#just be cordial and not fucking awful about it please

[sanakimohara]

This is my second ever ask in my 10 years of having Tumblr so please let me know if I’m saying this wrong or if this is rude 😅 but please could you do a felix or chan incredibly insanely darkly jealous a lot of breeding kink and rutting and c8ck dumb reader 😮‍💨😅😅 pretty please

“UNDER THE INFLUENCE” L. F.

Awe well I am honored to be your second ask here on tumble. I think I'll take Felix on this one...give him a bit more love in my post stream..

{ MDNI }

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Today was not supposed to end like this. You had no intention of being in a room alone with him -especially while you both were ‘working’- but here you are. Trembling and writhing as Felix had his fill of you.

It was a miracle that your makeup wasn’t smudged; thankfully, your hair wasn’t too messed up from its original wet and wavy look. No matter how many times Felix ran his fingers through it or if you pressed your head against the thin walls as shrouds of ecstasy hit you, it stayed modestly neat.

One less giveaway of what the two of you were getting up to in his dressing room.

“Felix…F-Felix th-that’s enough….Ahm!” You groan as quietly as possible, trying hard to not let anyone outside the room hear how amazing it feels to have your cunt devoured like there was no tomorrow. The blonde completely ignored your demand, swirling his tongue in quicker circles around your clit before delving into your dripping entrance.

He’d been at it for the past ten minutes at least, never letting you pull your hips away from his oddly rough grip, keeping your legs wide open as you sat on the -previously organized- makeup vanity. You felt terrible about doing such inappropriate things with a man you swore you’d never met all day.

All fucking day.

You’d refused to admit that Felix was your significant other to make the photo shoot between you and a male model less awkward. A small sacrifice you were both used to driving to keep your relationship concealed and stable, but for one reason or another, Felix