to look at him, smiling a little because Jimin, Jimin, good ole Jimin—your best friend of two years after the pair of you were assigned to clean the Prefect bathroom and spent the entire time complaining instead of actually getting any work done. It had been a mutual surprise to hear you were selected as Head Girl and vice versa for Jimin, but nonetheless you can’t imagine being in a partnership with anyone else. “You’ve always been pretty good at putting a positive spin on a situation,” You report.

“Ah—not really,” Jimin brushes off, and looks nervous for the first time as he bites on the bottom of his lip. “H-Hey, we should probably meet with the professors to talk about what kind of topics they want us to go over. We can work on it in the library together…”

“That sounds good,” You report. “The professors have to talk to us anyways to give us more details as well as talk about the day they want us to give the presentation. So we might have to wait on that. But the library definitely sounds like a good place to work on it.”

He nods in agreement, looking out of one of the windows, taking in the way the sunlight streams in through before he stares back at you. “Hey, do you want to go down to Hogsmeade and grab something to eat?”

It’s an innocent question, one that you immediately want to jump on because the thought of getting to walk around the village feels you with an ease before—!

A tug at the back of your skirt, not sharp enough to pull it down but sharp enough to make you think someone might pull it down makes you squeak, makes you curl back just enough, makes you whirl around. “Kim Taehyung!” You call out, hands curling around your skirt even though the attempt is pretty useless. After all, it’s not like he hasn’t seen everything under there anyways. “What are you doing?”

Taehyung puts his hands into his pockets, shoots you a look—one you can read immediately. “I can ask you the same thing,” He says instead of actually voicing what he’s thinking because he catches sight of Jimin out of the corner of his eye.

“I-I…” You start, sliding Jimin a quick glance and noticing how he’s watching the pair of you very carefully. “I was about to get some lunch with Jimin. You guys, uh, know each other, right?” It’s more of a rhetorical question than anything else because of course they do. Taehyung has been on Jimin’s look-out-radar just as long as Taehyung has been on yours.

“Nice to see you, Park,” Taehyung settles by way of greeting, not lingering too long before his gaze is back on you. “Y/N, I was wondering if you would be willing to offer me some assistance with my Potions essay—your tutoring sessions are still available for me… aren’t they?”

You swallow at his emphasis on tutoring session, knowing at once what he is referring to.

Jimin, on the other hand, looks very confused. “Y/N, since when do you tutor?”

“For about two months now,” Taehyung answers smoothly. “She’s very hands-on. It caters nicely with my learning ability.”

For a moment, Jimin looks doubtful and watching his expression makes you feel like your heart might leap out of your throat and reveal all of your secrets. Park Jimin is far from dumb, and is rather observant about a lot of different things in life so it wouldn’t surprise you if he were to put two and two together just from Taehyung’s unnecessary comments. But instead, he shrugs. “Surprised they managed to convince you to do your assignments, Kim.”

Taehyung smiles in that hollow way that doesn’t reach his eyes and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his behavior. “You flatter me, Park.” He steps forward, gently wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you towards him. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to borrow your Head Girl.”

Without waiting for a word of parting, Taehyung leads you down the hall.

You give him a glare slide. “We didn’t even have an essay for Potions. And you didn’t need to be so rude to Jimin; we were about to have lunch and I’m hungry!” You whine.

“Wouldn’t you rather spend time on this?” Taehyung inquires, pushing the both of you into one of the small cleaning supply closets. A flimsy light bulb hangs from the ceiling, one that is easily flickered one before Taehyung points out to the crotch of his pants. Even in the dim light, you can see the outline of his hardening cock and an idea strikes you.

Giving him one last glare, you get down on your knees and start tugging at the waistband of his pants. Taehyung makes a noise of surprise. “H-Hey, wait, I thought you’ve never done that before—you don’t have to do that—!”

“Stop talking,” You interrupt, pulling his pants and boxers down and watching as his cock springs free from its confides. It’s the first time you’re seeing his dick up close and personal, but having spent so much time with each other in this way fills you with just enough confidence to wrap your hands around his dick. He hisses between his teeth, and you let natural instincts take over as you pump him once, twice, wrapping your lips around his head without any warning whatsoever. He jerks hard against the door, falling apart so quickly and so easily you wonder what must have driven him to this place if he’s here and you’ve barely touched him.

“W-Wait,” He protests, resting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you away, pulling you upwards into a standing position seconds later. He spins the pair of you around, flipping your position so that your back is pressed to the door this time. You’re so wet already that Taehyung could probably just slip right in and get down to business but he (surprisingly) takes his time. He lifts your skirt, slips beneath the hem of your panties, shoving his fingers in, using his other hand to hold one of your thighs apart to keep you in place and keep you close to him. You gasp, naturally. He knows how to play you too well now. “Why… ah fuck,” He whispers, mostly to himself, trying to keep his mind on track. “Why were you with Park?”

“Huh?” You return back throatily. Even though you’ve had Taehyung’s finger in you plenty of times, it doesn’t mean that you’re use to the sensation and it doesn’t mean that you’ve accustomed yourself to the growing pressure inside of your stomach because you haven’t. You definitely haven’t.

“You heard me,” He growls, continuing the pace that doesn’t do well with your mind’s ability to process the information he’s trying to pull out of you.

“O-Oh,” You manage shakily. “U-Uh, it’s nothing… we just—god—we just—they wanted us to give a presentation on safe sexual practices… p-probably for the younger year students.”

He chokes on a strained laughter. “Safe sexual practices, hm?” He muses. “I don’t know how much the professors should trust you on that, you’re pretty bad when it comes to staying safe, if I remember correctly.”

“S-Shut up,” You interject. “W-We use a condom…” To prove your point, you weakly reach out to grab onto the lapels of his robe, digging a hand in one of the inner pockets, and producing aforementioned condom.

“Most of the time,” Taehyung notes, brushing a part inside of you that has your toes curling as your head leaning back to rest against the door behind you. “Remember that time behind the bleachers?”

“O-One time,” You sputter, trying to shake the condom at him so he’ll get the hint. “One time, Kim Taehyung, and if you don’t let that go right now this very instinct I am going to leave and then find you again and kick you so hard in the balls you’ll never want to—oh god…” You had gone off on one of your tangents, giving Taehyung more than enough time to grab the condom, rip it open, slide the product onto his dick and sink into you in one fluid motion.

The last thing you really hear is his low chuckling by your ear before he tightens his grip around your thigh, inches closer to you, and drives you home.

.

Unsurprisingly, that whole presentation on safe sexual practices becomes the bain of your existence. Not because it’s hard but because you find the whole thing extremely discomforting. Jimin is constantly by your side, reassuring you that if anything, the students that will be attending will feel so awkward about themselves that they likely wouldn’t even bother paying attention to what you had to say. Or, they would be so curious about everything they’ll just hold onto every single word you say regardless. It is comforting, especially because you know the professors have made it a requirement for the third and fourth year students to come into the big lecture hall to hear the presentation—and most of them are here already, talking amongst one another, most of them just as nervous to be taught this information as you are to present it.

“This just feels like it could open up a can of worms,” You grumble, brushing the hair out of your face as you stare down at your flashcards, the chalkboard, the big old fashioned projector.

“Relax, you’ll be great,” Jimin says, smiling. It doesn’t take long before the professor gives you the cue to start before the boy is starting off. The pair of you had agreed to stay away from keeping things too professional and awkward and distant, preferring to try and maintain a more open atmosphere.

Things… actually go smoothly. The students participant in those group volunteer ‘Have Any Of You Felt This Way’ moments and some of them even ask questions to all the theoretical ideas and concepts you bring up. It’s nice to see them so interested, but it makes sense given that Hogwarts it basically everyone’s morning to night routine and it’s natural for them to uphold such questions to their rapidly maturing mindset. You and Jimin try your best to answer them and you are thankful that Jimin gives you as much support as he does. You had originally worried the students would ask very specific details in regards to detailed things, but you hadn’t taken into account the possibility of them just… not even knowing the aforementioned detailed things to begin with.

You think this might go well, go much better than previous anticipated, and you think you can continue the next few minutes of the lecture with a relatively high level of confidence that you could actually pull this off, and it shows in the way you pick on the next rising hand. “Yes?”

“I have a question,” A deeply familiar voice echoes, something that goes straight through your head and pierces through your heart in the most uncomfortable, panicked way possible as the smile slips off your face long enough for the boy raising his hand to stand up and flash forward his usual Kim Taehyung popularity vibe that arises whispers and questions throughout the lecture hall.

You let down your guard down just enough to frown. “Kim Taehyung, are you a third or fourth year? What are you doing here?”

He feigns a pout. “But I had some questions I was hoping you could answer—I thought the lecture is, essentially, open to everyone?”

You know he definitely knows too much in that big fat head of his to actually have any questions, but you decide to take a risk anyways. “Fine, fine, what do you need to know, Kim Taehyung?”

“How do you turn a girl on?”

You flush deeply at that question, as if he doesn’t know how to make girls horny for him on the fucking daily—!

“Kim Taehyung, that’s not an appropriate question—!”

“But you said the sky was the limit!” Taehyung points out, seeming to notice how his question perks up the interest of some of the student population who probably don’t have enough smooth words in their vocabulary or sexual maturity to start performing these kind of things in real time. “Like how do I get a girl interested in me? I can’t just flash her some picture of the junk in the truck—!”

“Kim Taehyung!” You snap between teeth over sudden stifle of giggles that arise from the crowd.

“I’m just saying!” He retorts, holding his hands up as if that’s a good apology for his poor word play of trying to describe his dick. “You know, men are supposed to be more visual when it comes to stimulation—but what about women?”

You bite down the extreme urge inside of you to snap your clipboard in half and fling both pieces at the stupid smirk on his face, the expression that reads he knows that you know that he knows the answer to that question. Of course he does. He’s been turning you on for the past two months with no problem.

“Women are more well rounded when it comes to stimulation,” You report as smoothly as you can possibly manage. “There’s a visual stimulation but there’s also a lot of different factors that come into play like vocalization and auditory cues…”

“Is that from research or personal experience?” Taehyung inquires, wicked smile across his face.

You flush an angry shade of red. “It’s from research,” You let out between gritted teeth even though Taehyung’s growing smirk only lets you know that he doesn’t entirely believe you.

Luckily, he shuts his mouth after that. Unluckily, this only lasts for a few seconds before his hand is back in the air.

Jimin gives you an sympathetic smile, mistaking the flash in your eyes as an embarrassment from his teasings. Naturally, Jimin thinks that the questions are made with pure intentions. “What is it Taehyung?”

“How do you put a condom on?”

You choke on your own saliva, coughing once, twice, before—“Kim Taehyung!”

“It’s a valid question!” He retorts, straightening up. “If you paid attention in your muggle studies class, Head Girl, they do this thing called sexual education and they practice rolling condoms on various items like bananas and cucumbers…”

“We don’t have those kinds of fruits here at school, Kim Taehyung,” You say back. “Okay, next question!”

“I have one more!” Taehyung retorts, waving his hand like a flag in the crowd and you can hear the light giggles sounding through the other students.

You press your lips together. “What is it?”

“It’s about how to stimulate a women.”

“Kim Taehyung, I swear—!”

“It’s an important question!” He interrupts. “Alright, Head Girl, from your research—” You roll your eyes at the implied air quotes he throws around the word. “Is it more clit or vaginal application that does the trick?”

You glare at him, pretty sure your face is redder than anything else at this point from his nonstop onslaught of ridiculous questions, especially when he so obviously knows the question. From personal experience, nonetheless!

“It depends,” You start slowly. “It depends on the specific girl, so I suggest you find a girl and find out for yourself, Kim Taehyung.”

A playful glint flickers behind his eyes and you almost want to regret making such a rash statement. Almost.

The presentation only goes on for a few more minutes, since the hall is only reserved for a certain period of time before everyone is dismissed. You’re momentarily glad that the professors had dismissed themselves early on in the presentation to avoid plaguing the atmosphere with an awkward tension, because it leaves you and Jimin alone in the hall to clean up your materials.

“Good job putting up with Kim,” Jimin says, completely oblivious to all the behind-the-scenes action that has lead to that moment. “Although I was worried for a moment. I thought you were going to fling that clipboard right at his face.”

You laugh a little. “You aren’t wrong.”

It doesn’t take long to wrap everything up, gather all the belongings you had entered the room with, and step out into the hallway, but you wish that you had somehow come up with more things to keep you behind.

“Nice presentation, Head Girl,” Taehyung jokes, continuing to lean against the wall next to the entrance of the lecture hall, watching the way you stop in your tracks and groan loudly at his appearance while also ignoring the sudden rush of anticipation in your heart, your previous suggestion ringing loudly in your ears as well as what exactly he was going to do about it.

“Not thanks to you and your insufferable questions,” You snap back, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shrugs. “How else are the kids gonna get good answers if they don’t know how to ask good questions?”

“U-Uh hey, Y/N,” Jimin interjects gently. “I’m gonna put these down.” He gestures to the materials the both of you have brought in his arms. “So I’ll, uh, catch up with you later?”

“Y-Yeah, for sure,” You say, watching Jimin disappear down the hall before Taehyung grabs your wrist and inches you closer to him. “T-Taehyung!”

“So,” He says, licking his lips, giving you an up down. “About your little suggestion during the presentation…”

.

Being in a relationship that consists of very, very casual sex with Taehyung usually involves all different kinds of sex: stressed sex, tired sex, bored sex, distracted sex, angry (at other people) sex, frustrated sex…

But this one is a little new.

“T-Taehyung,” You whimper, your thighs starting a shake a little with the effort it takes to keep yourself straddling him despite the fact that his hands are curling tightly around your waist to help maintain your pace. With the way his own hips are moving up to meet you halfway with every downwards thrust, it doesn’t help your sanity with the way the room seems to move and spin around and reduce you into whines of nothingness, desperately trying to grip onto anything and everything you can get your hands on. In this case, it’s Taehyung shoulders and the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s different today, a little bit more giddy and elated about something and he won’t stop kissing you. “Taehyung, holy shit, I’m gonna—!”

His thumb at your clit does the trick, and there’s those few minutes of post orgasmic bliss before you’re collapsing on top of him.

Still inside of you, he holds you close to his chest long enough to fall backwards against your best, your breathes both still heavy in the silent atmosphere.

“Remind me again,” You manage after a moment, taking in a breath and expelling it against his collarbone. The sensation of staying with Taehyung post-sex isn’t an entirely new concept to you, it’s just that the pair of you are more often than not having sex in places where post-sex cuddling isn’t ideal so you don’t do it. But in times like these, in situations where the pair of you are getting it off in your room or other extremely private locations on the grounds, it’s normal to hear the rhythm of his heart underneath your ears or for him to curl strands of your hair around his fingers. “What exactly are you so happy for?”

“Huh?” Taehyung has to think about it for a moment before he moves to start running his hand up and down the naked skin of your back. “Oh that’s right! I fucking nailed the sloth grip roll in practice today. I did the full 360 rotation around my broom without falling.”

You hum, lifting your head up from his chest and giving him a grin. “Woah, look at the fucking pro I’m laying on top of right now.”

The sloth grip roll is one of those famous Quidditch tactics and moves invented by professor Quidditch players that have been passed down and attempted by various other people since then, an action in which a player hangs upside down their broom in order to avoid being attacked by Bludgers. It requires having the quick wit of knowing when a Bludger is coming straight for you and requiring the core, leg, and arm muscles to hang upside down and push yourself back up after avoiding the attack. You know that for the longest time, Taehyung has been struggling with trying to pull himself back up. But it seems that now, he’s finally got it.

You’re still flashing him a grin as you lean down, kissing him firmly on the mouth. “Well, I’m really proud of you. I know you were having a really hard time with that.”

Taehyung moans lightly into your mouth, hands finding the curve of your waist and readjusting so that you can hover over him. “Mm, thank you baby.”

The nickname does a weird flip-flop thing to your heart as you instead settle with kissing him harder as round two begins. The room is silent, except for your stuttering breathes and gasps and the sound of skin on skin contact. You notice that it’s something that he’s started doing more and more recently, addressing you as something more than just Head Girl as well as using his typical ‘Princess’ nickname in a more… endearing and soft sort of way. It’s difficult to describe. You only say it like that because you like to look at his face when he’s uttering one of your nicknames; you like to see the way his eyes soften just enough in the corners, the way his lips curl up, like he’s unconsciously but secretly very happy he’s the only one who gets to call you by different nicknames.

But now it’s different things. Like angel, or baby, or babe… all of those things generating the same feeling in your chest, one after the other. And you don’t know entirely what it could mean.

You’ve always had a difficult sensation with trying to explain and break down the various states of your emotions, something that has only increased ever since the birth of your little arrangement with Taehyung. For so many years, your default wire was to hate his guts because you were told that he was lazy, he was arrogant, he was self-centered, and he was Kim Taehyung.

Yet, now that you’re here and have been here with him for a few months now, you realize that it’s not entirely true. Sure, he is lazy on certain days but he’s also confident and endearing and positive. He doesn’t really know anything else besides Quidditch, but he works hard and he really does try his best with certain other aspects of his life that don’t come as easily to him. He jokes around a lot, but it’s only because he doesn’t like taking his existence too seriously.

And you just really… admire all those different parts of him.

His nose gently nudges your temple. “What are you thinking about?”

With a grunt, you rest your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in gently and evening out the unsteady pace of your heart. He always smells really nice post-sex, never too gross, kind of like lemongrass and pine needles because of how often he’s outside on the field. But he also kind of smells like old bookstores. He smells… warm and inviting and strong and reassuring and you find yourself consoling in it immediately. “Nothing,” You return gently. “Nothing at all.”

It’s not the first time there’s post-sex cuddling, not the first time the pair of you are in near-tears talking about a shared common interest or a funny past memory, but it is the first time you fall asleep to the sound of his voice in your ear, the first time you can measure the pace of his breathing when he’s drifting away from the surface, the first time you think about how nice it feels, the first time you think that you would not mind doing this more often.

Since it’s the first time you fall asleep with Kim Taehyung, it’s the first time you wake up with Kim Taehyung. You get that reminder when you try to roll over in bed, only to be stopped by a pair of arms curled around your waist. Not use to the sensation of another body next yours, the realization generates fight or flight adrenaline, leading you to squeak and attempt to get out of your situation.

Key word: attempt, because the arms tighten around you even more. “W-What, fuck, what’s wrong?” A very familiar, but very tired, voice sounds from behind you as you scramble to turn around in the bed to make eye contact with him.

“Oh god,” You say, rubbing your eyes. “It’s nothing, you just… you fell asleep.”

He gives you a dry look. “Yeah, that’s something people do.”

You scoff, lightly hitting his bare chest. “No, it’s just… you fell asleep… with me…” You don’t bring up how this is first time something like that has happened. You know things will only be as awkward as you make it out to seem, but you also think it’s something that needs to be brought up at least once.

“Oh.” Taehyung sits up just a little, lifting himself up by the elbows, eyes continuing to watch you as he tries to gauge your expression for the next question he wants to ask. “I mean, was that okay?”

Yes, your mind screams at you, because it really is okay. You don’t mind, and something tells you that you think you will never mind if Taehyung wants to sleep over. Rather, you settle with a shrug. “Y-Yeah, for sure,” You manage, feeling a flush crawl slowly up your neck and knowing you won’t be able to look at Taehyung. He could probably read the expressions across your face, no matter how much you tried to hide it away. “I mean, you were tired and I was tired. It’s the only logical outcome.”

“Right,” Taehyung says, nodding a little too quickly. “Of course.” A tiny, almost shy smile overtakes his face as he brings a hand over to curl around the small of your back. “But hey, hi, good morning.”

The previous awkwardness seems to dissipate immediately as you are suddenly greeted by his soft, warm lips and you melt into the kiss. “Mm—morning,” You manage back, voice barely above a whisper, allowing Taehyung to flip the pair of you over. You close your eyes, getting lost in the pressure of his mouth oh so thoroughly exploring yours until there’s a pause, a beat of hesitation, and a—!

“Oh shit, is that the time?” Taehyung crows, snatching your watch up from the nightstand and seeming to realize that yes whichever way the hands on your watch are pointed really is the time because he scrambles. He throws himself off the bed, pacing every way possible to grab his clothing. He tugs on his boxers, his pants, his polo shirt and attempts to button it up haphazardly, and slings his tie across his neck—all the while grumbling and hissing out more curse words from in between his teeth.

The whole thing is rather… cute, which sports the giggle. “What’s the rush?” You ask, leaning back all the way across the mattress and stretching up your arms, not caring that your entire upper body is exposed.

Taehyung stares, something like regret dancing behind his features. “I have practice like… right now,” He says, messily tucking his shirt into his pants. “I’ll see you later?”

You shrug, straightening just long enough to grab a bra and pair of underwear to slip on. “You know how to find me.”

“Okay, yeah, cool. See you then,” He says, turning around and starting to make his way to the door. He pauses, however, forcing you to look up to watch his retreating figure. You raise an eyebrow, a curiosity that heightens as soon as Taehyung turns back around. He crosses the distance, surprising you by wrapping his arms around you and delivering a chaste peck on your lips. “Bye,” He whispers against your lips.

You part them in shock, having not expected this, but you like it a little. A lot, actually. You swallow. “Bye,” You whisper back, a little hoarse. You clench your hands together so you won’t accidentally reach out to him, won’t accidentally ask him to stay a little longer.

One last smile, and he’s gone.

Realizing the time for yourself, you acknowledge that maybe it’s time to step out of your room and get a little breakfast, perhaps get started on your homework assignments before they start piling up again and drowning you. With a sigh, you slip on a new set of clothes, wash your face, brush your hair, grab your book bag and step out of your room.

“What are you doing?”

The voice startles you so much that you swear your bones have just jumped out of your skin. You turn around, meeting the gaze of close friend of seven years, wearing a raised eyebrow and an overall unamused expression.

Even though you have no idea what she’s referring to, you can’t help the guilty smile. “Karly, hey, what’s up?”

Her eyebrows slash together in a look of disbelief. “‘What’s up?’” She quotes. “Are you really asking me what is up when Kim Taehyung comes out of your room looking disheveled and as if he’s just spend the night with you?

The immediate accusation makes your eyes widen as you flatten yourself against the door. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” You start off, choosing to take the initial dumb route just to test the waters of Karly’s knowledge.

Rather, she scoffs. “Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N, I saw him come out of your room.” Suddenly her eyebrows raise again. “Wait, are you guys fucking—?”

Without a warning, you make a noise of protest in the back of your throat as you grab your friend and drag her into your room, shutting the door and locking it for extra measures to ensure no one would hear you. “Don’t tell anyone,” You say.

Karly’s eyes widen. “It’s true?” She inquires. At your nod, she whines and hits you on the arm. “Bitch! Why didn’t you tell me you were sleeping around with Kim Taehyung? Unless it was a one time thing—?”

“It’s not,” You interject with the shake of your head, averting your gaze and wondering just how much you should reveal to the currently flabbergasted girl in front of you. Momentarily, you wonder why you wouldn’t tell Karly everything. She’s been your best friend since the beginning, since the awkward pigtail little girl phases when the pair of you had been paired together for Potions during year one. The pair of you usually always tell each other everything—why would your dynamic with Taehyung be any different? “Okay, fine. It’s, uh, been going on for a few months.”

“What?” Karly interjects, eyes only growing wider. Then, she hits you again.

“Ow!” You protest, hitting her back. “Stop that! What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” She echoes, giving you an ‘are-you-serious’ look. “What’s wrong with you? Did you hit your head or something?”

“W-What? No!” You stammer, rubbing your arm. “What are you talking about?”

“You do realize that Kim Taehyung… sleeps around super casually, don’t you? Are you okay with just being another girl on his list?”

You swallow thickly, finding the words momentarily fail you as the reality hits you just as hard as you had been expecting it to. One of the problems of hiding a relationship away, of hiding it from the world, it means that once people start to poke holes in it, once outsiders start to peel away at the layers, everything has the potential to come crashing down all around you—all without you even realizing it.

“U-Um,” You choke out. You swallow thickly. You’ve become so wrapped up in your relationship with Taehyung, so wrapped up within the privacy blanketed between the two of you and the world around you that you honestly hadn’t even stopped to think about the truth of that statement. Your mind starts to reel at how 180 this day has suddenly become. “I… honestly… hadn’t thought about that for a long time.”

Karly gives you a concerned look. “I-I thought you hated him.”

“Well…” You start, biting your thumbnail. “I never… hated him. I think I was always wary of him. But I’m not sure… all this time we’ve been spending together… I don’t know. It’s making me see that he’s more than that. And sometimes I look at him and he looks at me and…”

“Y/N,” Karly interjects gently, taking a step forward and looking as if she’s about to ask you a question that will change everything. “Are you… in love with him?”

That makes you stop short, the question rolling itself around in your brain as you stop and stare at nothing in the distance. You’ve never been in love before, so it’s a difficult emotion to place in the archives of your feelings and experiences. You don’t know what love is like—but you do that Taehyung’s laugh is one of the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard. You do know that you look forward to his visits more beyond just the great sex. You do know that you enjoy getting to hear about his day now almost just as much as you enjoy the ecstasy he brings to the table. You do know that there’s something about seeing him in the hallway during school, something about the way his eyes meet yours from across a crowd, something about the way he winks at you and only for you, that makes your heart feel like it might give up from how quickly it’s beating in your chest.

You don’t give your answer because you don’t really know what kind of answer you’re supposed to give. However, judging from the look Karly gives you, she can read your expression perfectly well.

“W-What am I supposed to do now?” You whisper.

Karly presses her lips together. “I don’t want to tell you what to do. I know you’re capable of making the best decision you can make for yourself, but it’s just… I don’t want you to get hurt. Guys like Taehyung… they’re not a bad person, honestly, but they use other people. They use other people over and over again until the other person has worn out their use. I don’t think Taehyung is capable of loving you back, or at least, loving you the way you deserve to be loved. I don’t think it’s in his nature, in his reputation. Things seem great now but what do you expect to happen afterwards? How long do you expect this to go on? You’re Head Girl, Y/N, you can do so much better than a cliche popular jock who smiles too much and speaks too easily.”

You stare at Karly for a moment longer, your mind suddenly swirling with so many different questions and accusations and conclusions. The more you let everything settle to the ground, the more you realize how right Karly is. She’s your best friend, she’s always known you better than you know yourself. And she’s right—what did you expect to come about of your relationship with Taehyung? Did you expect him to actually want to date you? Did you expect him to keep in touch with you while he went off to explore the world, maybe go professional with Quidditch, while you stayed behind to fulfill your own dreams and desires? Did you expect handwritten letters of longing in between his traveling? Did you expect actual commitment from him?

A small part of you whispers yes, but a larger part of you feels ashamed because this is not it. This is not what you signed on for in the unspoken agreement of your relationship with Taehyung. These were things you hadn’t even realized you wanted until this moment in time, but you know they are simply not things Taehyung will be able to provide you with. And you feel a wave of guilt for not having seen that sooner. Karly is right. You’re Head Girl. Taehyung is, essentially, a playboy. The pair of you come from such different worlds, a world that doesn’t equate to a combined future together—and the realization makes your heart sink down to your stomach like a rock.

.

You are a mess of bundled nerves and anticipation over the next few days, replaying your conversation with Karly over and over again in your mind like a broken record. Following her suggestion, your natural reaction is to try discard it entirely, but the more you think about it the more it makes sense.

“The longer you let it drag on,” Karly had said. “The more it’ll hurt.”

Taking her words to heart, you do what she had suggested—which could easily be the stupidest and most immature thing you’ve ever done.

You start to avoid Taehyung.

You stop showing up to his practices, you stop turning up at the places you know he’ll be waiting for you at, you stop making eye contact with him in the hall. It’s probably immature to just cut him out of your life so easily, and it aches every single day in your chest, but you know that facing him will only hurt even more.

You don’t know what you had expecting to happen as soon as the process to remove Taehyung from the equation of your life. Maybe he would get the sign that you were done with the unspoken arrangement and he wouldn’t have thought twice about moving on. Maybe there would be something more… something less… you aren’t too sure.

“What’s going on there, Princess?”

You jerk a little too hard to be a casual human being, but you turn your head in time to see Taehyung detaching himself from the wall next to the door of your classroom.

Tightening your hold on your bag, you shift slightly in your position. You say the first thing that can come to mind: “I thought you had class.” It’s true. You know so much about his life that you know that he’s still supposed to be in his Charms lecture while you’re getting out of Defense Against The Dark Arts.

Taehyung shrugs, looking a little dejected at the observation. “You’ve been avoiding me,” He points out instead. “And I didn’t know what else to do. The lecture would have been useless anyways; I can’t pay attention to anything else other than the fact that it seems like you’ve been trying to cut me out of your life. And I don’t know if it’s true or not. Hence, that’s why I’m here.”

You clench your teeth together. Seeing him actually standing here in front of you after days of trying to shut him out almost hurts because he’s here. In the flesh. With skin you’ve run your hands over, hair you’ve tousled more times than you’d like to admit, lips you’ve kissed, eyes you’ve fallen in love with.

And that sudden realization drives your mind right on track, but you find that you are not brave enough to face him. So you look down, playing with the crevices of your fingers.

Taehyung notices your shift in behavior immediately, because that previously dejected and accusatory look in his eyes is gone. “Hey, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

You press your lips together. Without even realizing it, you had spent so long trying to prepare an eloquent explanation to him but now that he’s standing here, it seems like all the words have failed you. You suddenly feel too small for your body, completely overwhelmed with an unpleasant sensation that threatens to break apart every part of you that makes you human.

Finally, you manage. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You aren’t looking at him when you say this, so you miss the flicker that goes off behind his eyes. “W-What?” He says in return. It doesn’t seem like he’s asking you to repeat what you had just said, it seems like he’s asking you to expand on your statement.

You don’t want to expand on your statement. You want to take it all back and bury yourself in his arms so that he won’t leave you, so that you could stop time, so that you could make things go back to the way they were. But you can’t do that. You’ve said the words already. There’s no way you can take it back.

“T-This—thing between us,” You say, gesturing to the pair of you, still unable to look him in the eye. “I can’t… be a part of it anymore. It won’t work out.”

Taehyung furrows his eyebrows together, looking like he’s scrambling for something to say. “I-I don’t understand,” He manages, swallowing thickly. “I-I thought this was good, I thought what we had… I thought it was going well. I thought…” He cuts himself short.

For the first time, you dare yourself to look up at him. He’s not looking at you. His eyes are fixated on the floor, his fingers curled in on each other, his body position looking more crumbled and defeated than you had ever seen him and it does the most painful thing to your heart.

“You thought what?” You whisper. “What is there not to understand? I-I can’t do this anymore. S-So, don’t go looking for me anymore. Don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t… do… that anymore.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. Even with such a distance, it feels like you can hear the gears turning in his head, his desperate attempts to understand the situation currently playing out in front of him. You know that trying to stick around any longer and provide background information will only prolong things. So you try to escape.

“Wait—fuck—Y/N, wait,” Taehyung interjects, dashing forward to cover a large amount of space in a short period of time, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Y/N, will you wait a second, please?”

The way he tacks on the last word, the pleading tone in his voice makes you stop. But also because he’s touching you for the first time in what feels like weeks and you miss it more than you ever dared to admit. You close your eyes for a second. “W-What?”

“Wait,” He says again. “Y-You just—you’re cutting me off like this… I deserve to know why. Did I do something wrong? If there’s something that’s bothering you… I’ll… I’ll fix it.”

“Y-You? Fixing something about yourself?” You ask because the idea is almost humorous but you aren’t laughing

“W-Well, yeah,” He admits quietly, tightening his grip around your wrist. “It’s just… you’re too important for me to lose. You mean… a lot to me and if you’re trying to cut me out for something that I did I… I can change it.”

His willingness to comply is so heartwarming and unexpected that you almost disregard everything Karly has told you. For a brief second you think maybe, just maybe, this could work out. That maybe, you don’t need the love Taehyung won’t be able to give you. That maybe, being in his company would be more than you would ever need.

You try to remind yourself that using something just for sex, just for the physical pleasures, would never work out for anyone—that underneath the surface, you would always want more because you are the Head Girl, just as tough as you are romantic and steely and in the know of what you want. You’ve had pieces of your life defined and pressed out for so long now that fitting Taehyung in it would be impossible.

Yes, impossible. Just like how it would be impossible for him to fit you in his life. You would never be able to keep something short-term with Taehyung. You think that it would hurt the most that way, so you have to say this, to spare your feelings.

“It’s nothing you did,” You whisper.

His grip tightens. “That’s it?” He asks back. “Three months of this and that’s all you have to say? Tell me the truth, Y/N, don’t you think I deserve that at the very least?”

You whirl around to face him. “There’s no future in what we’re doing, and I’m realizing that now,” You say too quickly because if you say it like that, then the words will come out quicker and you can stop worrying about it. “I need something with a future. I can’t be with you anymore, Taehyung so please just—!” You attempt to jerk yourself out of his hold one last time, but what you said has seemed to strike a chord within him because he loosens the grip long enough for you to make your escape. You leave him alone in the middle of the hallway, having to tell yourself more than once not to look back.

.

You never thought you would be in a position where you would ever have to get over Kim Taehyung. And yet, here you are. Laying in bed. Trying to get over Kim Taehyung.

For a first love, it’s about as difficult as one would think with all its memories and never before experienced emotions that you were never able to express. The hardest part is trying to go a day without thinking about him, without having to wonder what he’s up to, without wondering if he’s wondering about you. If you find yourself lingering over one thought for too long, it has the potential of ruining the rest of your day so you opt instead to keep yourself busy.

As Head Girl, this doesn’t prove to be too much of a challenge. You practically bury yourself in your work and responsibilities, both as Head Girl and as a student and it seems like life is more than happy enough to provide you with things to work on. Everyday, there’s always a paper to write, a meeting with Prefects to run, classes that run late into the night, or just any duty across the grounds that need an attending to. You have no problem putting your entire self into every task you are assigned, it keeps you occupied and you get to add some productivity into your day. To you, it’s a double-win, and an easy way to kill two birds with one stone.

You trap yourself so deeply in your academics, that it takes away from your ability to scout out Taehyung, so you miss the way his eyes desperately try to meet yours in the hallway, the way he tries to corner you with the attempt to ask you more questions about why you were cutting him out of your life. He must see how much work you put on your plate, he must see it in your eyes and in the stressed curl of your lips, because he never approaches you. He just longs for you across the way. It seems so easy to catch up to you after class, given the handful of classes that you do share together, but something always holds him back—maybe it’s the way you never meet his gaze anymore when he’s trying to stare you down from the other side of the room or maybe it’s the way you’re always the first person out the door when class is dismissed.

You always seem so internally insistent on keeping to yourself.

And you are. Even though you are constantly by yourself, you don’t have the luxury of overthinking. You don’t have the luxury of wondering if maybe ending things with Taehyung the way you had was the right thing or the wrong thing or an immature thing or an unreasonable thing to do.

You drum your fingers on your desk. Why is this even a problem to begin with? After all, you and Taehyung are only brought together on the mutual basis and appreciation for sex. For the physical. In theory, you aren’t even supposed to be hurting over this. Sure, maybe you’d be upset that you’re missing out on some great dick but you shouldn’t be pondering so much over this and you shouldn’t even be in a position where you have to distract yourself instead of facing the problem head on.

“You know, contrary to the popular belief, staring at something like that will not cause it to set on fire,” Park Jimin reports, sliding into the seat next to you. At this time of day, the library is relatively quiet with the occasional screams and cheers coming from the Quidditch stands in what feels like miles away from the castle. The field is so far away, yet the intensity and excitement it brings to the Hogwarts population is more than enough to generate screams that could be heard from such long distances.

Rather, you smile humorlessly. “Thanks for crashing on my dreams, Park.”

Jimin smiles back, leaning forward in his seat so he could watch you a little more carefully. “Are you alright? You’ve been really out of it for a few days now. I didn’t want to say anything because I thought I was overthinking it but now you’ve been staring daggers at your Charms essay for a few minutes now. Charms is your favorite subject, what did it do to deserve the evil eye?”

“N-Nothing,” You manage, leaning back, smoothing both your hands over the textbook in front of you. “It’s not even the assignment itself it’s just…”

“Wait a second,” Jimin interrupts, looking at you for a moment longer. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

You stare back, the accusation making your mind feel like a momentary keyboard smashed frenzy. “W-What?” You inquire back. “How did you know?” The second part comes out reflexively; you hadn’t been planning on caving into his observation so easily but you also hadn’t been ready to admit that in the first place goddamnit—!

You choke, immediately turning into a coughing, sputtering mess as Jimin is suddenly very attentive stares and curiosity as he pats your back in both a soothing manner and also as a means to help stop the coughing.

“S-Sorry,” You manage, taking in a deep breath in and a deep breath out. “It came out so quickly I was surprised with myself.”

“I know,” Jimin replies gently. “I saw the look in your face. You didn’t know that you were in love, did you?”

“I guess not,” You say back, training your eyes intently on the book in front of you. As if you were already having a hard enough time getting over Taehyung as it is, now you had to go ahead and have some grand epiphany that was only going to make it more complicated to do that.

Jimin is quiet for a second. “It’s Kim Taehyung, isn’t it?”

You inhale, turning sharply to look at him. “H-How—how did you know?”

He shrugs. “I had some suspicions that something might have been going on between the two of you—but I think that presentation about the whole safe sexual practices thing made me realize something was up.”

“S-So…” You start, face heating up slightly. “You knew that Taehyung and I were…?”

“Endlessly flirting with each other?”

“N-No, uh, that we were… you know… sleeping around together.”

Jimin furrows his eyebrows together cutely. “No, what the hell?”

One look at his face, and you know immediately that the poor boy genuinely had no idea and the realization brings the mortification of color to your cheeks. “Oh my god,” You whine to yourself, digging the palm of your hands into your eyes if only to stop yourself from actually clawing them out. “You really had no idea.” You slam your hands down on the table, probably causing a momentary shift to the balance within the library but you don’t care. “What did you think was going on, Park Jimin? You’re stupid sometimes, sure, but not that stupid.”

“Hey,” He hisses back. “I don’t know! I thought it was just flirty banter—he was always cornering you and sure, maybe it looked like he was trying to get under your skirt that one time but it’s Kim Taehyung. Not to be that person, but you aren’t exactly under his repertoire of girls he messes around with. Last I heard, he can barely stay with one girl long enough for one round, so forgive me for being a little shocked at hearing that he was sleeping with you on more than one occasion.”

“It just started becoming a habit, I guess,” You grumble, playing around with one of the cracks in the desk. “But it doesn’t mean anything anymore. I ended it a few days ago.”

“Makes sense,” Jimin remarks. “A few days is how long you’ve been upset—but that’s also how long Taehyung has been upset too.”

You look at him. “T-Taehyung is upset?”

He shrugs. “He hasn’t been causing any trouble recently. I noticed. Whenever he’s in the halls, he’s been keeping to himself. In class, he’s not talking to anyone. It was really unsettling. I didn’t know what to think at first—I thought that maybe it was because some girl he met at a party had refused to blow him or something. The pieces weren’t adding up in my head—don’t give me that look. I guess someone was refusing to blow him but it wasn’t at a party—!”

“Jimin!” You wail, covering your mouth with your hand. Taehyung isn’t even in your life anymore and he’s still finding a way to embarrass you, although indirectly. “But, wait, you aren’t… mad at me or anything?”

“No?” He frowns. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I-I don’t know,” You stammer. “Maybe you’d think that I was just settling with him, that I could fall in love with anyone I want, but I ended up being in love with him.”

“I mean…” Jimin trails off for a moment. “People can’t control who they fall in love with. And I don’t think Taehyung is a bad person. In fact, I think in a weird way, the pair of you balance each other out. He probably doesn’t do the whole love and emotions thing, but you never did the casual sex thing either and yet, here we are.” He smiles. “You’re a smart girl, Y/N. You’re more than capable of making your own decisions. You’re more than capable of looking at Taehyung and deciding if being with him is a risk you’re willing to take. If it’s not, then that’s okay. If it is, well, then you’re more than capable of figuring out how to go about that.”

You let out a sigh at the words Jimin has just spoken to you, but the small smile you send his way is genuine because for the first time in a little while, you feel like maybe you can breathe just a little bit more.

.

Jimin’s words help you do some thinking, even if you aren’t entirely sure what you’re going to do about your predicament. In the meanwhile, you decide to keep the feelings of your new discovery under wraps so you could make the best decision for yourself based on what you know you need the most.

That afternoon, you walk into your potions class to find a mixture already bubbling in the cauldron, the whispers around you not doing good things to the shiver of anticipation that travels up your body.

“Good afternoon class,” The professor greets, turning the fire underneath the cauldron on a low before rounding the table in order to get a better look at the class. “Today, we’re starting a very exciting unit—everyone loves this one the most.” She looks momentarily pleased with her use of play-on-words, and the realization makes the weight of discovery drop like lead in your stomach. “Can anyone tell me what potion is sitting on my desk right now?”

There is a silence, until you opt to raise your hand. “It’s Amortentia,” You utter. “The most powerful love potion in the world.”

The professor beams at your answer. “Wonderful, Y/N. Do you think you can tell me why it’s the most powerful?”

“Well,” You start, swallowing thickly and daring a glance at Taehyung, who is sitting a row ahead of you, a few seats down, but he’s staring at you with enough intensity to get you to startle. Has he always looked at you like that? “It’s so powerful because it causes an intense infatuation in relation to the drinker and the person who administered the potion. But there is a way to identity it because it has a very specific smell. Depending on the individual person, the potion emits a smell of whatever they desire the most.”

“Excellent, Y/N, fifteen points to Gryffindor! But I didn’t expect anything less from our Head Girl. Would you mind stepping up to the front of the class here and giving an example of what kind of aroma the potion will give out?”

It’s a bad idea, a voice in the back of your mind whispers and you don’t need to be told twice. It is a bad idea to go up there a risk everything, to put yourself out there in such a vulnerable position.

But like the professor has just stated, you are Head Girl and you have to set an example for everyone else around you, no matter what it takes. So with a sigh, you nod slowly and straighten up, making your way to the front of the class. You linger just outside the reins of the Amortentia potion, suddenly feeling your heart in your throat because you really don’t know what to expect and to experience the scent you desire the most in front of your entire class makes you feel exposed.

The professor watches you with an eye of anticipation, and you force yourself to step forward just enough to hover above the potion. You pause for a moment, taking in a deep breath. “L-Lemongrass,” You start slowly, feeling the flush of privacy coating your cheeks, barely sparing a glance at the class before you look back down. “Lemongrass and, uh… pine needles—like, uh, something that has been outside for a long time. And—a bookstore. An old one, with run down pages and history pressed between the lines.” You gently scratch your bottom lip. “Like something that flaps in the wind… so it’s fresh. But also kind of musky…” The combination of all these smells brings a small smile to your face and you dare to close your eyes for a second. The smell seems to swirl all around you, dispersing through the atmosphere, forming together right in front of you to create something, create that very object of your desire.

It’s not necessarily an image that forms, but more of a memory—a sensation of smooth skin brushing underneath your fingertips, your nose buried in someone’s neck, a light but deep and soothing chuckle that always left you knowing that without a doubt you were completely and head over heels in love with—!

Your eyes snap open, surprisingly finding the gaze of Kim Taehyung staring right back at you, looking just as stunned as you feel at how the secret to your Amortentia potion… is him.

And he knows it.

You try to calm your panicked nerves, but it threatens to swallow you too quickly and you choke.

“E-Excuse me,” You whisper, not even sure if anyone has heard you but it doesn’t matter because you are bolting for the door. You can’t even remember if you gathered any of your belongings, but it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. The only thing etched in your mind is the fact that you need to go, go, go, run down the hallways as fast as your legs can carry you.

“Y/N? Y/N! Y/N, wait!” A voice sounds from behind you, the familiarity of it only launching your heart into an even more distressed state of mind as your mind reels with accusations, with questions, with realization, and that all brings about the burning hot sense of humiliation.

The hand finds your wrist too soon.

“Y/N, will you stop for one goddamn second?” Taehyung gruffs from behind you, tightening his hold when you attempt to shake him off to not success. “Y/N.”

“No,” You choke out, trying to pull yourself away again. “No, stop. I don’t want to hear what you have to say…”

He’s quiet for a moment. “How do you even know what I’m going to say?”

“I know it, I can feel it,” You whisper. “You’re going to laugh at me, aren’t you?”

Even without looking at him, you can imagine the furrow in his eyebrows. “Laugh at you?” He echoes. “Y/N, what are you talking about? Don’t be stupid—!”

“Well, you’re going to tease me at the very least!” You whine instead. “Go on and on and on about how Hogwarts’ bright Head Girl fell for a Quidditch boy—a jock who has never settled down with anyone longer than two seconds and never ever wants to fall in love. The fact that he has been able to charm the Head Girl is laughable, is everything he’s ever wanted because it proves he can get under her skin. And he doesn’t even care.” Taehyung’s silence is a momentary sting of confirmation. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Taehyung still doesn’t say anything. “Will you just look at me?”

In your heart, you know you have nothing else to lose at this point. The deed has been done, the words have been spoken, and all that is left is for Taehyung to look you in the eye and tell you that it is true. That he knows you love him, but he simply cannot love you back because he is the strong-willed and you are the weak-minded.

You, however, do not expect the familiar, warm, comforting sensation of his mouth against yours.

You pull away from Taehyung at once. “W-What are you doing?” You inquire, wide-eyed and caught off guard but also trying to shoo away the butterflies that have gathered in your stomach at the quick gesture.

Taehyung sighs, shakes his head. “For a Head Girl, you’re pretty stupid.” He observes quietly, still so close to you that you can feel his forehead against your own, his breath against your lips.

You blink. “W-What?”

He sighs again, curling his hand around your waist to pull you closer. “I love you too, you fucking idiot.”

The confession comes out so straight-forward, so simple as if it’s the only thing he truly knows, but your eyes are still as wide as a goldfish and you try to say the only coherent thing you are capable of saying. “Huh?”

Taehyung delivers forth a small, tiny smiles that plays at the corner of his lips. “Y/N, you in there?” He says, gently tapping your forehead. “I’d like to talk to her please?”

You shake your head, blinking rapidly, gazing up at him again. “W-Wait, you’re in love with me? Since when?”

He actually laughs at that, that beautiful sound of melody and tunes that momentarily takes you away from the fact that you’re supposed to be stunned. “Since I started coming back for second rounds, you moron. And maybe…” He trails off, flushing a little. “Maybe a little bit before then too.”

You press your lips together, unable to help the smile you want to deliver toward him. “Y-You’re in love with me,” You say, the corner of your lips quirk up.

Taehyung nods once, twice, presses your foreheads together. “I’m in love with you,” He reassures. “C-Can you take me back? Can we go back to the way things were?”

You give him a suspicious glance. “You mean just sex and no emotions?”

“Ah.” He realizes his mistake. “Not exactly—I’d like to request an upgrade, if that’s alright with you. Can we go back to the way things were? But this time, I take you out on a few dates then we have mind-blowing sex. How does that sound?”

It’s everything you could have wanted and so much more, because you start to laugh over and over again and you aren’t quite sure if you’ll stop. “That sounds… pretty perfect. I still get to make fun of your horrible attire every morning, though.”

He grins back. “And I get to lift your skirt and call you names—two can play at this game.”

#taehyung scenario #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung smut #bts scenario #bts smut #bts x reader #repost: workofteaguk #traci writes #i love this fic i'm so happy i got to bring it back !

[fweeble]

Episode 7: The Rich Boy

So if my predictions are on track, everyone will want a friend available to hold their hand this episode, but especially next episode. This is your early warning detection system Fwee working just for you. Pick a calming friend.

*hysterical laughter* THE MUSIC. Shorter, my love, please. I die without oxygen.

Ibe popping out at the last second to take this snapshot is the cutest thing. Weh.

Shorter, no. Are you taking pictures of her. That’s rude. Also, what’s with this bizarrely off-model hands-and-arms action going on, Mappa???

That poor lady.

Please have some pity, Ash. He was in a very emotionally taxing custody battle over his son and now you are all heading to his ex-wife’s. And Jessica is to be feared and respected.

I’m awful and I’m laughing so hard at the fact that Max nearly hurling is what causes the car to careen away from the lady. Good job, Max. Stop Shorter from being skeevy.

*cries* Eiji and Ibe are so cute in this. My heart.

Holy shit, Jessica, your house is gorgeous. I want to live in a house like that. And in the LA area. 

Y’all are heartless. Poor Max. At least offer him a bottle of water. His poor nerves.

*screams* IT’S MICHAAAAAAEL.

My heart. Max’s happy face at seeing his son. Q vQ <3

THIS IS EXACTLY MY FEELINGS.

JESSICA PLEASE. GUNS ARE DANGEROUS AND YOUR SON IS NEAR YOUR TARGET.

Just gonna casually slide these panels in:

Truth in television: most child abductions are by family members (particularly parents if they are separated).

I’d hide behind the car too. Look more worried, Ash.

*cackles at Max’s face*

*even louder cackling*

I love Jessica.

Fair enough.

Max’s adopted kid and his biological kid: side by side.

They tactfully left this conversation out. = u= Poor Michael.

My heart. You’re such a good child, Michael.

ASH. WHY. LOOK AT IBE AND SHORTER’S FACES. 

Have I mentioned how much I love Jessica.

The phone book interruption is marginally better than asking for mustard. @ v@

Oh, Ash. My heart. Why the lighthearted music, this is actually super painful

*clutches chest* This is super rude. Q AQ

Apparently they don’t discuss Abraham with Jessica, huh.

Max, Jessica’s gonna knee you in sensitive bits if you keep that up.

*cries*

Usually I’d be blowing kisses at Mappa, but all I can think about is I want this house, I could have some dogs run free in the front yard.

Shorter, why do you walk like this. You’re gonna kill your back. 

*cries over their protective stances* Sweet children.

*high pitched distressed noises*

I always forget this line. Personally, I never found them very similar. Looks or otherwise.

*screams* STAY HIDDEN ALEXIS, STAY HIDDEEEEN.

They also totally cut out an additional scene in NY with Charlie and Jenkins.

I really love how they don’t bring up Ibe or Eiji, since they both, without a doubt, know that they’re in violation of their visas. Q uQ You’re good people, Charlie, Jenkins.

I LOVE JENKINS SHOWING OFF HIS DETECTIVE SKILLS. Q vQ <3

SHORTER WHY MUST YOU STAND AND WALK LIKE A YANKEE STRAIGHT OUTTA SOME 80′S MANGA. YOU’LL HAVE BACK PROBLEMS BEFORE YOU’RE 30.

*cries* I really do have a type when it comes to favorite characters. Yankees.

Eiji is so impressed. I miss the scene where Ibe and Max are the ones astounded. Good ol’ 80′s.

Criminal geniuses, Max please. Eiji isn’t one.

*cries over how much Ash trusts Shorter* I love these two so much.

GOOD INSTINCT!!!

VERY GOOD OBSERVATION, ASH!!! That’s why you’re the boss.

...of your own gang.

BULLSHIT. I’m clumsy as fuck. I’m like a bull in a china shop. *cries* I will never be called twinkle toes unless it’s an insult.

Bless you, Shorter, for being an inelegant asshole as well. 

Nooooooooooooooo. They cut so much ooooout. But, fair enough. More time for better things later!!!! (Please keep in my two favorite scenes, please!!!)

He had to meet some friends. *emotional*

I LOVE THIS SCENE SO MUCH. Sassy asshole Ash is always my favorite Ash. u vu <3 <3 <3

Eiji is basically Daphne. He finds all the good clues.

Which makes Ash Velma, since he puts those clues to good use. u vu

AWW LOOK AT THESE TWO. They’re gonna develop their own high five. Please give me a scene where Eiji and ash also have their own secret thing. Maybe a handshake that involves hip-checking. Please. 

Look at a certain someone about to spontaneously combust with envy. That’s totally the face of envy and not... outright confusion.

Holy shit, Prof Dawson. Still using XP! 

Nope. It truly isn’t. 

*whispers* Essentially, Nanner Fish is primarily shrooms and LSD.

Prof Dawson, who keeps notes like this. Please revise your notes. At least add commas. And work on formatting. 

*blows kisses at Mappa* Marry me.

This answers my giant question I’ve wondered about for years. Hong Kong, huh. No wonder they spell their last name with Lee. I’ve always wondered why a clan part of the Chinese mafia would use Lee instead of Li.

Hong Kong is one of the few places (besides Taiwan and Macau, I think?) that uses that variation. (ANWAYS, back to the Nanner Fish anime...)

Shorter. Please. Your back. Just take the phone from him, look at it, and return it.

Oh, my heart.

THIS IS NEW AND SO FUCKING RUDE. EXCUSE YOU. *crying* Shorter without his sunglasses. I’m crying. Nadiaaaaa.

*ugly bawling*

FUCK.

*screaming*

*uncontrollable sobbing*

Sonny... Q AQ

Fuck you.

TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF HIM.

(Don’t look at me. I’m fucking. Nooooo.) 

Ooooh, I like this change. Instead of switching between Max-and-Ibe and Max-and-Ash, it just starts with Ash and Max working on the Nanner Fish research together. Nice.

Ooooh, is this a callback to the vivisection password?

*noises* Griff.

*whispers* Papa Max. I don’t care what anyone says. I like to believe that Max guilt-adopted Ash as a son in his heart. He meant to think of Ash as a baby brother, but paternal instincts are strong.

Listen to Max, Ash. Please.

*distressed dying manatee noises*

*loud wounded hippo noises* Just leave me to die.

My heart... *lies drowning in endless sea of salt and tears*

They’re really trying to make him so much more sympathetic in the anime. He was a lot more aggressive and confrontational in the manga. A sample:

*cries* Max...

I tried so hard to get a nice picture, but it was panning so quickly every one of my gyazo shots were blurry. God. How much did this kill Shorter?

CMSKDLFJOIEWJFLDSKF. FUCK YOU.

*HIGH PITCHED SCREAMING* YOU ARE TOO GOOD, TOO PURE AND THE LEE CLAN TOO CORRUPT AND CRUEL. 

SHORTEEEER.

FUCK YOU WITH THE LARGEST BASEBALL BAT WITH THE RUSTIEST LARGE NAILS HAMMERED INTO IT. HOW DARE YOU MAKE IT A RACE THING. ESPECIALLY IN THE 10′S. FUCK YOU.

CMLKSDMFLSDF. YUT-LUNG. FUCK. *cries over the opening* 

MAPPA YOU ARE SO UNBEARABLY RUDE.

Please. Just kill me now.

*cries* I’ve always loved this lovely mood whiplash exchange. I prefer the manga version of it, though. It’s more... slapstick?

Poor Sonny. Q nQ

Why would they put the mark there. That’s not easy to conceal. 

I think they should’ve stuck with the bracelet. Yeah, someone could steal it, but still a lot more subtle than a huge black dragon tatt on Yut-Lung’s neck.

Yup. *sigh* Sadly...

*whispers* And this is why, no matter what people say later on, why I will always hold a grudge against Yut-Lung. Shorter...

Consider this: No. Fuck you.

Oh, my heart. Since Shorter made the comment that Yut-Lung looks like Eiji... I wonder if this is why he makes that comment. Because... Because...

You’re a kid too, Shorter...

*whispers* This is important.

*continues to stage whisper* Also important.

I love the effort Mappa put into all the details. The strangely Chinese-esque artwork hanging on the wall considering this is Alexis Dawson’s house and he’s not connected to the Lee Clan.

Good job, Ibe!!!

Especially since the anime doesn’t bring up your visa status.

m so glad Ibe doesn’t have to fully entertain the notion that he might just have to kidnap Eiji (and how he’ll have to do it). Bless Ash for volunteering earlier.

Poor Ibe. Eiji, you’re gonna make him age 30 years in 3 months.

Also, bonus Max being hot-headed and totally not reading between the lines.

*cries* That’s not true, Eiji! You helped solve the computer’s password! ...In the manga...

YEAH. AND THAT. I totally didn’t forget. *sweats*

*strangled noises* Ash...

What about Shorter. Q AQ

Excuse me as I curl in the fetal position, crying about letters and mountains and leopards and how everything about this is so much more painful in hindsight. 

Eiji... I just... *aggressive hands* All these feelings and nothing I can do about anything.

On one hand: I like the art direction taken.

On the other: Why you gotta be like this, Yut-Lung?

*whispers* They left this out. Truly toning down Ash’s tsuntsun nature.

Every time I read these panels, all I can think of is Shorter internally screaming for Ibe and Eiji to get away. To fly to Japan and never come back. 

If y’all have your friends on hand like I suggested... lucky you.

@freykugel​...

Because I’m in pain...

I love how Max has a higher EQ* than he does in the manga. He truly misses a lot of emotional cues that he doesn’t in the anime.

I miss Max rubbing it in, though. Manga Ash was a lot more emotional and hot-headed. Until...

...

*really fucking loud crying about epilogues*

I really appreciate how much emphasis is put on Max’s guilty conscious in the anime. My heart. 

Cmkalsfsadfljkasfd. NO. Yut-Lung. Just. No. NOPE.

I’m sad they cut out my son’s snark, though.

Rebel! Rebel in every tiny way possible, Shorter! No matter what happens, what anyone says, I know you tried. And I’m so proud of you.

There’s a very valid reason why...

Cmkalsdmflasfd. I just want to see his eyes. I want to see Shorter’s face after he’s been order to commit another betrayal.

God dammit, why do you have to live a billion miles away. I seriously need someone who knows what’s about to happen to be close enough to hold my damn hand already. *weeps*

FUCK YOOOOOOOU.

CMSDKLFMLSDF. FUCK YOU SO MUCH, YUT-LUUUUUUNG.

HOLDING NADIA HOSTAGE.

Oh god. Seeing Shorter’s eyes doesn’t make this better. Cmklsamfdlsafd.

Ohmg, yes!!! They kept this bit in!!!

(How dare Mappa add this expression. How dare they try to make me sympathize with Yut-Lung any more than the manga already tries. How dare.)

This is so much worse than I ever thought it could be.

Shorter.

WHY DO YOU LOOK SURPRISED. WHY.

*strangled sobbing* I wonder if this is a reason why... Yut-Lung obsesses so much... about... 

*intense feelings about Yut-Lung and his feelings towards himself and his family*

Why add this totally unneccessary scene about Yut-Lung noticing Shorter’s tears, Mappa you bastard. *cries*

The same scene in the manga because I’m emotional and I’m totally not biased for Shorter and hoping people don’t start dumping my boy in the trash... Honestly...

(I live in constant fear...)

THIS IS SO CRUEL. 

I’m so torn between: EEE! Michael with his surprise present (that didn’t show up in the manga! Since there wasn’t an excuse of “It’s Michael’s birthday”). Cutest child to ever cute.

But also: Fuuuuuuuck. I was secretly hoping they’d get off scott-free since Jessica doesn’t know anything about them heading to check out Dawson’s house. Whyyyyyyy.

Why you gotta be so observant, Jessica. Q vQ

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Nonono. No. NOOOOO. 

I said NO.

SOMEONE SAVE THEM.

Lay me to rest. Play If I Die Young at the funeral and send me off like like Going Merry. I’m done.

I’m not quite sure how they’re handling the pacing, especially since it seems like my projections are a little off. Still so worried how they’re gonna fit 19 volumes in 24 episodes... especially since it looks like The Episode I Fear the Most won’t be happening next episode like I originally estimated but episode 9 instead...

*Emotional Quotient: google it if you’re curious

<<Episode 6                                     Masterlist                                    Episode 8>>

#Fandom: Banana Fish #Banana Fish #Nanner Fish Liveblog #spoilers #tw: spoilers #long post

[freetheworms]

10 and 51 together please.... good luck 😂

ahskjhdhasjk okay nonnie at first i was convinced u were just trying to kill me with this combo but… somehow i’m actually really happy with this fic ?? so thank u ??? also u didn’t specify a ship so i went with reddie cause i felt like it fit, hope thats ok !

It was official. As of 3 o’clock this fucking morning, Richie Tozier had come to the conclusion that he goddamn hated squirrels.

There was a reason, of course. It’s not like he went around making a habit of declaring war on small rodents, but squirrels — nay, one particular squirrel, had to fucking go. 

The little fucker had decided to take up residence in the house Richie shared with Eddie at some ungodly hour of the night, and Richie was feeling downright murderous at being awoken from a rather steamy dream by the sound of tiny rodent feet scurrying through the walls incessantly.

See, Eddie was a nurse at the local hospital, and Richie was a small-time DJ for some local radio station he was convinced nobody really listened to. They weren’t exactly made of money, but the small, if a little dilapidated house they were able to afford together was honestly fine with Richie.

That is, until the Devil in a small fluffy rat suit managed to climb its way into Richie’s humble abode to ruin his life.

Luckily for Eddie, he was working the night shift at the hospital, and had no idea the lengths his boyfriend was going to at 5 in the fucking morning to get rid of some fuckin’ squirrel that possessed almost as much nerve as King Trashmouth himself. Almost.

In fact, by 6am, Richie was about ready to burn the whole fucking house down just to take this little asshole with it… but of course, even his tired brain managed to remember that Eddie would probably murder him next. So, he settled for taking a sledgehammer to the wall behind their shared bed in an attempt to find the little menace because how else was he supposed to get at it?

Yeah, okay, maybe his tired brain wasn’t doing so shit hot after all, but it would all be worth it when he won this war.

By 8am, Richie was more exhausted than ever, and the walls of the bedroom had certainly seen better days. He hadn’t necessarily caught the squirrel, but he also couldn’t hear it anymore. Maybe he’d scared it off? Yeah. Yeah that was probably it. Stupid tiny squirrel was no match for him. Yeah… no match…

He had finally started to drift off to sleep on the couch when the front door swung open to reveal a very adorable scrub-clad Eddie.

“Hey Rich,” Eddie threw his keys onto the coffee table in front of Richie.

“Mmm,” sleepy-Richie groaned back, “babe,” he made grabby hands for Eddie to come cuddle with him.

“I gotta eat, Rich,” Eddie said, turning instead toward the kitchen, in the opposite direction of his needy boyfriend. “And,” he continued, “I was thinking maybe after that you could… help me unwind a little before I go to bed.”

Richie was tired, but he wasn’t that tired. His head immediately perked up to meet his lover’s gaze. “Oh yeah? What’d you have in mind?” he raised a playful eyebrow.

Eddie knew he had his boyfriend’s attention now, and he intended to take full advantage. It had been a stressful night at work, and he really could use a little… release. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He smiled innocently as he leaned against their ugly laminate countertop.

“Mhmm,” Richie put on his most sultry voice. Two could play this game. “C’mon babe, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want.”

“You really want me to tell you?” Eddie tapped his chin as if he was contemplating for a second, before his fiery gaze returned to Richie’s, “Why don’t you come over here and make me?” he finished with a deliberate lick of his lips.

Oh yeah. Richie was awake now, all right. “Maybe I will…” he trailed off as he stood from the couch, and started to make his way to Eddie.

THUNK.

“What was that?” Eddie looked incredibly puzzled as he searched the room for the source of the noise.

Richie’s shoulders tensed almost painfully, as he glanced quickly up at the ceiling in a silent prayer to whatever cosmic power was hellbent on pissing him off today. “Oh, fuck no,” he halted his strides toward Eddie, and instead turned to the source of the dreaded noise: the fireplace. There was a rather large acorn now sitting on the floor in front of it, and Richie could hear the faintest scratching of tiny nails on the inside of the brick chimney.

Without saying another word, Richie crossed the living room to his and Eddie’s bedroom — the only bedroom in the tiny, one story house — despite Eddie’s rapid fire questions, only to re-emerge in the doorway a few seconds later with his handy-dandy sledgehammer.

“What the fuck?” Eddie looked a mix of confused and horrified. “Rich, why was the sledgehammer in our bedroom?”

Richie didn’t answer. Instead, like a man on a mission, he crossed over to the fireplace, kicked the unused decorative logs out of the way, and crouched down to climb into it.

“Richie. What the fuck?” Eddie repeated.

Richie only shook his head at him with a determined expression, before he attempted to climb up the chimney.

“Seriously? The chimney? What the hell are you doing? Why the hammer? RICHIE!”

The only answer Eddie got was muffled from between the bricks, “The squirrel can’t fucking win, Eds!”

“What?”

“If I let that squirrel beat me, I might as well hand your sweet ass over to it too, and no way in hell am I letting that happen!” Richie really did have a one-track-mind, and he was way too tired and too focused on destroying this pest to stop and explain the whole situation.

Eddie was more confused than ever. He always knew his boyfriend was fucking weird, but now he was convinced Richie had honest-to-God lost his mind.

A few more minutes of trying and failing to get an explanation out of Richie, and Eddie finally decided to just go to bed. Nevermind food or sex, he was suddenly way too fucking tired to be dealing with this whirlwind of shit. He headed for the bedroom, blissfully unaware of the impromptu reno-à-le-Richie that awaited him.

Richie had only just caught sight of the subject of his rage and insanity, when he heard Eddie from their room, so loud and startling that he jumped and almost smashed his head off the brick.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK RICHARD?!”

Richie gulped. Oh shit.

lmao well there u have it… i would never have guessed this would become one of my favourite fics ive written so far but i just had so much fun 

hope you’re happy ! (cause i am heheh)

#yeah that last line is a reference to that vine. u know the one #gracie writes #i tried to go to bed like an hour ago but #i've been thinking about this prompt since u sent it and #suddenly it hit me??? #so here we are #for once i rly do love this fic tho #don't ask me why #gracie answers #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fanfic #reddie fic #reddie fanfiction

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Five

Pairings: Bucky x Reader || Steve x Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to take his mind off you. Things don’t go as planned.

Warnings: Borderline smut (basically just some intense making out). Language, as usual.  I think that’s it....?

Notes: For @hellomissmabel’s challenge. I spent two hours or so writing this, instead of writing up my notes. Can you tell that I’ve got my priorities in check?

Also -- we’re a third of the way through the series, more or less! 

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky Barnes is very much conscious of the fact that his grave has already been dug. He’s now playing a waiting game, just hanging around, holding onto his will to live by the thinnest of threads. He’ll stick around until the final nail in his coffin is hammered into place and then—well. Then his worries will be gone, won’t they?

The nail-biting suspense consumes his every moment, hovering in the back of his mind like a pesky fly. No matter how hard he tries to shove the fear away, it always comes swirling back, stronger than ever. It’s all he can do to wait.

So he waits.

And waits.

And — goddammit when is Steve going to come and talk to him?!

It’s been nearly two weeks since Bucky decided to drink himself stupid in his bathtub and pour his heart out to Steve Rogers, aka the world’s most clueless best friend. Although a tiny part of Bucky is clinging to the hope — hah, hope. What a far-fetched concept — that Steve did not pay attention to Bucky’s drunken ramblings and has no idea who Bucky was talking about, a significantly larger part of him knows Steve. In fact, Bucky knows Steve better than Steve knows himself, sometimes. And if Bucky knows anything about Steve, it is that the man is smarter than appearances would imply. It’s tough to pull a fast one on him.

Which means that Bucky’s pretty sure that Steve knows that he was talking about you. Oh, who is he kidding? He wasn’t just talking about you, he was fucking professing his love for you. Bucky was essentially laying bare his heart and soul, spilling them all over the bathroom floor in vivid shades of love-struck red.

Bucky remembers the paralysing terror that gripped his muscles when he woke up the next morning and recalled the events of the night before. His memory of those couple of hours are fuzzy at best, tinged with the warm glow of alcohol-induced haziness, but he remembers the general gist of what was said and knows that it’s as convicting a piece of evidence as any. There’s no two ways about it; Bucky was referring to you.

Steve knows that Bucky has feelings for his girl.

What Bucky doesn’t know is why on earth Steve hasn’t approached him about it. It’s been over two weeks since the bathroom incident. In that time, Steve has carried on as normal, acting like nothing’s wrong between them. He’s behaving as if nothing’s changed, like everything’s right in the world. Then again, maybe Bucky’s just reading too much into the situation.

But because Steve has been going on with business-as-usual, he’s been dragging Bucky to the gym and out on runs at any given opportunity, trying to spend time together. Of course, Bucky wants to do anything but spend time with Steve — because really, why would he put himself through the torment of scrutinising every second, wondering when Steve will finally confront him — but he knows that avoiding Steve would come across as overly suspicious. Hence, although Bucky would much prefer hiding out in his room or some other, equally private and Steve-free place, he forces himself to plaster on fake smile after fake smile, laughing and swaggering around the place like nothing’s fucked up about him.

He’s terrified of what might happen if he were to stop pretending.

Maybe Steve wants Bucky to broach the topic. Or maybe, Steve is okay with sweeping the issue under the rug, pretending that it never happened, attributing it all to the looseness of tongue that comes from drinking a tad too much Asgardian mead. Bucky wouldn’t put that past him; in fact, pretending like it never happened in order to preserve Bucky’s pride sounds exactly like the kind of self-sacrificing thing that Steve Rogers would do.

Ah crap. He’s overthinking again.

Bucky is fully aware that he could put himself out of his misery if he just plucked up the courage and actually just talked to Steve, but therein lies the issue. Bucky doesn’t have courage. No matter what people say about him — he’s a coward at heart. Too afraid to tell you that he loved you and now, too afraid to come clean with Steve and potentially lose the trust of the only person who understands him in this strange new world.

Bucky wonders about a lot of things, but a thought that keeps on popping up is how Steve would react. Would he end his relationship with you so that Bucky could take his place? The two of you are pretty serious, so it’s a highly unlikely scenario, but still.

He’d like to think that there’s a chance.

He doesn’t deserve you, but Bucky wants you all the same. He doesn’t deserve you, but he wants to deserve you, wants to work his ass off to show you how much he cares. It’s conflicting, it’s confusing and it’s maddening enough that sometimes, all Bucky wants to do is ram his head against a wall. Several times. At full, no-holding-back, super-strength force. He’d bang his head several times, knock the thoughts of his head — or, y’know, knock himself out. Whichever came first.

It’s these kinds of thoughts that keep him up at night.

Bucky sighs heavily as he rolls onto his side and checks the clock he keeps on his bedside table. Seven minutes past five in the morning is an acceptable time to get up, no?  To be fair, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before — three hours, at a stretch — but then again, when does he ever get more than four hours of sleep a night, anyway? Nowadays, thoughts of you, thoughts of Steve and worries about his life in general are enough fodder for his brain to chew over, keeping him tossing and turning well into the quiet hours of the morning.

He needs a distraction.

A distraction of a particular kind. Bucky knows that it’d only be a temporary fix, will only take his mind off the hell that his life has become — take his mind off you — for a couple of hours if he’s lucky, but fuck. He needs it. He needs a break from the raucous cacophony that is the inside of his head.

With a weary sigh, Bucky heaves himself out of bed, pulls on a pair of sweatpants and yesterday’s t-shirt, then trudges out to the into the common area in search of her. If he’s lucky, she’ll be here.

Natasha never was one for sleep.

Sure enough, when Bucky enters the spacious living room that functions as the compound’s main lounge area, he finds Natasha curled up on the plush armchair in the corner, mug of coffee in one hand, legs tucked underneath her body and a book propped up on the armrest of her chair. She’s dressed in slim-fit black jeans and a striped grey hoodie, with a splash of red on her lips to match the fiery redness of her hair. It’s not uncommon for him to find her like this most mornings. The two of them hardly ever sleep through the night — in fact, Bucky’s fairly certain that she sustains herself entirely on power naps throughout the day — so they’ve developed a kind of amiable, if rather silent, morning routine around each other.

Bucky knows that she’s heard him come in, so that fact that she’s chosen to not acknowledge him is entirely on purpose. He flops into the the two-seater sofa directly opposite her and clears his throat.

“Natasha?”

Her gaze flicks up sharply, coming to rest on him. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as she studies him for all of two seconds, makes some sort of judgement in her mind and decides that Bucky is worth her attention. She lifts her mug to her cherry-red lips, poised to take a sip. Before she does, though, she arches an eyebrow inquisitively, as if to say go on, I’m listening.

Bucky licks his lips. “I need a favour,” he admits.

She makes a thoughtful humming noise, sips her coffee, then sets her mug and book down on the decorative side table to her left.

“Tell me more,” she replies.

———————

Amy is nice, by most people’s standards. More then nice, even. She’s got bleached-blonde hair that brushes her shoulders, a charming but not overtly-memorable face and a killer body, highlighted by the skin-tight blue velvet dress she’s wearing. Amy is kind enough to chuckle at Bucky’s half-hearted attempts at humour and is interesting enough to keep the conversation flowing easily.

He doesn’t know much about her background, only the barest details that Natasha thought would be useful to him. Bucky knows that she’s ex-SHIELD, went with Natasha on a couple of missions whilst the two were based in DC. Her skill-set meant that she got snatched up by a private security firm the moment SHIELD ceased to exist and now works as a bodyguard for high-level female clients. To be honest, Bucky doesn’t give a flying fuck about her background. All he cares about is the fact that she’s pretty, she’s sweet and she’s almost enough to take his mind off you.

Almost.

The waiter comes by at that moment, bottle of fancy red wine in one hand. He tops up their glasses and asks if everything’s alright.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Amy says, flashing him a polite smile.

She’s got nice teeth, Bucky notices absentmindedly. Takes care of her oral hygiene, he supposes. Good to know, given the fact that he’s probably going to get up-close-and-personal with her teeth in under an hour.

Sure, a part of him — the last remnants of James Buchanan Barnes, ladies-man of the 1930s — does feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of what tonight means. He’d been explicit with Natasha. He’d told her that he wanted a girl with a nice enough personality that he could stand having dinner with, and a nice enough body for him to fuck his way through his grief. It’s terrible of him, he knows this, but goddammit, how else is he supposed to give himself a break from thoughts of you?

To his credit, Bucky knows that Amy is under no illusions about what this evening is about. They’re going through the notions of dinner at a respectable restaurant just to make Bucky feel a little less terrible about himself; an attempt to pretend that chivalry is still alive and thriving. In reality, he and Amy know exactly where this night is headed: to her apartment. Possibly her bed, although Bucky’s not picky about where they do it. This is a fuck-date, through and through.

Bucky shifts in his seat and readjusts the rolled-up sleeves of his white dress shirt. Amy catches him fidgeting and raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow.

“D’you wanna stay for dessert, or would you rather have something at my place?” she asks, batting her eyelashes suggestively.

Bucky chuckles, decides to play along with her game. “What kinda dessert are you offering, ma’am?”

Amy laughs softly as she pushes around the remains of her pasta with her fork. “Well…I was thinking…something sweet?”

“I like sweet,” Bucky murmurs, spooning the last of his mushroom risotto into his mouth.

“Mmm, maybe we could even have dessert in bed,”.

“Now you’re talking my language,” Bucky chuckles, waggling his eyebrows knowingly. The corner of her lips crooks up into a half-smile. It’s settled, then. Bucky signals to the waiter, pays for the bill, then leads Amy out of the restaurant with a hand resting on the small of her back.

The cab ride to her apartment is blissfully short, no more than ten minutes. Amy drapes her body against Bucky’s side; a pleasant source of warmth. She keeps her hand on his thigh, idly stroking up and down the inner seam of his dark skinny jeans, starting from the inside on his knee and stopping just a fraction short of where his dick is. He knows she’s doing it on purpose, trying to rile him up and boy does it work.

Bucky exits the cab with his leather jacket folded over one arm and strategically held in front of his body, to hide the semi he’s got going on. He catches Amy’s eyes flickering over him, the tiny smirk on her lips; she’s clearly aware of the effect she’s having on him.

She knows what she’s doing when she exists the elevator first, walking a few steps of Bucky so that he can admire the sinuous curve of her back and the gentle swish in her hips as she walks down the corridor to her place. Bucky knows that she knows that he’s watching, knows that she’s probably exaggerating the sway of her hips for his benefit, but damn, she looks good in those heels. His dick presses up a little bit harder against the fly of his jeans.

Her apartment is neat and nondescript, largely devoid of any kind of personalised touches. It’s the home of someone who’s hardly ever home, lacking the decor and finishing touches that give a place a lived-in feel. Bucky kicks the door shut behind him and allows himself to be pressed to the wall. Amy leans in close, but pauses a hair’s breadth away from his lips, giving him one last chance for him to back out.

The room stills. Tension is fraught in the air. She’s close enough that Bucky can feel her hair tickling his stubbled cheek, can feel the warmth of her breath against his lips every time she exhales.

Tonight is not about backing out.

Bucky surges forward, cupping the back of her neck with his flesh hand as he crushes their lips together. Amy responds in kind, immediately catching onto the fact that tonight is not the night for gentle touches and tender caresses. Bucky wants it rough, wants it tinted with the red-hot filter of pain. He nips at her bottom lip and, when she moans heatedly, slips his tongue into her mouth, flicking it around teasingly. Amy huffs in frustration and fists her hands into the front of his shirt, using her grip to bodily yank him over to her sofa.

She pushes Bucky into the cushions and stands between his spread thighs. Bucky runs his hands up the backs of her legs, slipping them underneath her skirt and letting them rest just below the swell of her ass. Her hair is fluffy and slightly disheveled, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown with desire. She kicks her heels off then climbs into Bucky’s lap, shins bracketing the outsides of his thighs.

Amy’s close enough that Bucky can feel the heat radiating off her like a furnace. He leans into her touch as she trails her fingers down his cheek, humming in approval as she scratches her nails against the skin behind his ear. Amy licks her bottom lip coquettishly, cocks her head to the side and comes in close, brushing her lips against Bucky’s own.

Bucky feels like he’s been starved of touch as of late, so he lets his hands roam wherever they may go; kneading her ass, smoothing over her hips and trailing up her back. Amy’s nimble fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt as she presses her lips to his more insistently, deepening the kiss. Bucky closes his eyes and lets her tongue into his mouth, tries to lose himself in the moment, attempts to make the dissonant racket inside his head quieten down to ambient white noise.

As is to be expected, he fails.

Kissing Amy, drinking in her taste, feeling her up is all well and good but it’s not…it’s not you. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong, doing this. Bucky is conflicted. Her smell is wrong. It’s too flowery, too sweet, a far cry from the fresh, crisp scent of your skin. Perhaps that’s a good thing, he tells himself. But as much as Bucky tries to convince his mind that this is what he needs, he knows that in reality, he’s just lying to himself.

He doesn’t need Amy.

It’s not Amy’s laugh that makes his heart thrum a little bit faster. It’s not Amy’s touch that makes Bucky feel complete. It’s not Amy’s eyes that calm the storm that rages inside him.

He doesn’t need Amy. He needs you.

There’s a sinking feeling settling into the pit of his stomach, like someone’s dropped an anchor and is bringing tonight’s events to their premature end. With much reluctance and a heaving sigh, Bucky pushes hard against Amy’s shoulders and forces her to sit back in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” she asks breathlessly, raking her fingers through her hair to push it out of her face.

Bucky sighs again, smiles apologetically and scratches at his chin. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t do…this,” he mutters, using one hand to gesture in vague circles between them. “It’s not you…it’s me,” he says immediately, “Sorry. I—you’ve been great, but I just…can’t. M’sorry,”.

He braces himself internally for the slap. The rejection, disdain and disappointment. He is surprised when it does not come.

“There’s someone else, huh?” Amy murmurs, cocking her head to one side as her understanding dawns on her expression.

Bucky winces. “Um..kind of? I—yeah. It’s…it’s real complicated,”.

Amy exhales a breath of air in a rapid whoosh, nodding her head as she makes a disappointed clucking sound with her tongue. “Well. I kinda knew. I was expecting this, if I’m honest,”.

Bucky’s gaze snaps towards her. “You what?”

Amy shrugs. “Kinda had an inkling the moment I sat down at that table, Barnes. You weren’t in the right headspace for a hookup. Been reading the bad vibes off you this entire night — s’ kinda what I’m paid to do,” she says.

“Damn it,” Bucky grumbles, “I really was making an effort,”.

“Really?” Amy asks, the teasing lilt returning to her voice. “You call that makin’ an effort? You were a terrible kisser,”.

“Hey!” Bucky protests.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Amy chuckles, petting his cheek. “No, it’s fine, I was prepared for this to happen, so I’m not that disappointed, really,”

“Sorry,” Bucky says again; quieter, more sincerely this time.

She smiles gently, rests her hand against the side of his neck. “Don’t be sorry. I get it. I hope things work out for you, Bucky,”.

The right side of his lips twitches in a wan attempt at a smile. “Me too,” he breathes. Amy appraises him for a moment longer, then swings her legs off him and throws herself onto her couch, sprawling ungracefully across the empty space.

She lifts her head up slightly to look at him. “D’you wanna stay, or…?”

Bucky shakes his head ruefully as he does up the top buttons on his shirt and looks around for where his jacket’s been discarded. “I…think I’ll be heading back now, if it’s all the same to you,” he tells her.

Amy waves her hand dismissively, “Eh, the new season of Stranger Things is out, and I need to catch up on that anyway. It’s no big deal, for me,”. Bucky mentally thanks Amy for being so cool with all this. He needs to tell Nat to send her a thank-you present of some sort. Bucky stands up and retrieves his jacket from where it’s been dropped on the floor. He bunches it up in both hands as he chews on his lip and stands awkwardly in her entrance hallway.

“Something wrong?” Amy calls.

“This was…it was nice, Amy,” Bucky says, shooting her a half-smile, “I had fun, I really did. I’m sorry I…yeah. this was fun,”.

“It was,” she agrees, “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to take your mind off whoever this was. Must be one hell of a crush you got there, Barnes; most men find me irresistible when I’m grinding in their laps,”.

“I will admit, you almost had me, at one point,” Bucky laughs, as he shrugs on his jacket.

“Damn. I’m losing my touch,” she mutters.

Bucky chuckles as he turns the handle of her door. “Bye, Amy. Thanks for—everything,”.

“It was a pleasure. Have a good night, Bucky,”.

———————

It’s a clear night, so Bucky decides to get off the train a few stops early and walk the rest of the way to the compound. His rationale is that the crisp, slightly chilly night air will help to clear his mind.

He’ll take anything that has even the slightest chance of clearing his mind, at this stage.

Bucky can’t stop thinking about you. He’s in love and he’s suffering as a result. Every thought he has of you is bittersweet; you are his pleasure and his sole source of pain, his light and the very reason for the darkness threatening to consume him.

Bucky’s mind is a mess of emotions right now. His pissed off with himself, envious of Steve, frustrated with the universe and generally fed-up with how shit his life has become. He knows that the two of you aren’t together — you were never together in the first place — so he has no right to feel like this. Why should he feel protective and jealous and angered in a way that has his hands clenching into tightly-balled fists? Bucky has no right to feel this way, especially not when he factors Steve into the equation, but none of that — none of the rationalising of what is right and wrong and should and shouldn’t be — changes the fact that he does feel.

He feels too much.

Tonight was a bust. Bucky knows that he’s fully entitled to sleep with another woman. There’s no way you could’ve held that against him, what with you being in a committed relationship with Steve, and all. Even so, Bucky can’t help but feel that by sleeping with Amy, he would’ve been cheating on you, in some way. It’s utterly irrational, but fucking Amy would’ve felt dirty and sinful in all the wrong ways, like he’d be betraying your trust, somehow. He knows that that thought is complete nonsense, but it’s one that he can’t ignore.

That seems to be the recurring theme, Bucky notes. He knows. He knows this, he knows that, but the fact is, he knows. And yet, no matter what the logical part of his brain is telling him to do, Bucky never seems to be able to listen to it. It seems that his body is hard-wired to follow the instincts of his love-stricken heart, and look where that’s taken him.

In a way, he’s glad of the way the night’s turned out. Amy doesn’t deserve to be used that way, as if she were a means to an end. She’s more than just a temporary patch-up for a problem that has no solution. Bucky has fucked up a lot in recent weeks; he doesn’t need to go out of his way to make yet another mistake.

His feet have carried him to the gates of the compound without him even realising where he was going. Bucky taps his access code into the panel, lets FRIDAY scan his thumbprint and then makes his way up the gravel drive once the gate lets him through.

It’s just after midnight when he slips through the front door, so Bucky’s pretty surprised when he sees that the hallway light is still on. Most of the lights in the compound are operated via sensors, with FRIDAY automatically turning them off when no one’s in the room. Bucky catches the low thud of footsteps and—

—his breath catches in his throat.

“Heya, Bucky,” you chirp. You’re dressed in a pair of loose flannel pyjama pants and one of Steve’s t-shirts. A glass of water is in your hand.

“Hey,” Bucky croaks. God. How do you manage to make fucking pyjamas look sexy?

“Nat told me you went out tonight. Had fun?” you ask, eyes quickly taking in his outfit.

“Umm…yeah, it was okay, I guess,” Bucky murmurs distractedly, “Not the best night of my life,”.

“Hmm, well…” you let your voice trail off as you glance down the corridor, “I—um..I better…Steve’s waiting, I think,”.

Bucky’s eyes widen a fraction before he catches himself. “Oh. Yeah, yeah, sorry—didn’t mean to keep you,”.

“No, it’s fine!” you assure him, as you shuffle down the corridor, towards your room. “G’night, Bucky,”.

“Night,” Bucky replies.

Bucky doesn’t bother to add the ‘good’ because there’s nothing good about tonight. Not for him, at least.

————————- Tags are open (permanent and for AMUP), but I’m only accepting tag requests from asks or PMs. Replies/comments will be ignored. 

#annies2kbirthdaycelebration #bucky x reader #steve x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagines #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #a messed up place #my writing #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut

[dt-divided]

            Everything is red.

            He knows what this means. Knows what is going on, knows where this is going--he knows, he knows. But it's not like he can do anything. He can't will this to stop; he can't escape the Void's grasp. He is trapped; but as real as the wild beating of his heart feels, as authentic as the ache in his eyes is, he knows none of this is true. The darkness stretching out in all directions is not a real cage; the magic pulsing within his SOUL is not part of his reality.

            He is going to be fine. He just has to endure.

            That, however, is much easier said than done. As he wanders about in the emptiness that is his surroundings, floor and sky hidden deep within red-tainted shadows, he simply can't force himself to ignore that bubbling feeling in his stomach. He can't gloss over the laugh rolling up in his throat, can't shake off the disturbing tingling of his fingers.

            He can't overlook the fact that said fingers are clenching the hilt of a knife.

            And he can feel it. Oh, can he feel it. It's on his clothes; his skin; inbetween his fingers and under his nails. He can feel the roughness of it on his cheeks; his chin and even forehead. It is all over him. Yet as disgusted as he is, he knows he can't wipe himself clean--because monster dust sticks on the skin like glue, because whoever dares lay hands on such innocent creatures deserves to have their sins cover up every inch of their skin, because they do not deserve to display clean flesh anymore.

            For they are no longer human, but a monster.

            Yet the sight of the dust does not faze him. The sight of his mistakes does not trigger the usual twist of guilt in his stomach; the sting behind his eyes.

            No. It merely manages to elicit something else from him. Even in this emptiness, where his only company are the shadows and his thoughts, his fingers are still tingling; mind is still racing.

      Even when he has lost seemingly everything, he is still hungry.

         And part of him--the conscious part of him--hurts.

     Sore legs resume pushing on. One after the other, they continue forward. Unyielding.

         Yet the blazing red heart that is his SOUL is slowly crumbling.

            He doesn't want this--because he knows. He knows what happens, he's been here before, he has witnessed everything and he does not need a reminder. He wants to put his little walk into the unknown to a stop, he wants the hammering beating of his heart to slow, he wants the shadows to clear and he wants to  w a k e  u p--

            With a start, his wish is fulfilled.

            Vibrant red eyes snap open; terrified gaze lands on lightless ceiling. For a horrifying second, everything is still crimson--the walls, the shadows, the closet-- his eyes still ache and his heart feels ready to bounce right out of his chest--and all the fear, sickness and horror welled up in his throat grab this opportunity and escape as a tiny yelp.

            The layer of red vanishes instantly; irises revert back to their original hazel color. The teen lays flat on his back, drawing in deep breaths as he waits for the pain behind his eyes to subside. As he waits for his heart to calm down, as he raises a hand to brush brunet bangs out of his face.

            Palm is wet, yet clean of that rough layer of grey.

            No dust. No knife. No magic.

            Everything is okay.

#not open #drabble #ʰᵃˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵈᵒᶦⁿᵍ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ. ʰᵒⁿᵉˢᵗ! ( frisk ) #(( idk inspiration just randomly hit and i wanted to write a nightmare B) #he has those so often that upon waking up he's just 'oh ok so that happened' #he'll be fine lmao )) #long post

[areswriting]

a x e : viiii

“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez toi, Elise?” I say, my hands still up in full surrender. “Where is this coming from?”

“What’s wrong with me?” she shouts, stepping closer and pushing herself onto the tip of her toes. She grabs my hands and throws them down. “Maybe it’s the fact that you just slept with me—and now you can’t even kiss me?”

She grabs my shoulders and gives them a hard shove. “What was that, huh? Just another one of your stray tricks? Another drunken mistake?”

She goes for a second shove, but I snatch her wrists. “Really,” I say. “You’re going to go back to calling me a stray, yet wonder why I don’t want to kiss you? Let me count the reasons, Elise!” I don’t mean to shout—but the anger pulsating through me makes it hard to control myself.

“Fuck you, Abram!” she screams, fighting against my iron grip around her wrists. “You were a mistake! And not just for me. Your own father doesn’t want you—I’m surprised your mother didn’t just abort you. She would have been better off!”

I let go of her wrists by throwing them against her body and she stumbles back in the slightest—and my fist collides against the closest thing to me—the wall.

“Oh, are you mad?” Elise says, stepping toward me. “Is it because you killed her?”

I turn toward her, knuckles bloodied, fist drawn back. My arm shakes and my finger nails dig into my palm.

“You going to hit me now?” she says, like it’s a dare.

“Get the fuck out,” I scream.

“Make me,” she screams back, her face only inches from mine.

“What is going on?”

Elise and I look toward the door way to see a frightened Gigi staring at us with her hand over her heart. We are no longer alone—before either of us can speak, Cerise and Malachi appear behind my grandmother.

Anger turns to fear and I look at the wall to see a hole in the shape of my fist. My hammering heart feels like it’s in my throat as I reluctantly look back at the three of them.

“Elise?” says Cerise. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Cerise, darling,” says Malachi, “I’m sure this is Abram’s fault.”

“You would,” says Gigi. “It sounded like a lover’s quarrel to me.”

Cerise scoffs. “Elise, it’s time for bed. Now.”

While Elise walks into her mother’s outstretched arm, and the two disappear into the hallway, Malachi steps into my room. I instinctively take a generous step back.

“Go back to bed, mother,” says Malachi. “I can handle this.”

Gigi gives me a look and says, “If I hear anything else in this house tonight, I’m calling the police.”

Malachi shuts the door in her face. I take another step back.

“You remember how this went last time, right?” Says Malachi as he twists a large gold ring around his left middle finger. “You make a noise and I break each of your fingers, one at a time?”

My heart drops into my stomach and I brace myself for the impact.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

My stomach growls loudly and I close my eyes, teeth gritted, trying like hell to fight off the hunger pangs that have been hitting me in waves for the last eight hours. Malachi said that if I left my room, I would pay. I try not to think about what he might do to me now that we’re alone, after what he’s done to me at school, and in a house full of people.

I even had to ignore Gigi when she knocked on my door this morning to say goodbye. I’m not sure who that hurt worse. Her, or me.

Unable to bare the emptiness in my stomach any longer, I pull myself out of bed, and stagger to my bathroom. I turn the cold water on in the sink and take several large gulps, and all I taste is iron. I look in the mirror, my right eye is swollen shut, and my face is spotted with dried blood. I grab a wash cloth and turn on the hot water, ready to wash this memory down the drain, when I get an idea. I grab my phone and take pictures. Of my eye, of my face, of my ribs. Of every part of me that Malachi Rose touched. Because maybe I would be better off in the foster system.

I decide to take a shower and I stay under the water until it starts to run cold, then get dressed and gather my things.

A knock on my door makes me jump and I nearly trip over my luggage when a dishevelled Jason rushes into my room. I look him over—his t-shirt is ripped, his lip is busted, and his nose is stained with blood. I don’t have to ask what happened—but I can’t help but wonder what he did.

“I thought you left,” I say.

Jason shakes his head. “Elise asked me to come back with her, but I couldn’t leave you here. I knew he got you when Gigi said you didn’t answer when she was leaving. He got me as soon as the girls left.”

“For what?” I say.

“For staying,” he replies, shrugging. “He told me not to leave my room, but I heard him leave a few minutes ago. We don’t have long.” He looks down at my luggage and nods his head. “Ok, you’re packed. I am, too. I just need to put on a new shirt.”

My eyebrows crease together—“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I told Gigi—she called once she landed in Los Angeles and got us plane tickets,” he explains. “But we have to be out of here before he gets back or we won’t eat until Monday.”

“What?” I say, following him out of my bedroom. “You told Gigi what? And tickets to where?”

“I told her, Abram,” he says. “And she got us plane tickets to Boston, the flight leaves at eleven so we have to hurry.”

“Boston?”

“Oh my God,” he says, exasperated. “She said you’d have connections there, and if not she’ll book us a hotel room.”

“Bon dieu! I’m sorry,” I bite back. “I’m fighting my second concussion this month, things are a little fuzzy.”

Jason sighs and turns to face me. “Look, I’m sorry—it’s just, we really need to go. Grab your stuff, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I nod and we both turn and walk in opposite directions. I finish putting my things away and send a group text to Ellie and Brody, asking for a ride from the airport. When I hit send I notice a message symbol at the top of the screen and I tap on it.

New message: Sylvia

S: Are you sure it was a mistake, Abram?

I read it three times and I still see Abram.

K: I’m sorry…why are you calling me Abram?

(message read)

Knowing I don’t have the time (or the energy) to fight with Sylvia, I lock the screen and put my phone in my pocket. Within ten minutes Jason and I are leaving Malachi’s penthouse—and I hope neither of us have to come back.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

Jason and I grow close over the next two days, as I show him around Boston with Ellie (who had to be physically stopped and restrained from calling to make a police report on Malachi once she saw the state of us) and Brody (who did everything he could to take our minds off of it). We visit my mother’s grave, eat at my favorite pizza place, and get way too drunk. And he feels more like a brother than I ever imagined he could.

Sunday comes too soon and we take a bus back to Middlebury, coming up with a cover story for how we ended up looking the way we do. We decide to say we got into another fist fight and that it settled the bad blood between us.

Silence looms between us, with Jason staring down at his phone, smiling. I look at the screen and see Elise’s name at the top of the thread and I try to force the bile back down my throat.

I tap the screen on my phone, surprised to see a message from Sylvia—but even more surprise to see an Instagram message from lislaire.

My thumb hovers over the alerts as I waver for a moment before finally deciding to open Elise’s message first.

lislaire: Jason told me everything. Are you okay?

kempe: I look like shit, but I’m okay.

kempe: Are you? Okay?

lislaire is typing…

lislaire: no, I don’t think I am, Abram.

lislaire: Can we talk when you get here?

kempe: of course. Meet me where we watched the stars?

lislaire: tell me when.

I close out of the conversation, then go to my text messages, and Sylvia’s name is at the top of the list.

S: You told me your full name before.

I press my fingers against the keyboard.

K: I don’t recall ever telling you I had Abram anywhere in my name, and why did it take you two days to respond?

S: It was a long time ago lol. You did. I promise and I lost my phone during Black Friday shopping.  

K: No, I’d remember that. And that’s weird, because you’ve been updating your Instagram with poetry

K: Are you sure you don’t go to Middlebury Academy?

S: 100% sure, and I used my mom’s until I could get mine back.

K: Oh, so you lost your phone while shopping and found it today?

(message read)

K: Look, Syl, I’ve been through a lot this weekend could you just be real with me?

(message read)

K: Fine.

▲ △ ▼ ▽

kempe: I just put my stuff in my room, I’m heading there now.

I find my way to the spot by the lake and I’m surprised to see Elise already sitting there on a blanket, with another blanket draped around her shoulders. I don’t say anything as I approach her. She doesn’t say anything as I sit down, and for a while we sit in silence that is punctuated only by the sounds of nature.

I feel her eyes graze the side of my face and I turn my head away, as to hide my swollen eye and the deep purpose that surrounds it.

“Oh mon Dieu, Abram,” she says softly. I feel her hand on my left cheek as she gently turns my head back toward her. “He did this to you because of me.”

I lean into her palm and look at her face, and that’s when I see the tears in her eyes. “No,” I say. “He did this because it’s ingrained in him.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, parting her lips to speak again but I interrupt her.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I am my father’s son. You see that, don’t you?”

She shakes her head gently. I laugh silently, grimacing as my ribs throb with pain.

“You’re not him, Abram,” she says. “You’re nothing like him.”

“He hurt Jason, too,” I say.

“I know,” she says.

I bow my head and sigh. “But you’re here with me instead.”

I look up at her and turn my body toward hers.

“What are we doing, Elise?” I ask, defeated.  

#ae #my writing

[ricardotomasz]

Such is life! Behold, a new Post published on Greater And Grander about Frida - Hispanic Heritage Month

See into my soul, as a new Post has been published on http://greaterandgrander.com/2017/09/frida-hispanic-heritage-month/

Frida - Hispanic Heritage Month

  The film Frida (2002) tells the story of the life and times of noted Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. It follows her from a small school girl (beginning on the first day she meets her husband, Diego) to her very old age, after she has achieved prominent status in Mexico and the art world. Throughout the film, the director, Julie Taymor, makes use of artistic reenactments of Frida’s work, to show both her mentality, and inspiration over her lifetime. The literary design of the film (opening with Frida’s sickness and decrepit body) makes the point that through great pain, comes great beauty, and that great sadness can produce great joy. It also incorporates and utilizes the artistic reenactments of her life by making the point that art was not only her vehicle for self-expression during the traumatic moments of her life, but also the beauty in her life that gave her the joy, strength, and resolve to carry on where others would wither up in depression.

The narrative is presented as a progression of time and emotions from Frida’s point of view. It involves flashbacks, in the way we see Frida in the very beginning as an old and fragile woman, and then we go back to her days in school. The entire story is a flashback, which is often done with bio-pics and doc-u-dramas to show why this person is important. However, this device is used differently in Frida. In the first scene, Frida’s truck hits a boulder, and she seethes in pain. This is not a pointless occurrence, because it makes us sympathize with her while also informing us of her fragile state of health, and draws the audience more into the film’s grasp.

One of the unique strengths of Frida is that it does not follow the classic guidelines of Biopics and DocuDramas. Whereas most directors might have told a film about: Frida’s many lovers; the important achievements of her life; and delved into her “complex and tortured” psyche, this interpretation always goes back to her interaction with her husband Diego, while glancing over her important accomplishments. This creates a unique effect by placing importance on the emotional, rather than the factual. It allows us to care more for the lead character, instead of simply drawing her as a caricature, so that when Frida is in pain and suffers defeats, we feel for her. It also puts more of an emphasis on the complex coexistence between sadness and beauty by focusing on the emotional state of the main character. For example, in the aftermath of the trolley scene when we see Frida impaled, we aren’t just observing the incident; there is a physical reaction to the sight. This only happens because we have spent the previous ten minutes learning about Frida and identifying with her. Also, just before Frida goes to her exhibition near the end, she fights with Diego and the doctor whether she can go or not because she is in such poor health. However, in the end she not only goes to her exhibition, but is carried in like a queen. She has overcome her poor health, and in fact receives this royal entrance because of her poor health, so from great pain, comes great beauty. In addition, although this is a humorous entrance, we aren’t laughing at the sight, but routing for her, and applauding her determination and accomplishment. It also adds a great sense of joy to her life even though there is much tragedy in it, by making the point that she always did what she loved, and lived life to its fullest. This involves us in her life much easier, and causes us to identify with her as a human being and not just a famous artist.

The trolley accident itself also makes the point that great beauty comes from great pain, both as a piece of literary design, but also as an event within itself. Immediately after the accident, the director gives us a high-angle shot on Frida’s body where she has been covered in gold, and she is actually quite beautiful. It is only after a moment that we realize she has been impaled on a metal rod. From a literary design perspective, this one incident permeates every other event of the story. She can’t climb the steps to meet Diego when she goes to ask him about her paintings. She can’t give birth because she can’t bare the pain from her scars and wounds, and the one child she does try to have results in a miscarriage. The accident also results in the loss of her foot when it becomes infected with gangrene. However, all these events resulted in her creating artwork, all of which corresponded to the difficulties she was having at that time. Henceforth, the pain and sadness of the trolley resulted in her artwork.

The artistic reenactments of Frida’s works are often tied in with the moments of pain and tragedy of Frida’s life, making a much more literal association with beauty and sadness. For example, after Diego loses his job in New York, Frida sits in a bath and sees King Kong falling from the top of the Empire State Building. This is a reference to a movie she created in her head earlier in the film, where Diego was King Kong and he was climbing the Empire State Building. She later turns this scene into a mural, and from Diego’s unhappiness created a beautiful painting. Another example is when Frida is told her foot needs to be amputated. Her mind retreats into a fantasy world where her metal spine is cracked in several places and nails are hammered into her skin. The picture gradually dissolves into a painting that Frida is working on, and the figure of herself sheds real tears on the canvas. This shows that Frida’s back has been broken and this is the last straw that broke the camel’s back. However, this image is still aesthetically beautiful, despite how emotionally painful the situation is. We also often see a direct correlation between Frida’s own emotional downfalls, and the inspirations of her artwork. After Frida’s trolley accident, her boyfriend Bernardo tells her he is leaving for Europe and the two will never see each other again. In the middle of the conversation, Frida begins drawing a butterfly on the shoulder of her caste. This is the first sign of Frida’s artistic ability and desires. It is also the first sign that she retreats to art when she is in physical or emotional pain. This therefore begins the pattern that out of great pain comes great beauty and this theme carries on throughout the film. She draws and paints furiously to the point that she runs out of room on her caste, and her father gives her a piece of canvas and a painting table so she can work lying down. She continues to paint through her recovery process, and it is in the scene where she is painting a portrait of her sister that she walks for the first time to her parents. This emphasizes that the beauty in her life came from the pain in her life. Her painting began because of the accident and her boyfriend leaving her, and her joyous recovery is caused by her painting. Another example is after her miscarriage, Frida demands that she see the fetus. She carefully looks at this torn and mangled creature in front of her, and the first thing she does is draw a painting of it.

The film’s plot is classical, and the action is propelled by the interaction between Frida and her husband Diego Rivera. The characters are the film because the narrative of the story revolves around how Frida’s life is affected by her husband. She may follow her own passions in what she does with her life and her art, but her passions are often tied to Diego. Even at the very beginning, Frida’s first interest in art stems from Diego. She meets Diego as a young child, in one of the earliest scenes in the film as he is painting a mural on her school’s wall. She later goes back to the mural staring at it in starry-eyed fascination, and is also one of the last things she does before her life is changed by the trolley accident. We therefore see almost a Pavlovian association within the film and within Frida’s character: she sees a beautiful work of art (which was created by Diego); she gets on the trolley and experiences pain and suffering; her life falls to shambles and she resorts to art to comfort her; the first thing she does after she recovers is go to Diego for his critique and approval. Therefore, without Diego Frida would have no drive within her life, and there would be no movie. Also, without Diego, Frida would not suffer so much. Throughout their relationship and marriage, Diego cheats on her many times with many different women. This constantly tortures Frida, especially when she finds out that she cheated on Diego (in order to get back at him) with someone he had already slept with. Finally, she divorces him when he sleeps with her sister, and she takes him back in the end. The emotional torture never stops, Frida even says, “There have been two big accidents in my life Diego: the trolley and you. You are by far the worst.” However, from each of these incidents comes a new work of art from Frida’s brush. The pain from Frida’s relationship with Diego causes many of her artistic works. After Frida leaves Diego, she begins a surge of painting and creativity. She paints canvas, sculptures, and even paints on walls, and transforms herself to look like a man. She only does this after Diego has left her and humiliated her. In her conversation with Lupe, she says she is determined to sell some of her paintings for a living. This is the determination through her artwork that she found in defeat.

Because Frida Kahlo tried to distinguish herself as a Mexican artist, another important attribute of the film is the way director Julie Taymor tried to tie Frida and Mexican culture together as one character while utilizing the overall theme. One way she did this was by having a crucial scene when Frida is showing Trotsky the Mayan temples, and Frida shares with him the pains of her life. “At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.” Trotsky then says, “That’s what I loved about your paintings, that they carry that message. You said that no one would care about them, but I think you’re wrong. Because your paintings express what everyone feels: that they are alone, and in pain.” This crystallizes the whole point of the film, that no matter how bad things get, we can always survive them, and gather strength from them. Trotsky not only compliments her abilities as a talented artist, but says that her paintings carry the important message of pain and loneliness. Another important use of motif is the dream sequence after the trolley car accident, in which Frida is in the hospital, but sees all the doctors and nurses around her as Mexican skeleton dolls. She is in agonizing pain and has been virtually torn apart by this accident, but the dream sequence has children’s puppets to represent the doctors.

In conclusion, one of the most revealing moments of the film’s meaning is the very end when the title is shown, “I hope the exit is joyful and never to return.” Frida. This only reaffirms that Frida’s life was sad, but in the end a small model of her bursts into flames, a final statement of Julie Taymor’s, that the exit was joyful, despite the sad residence.

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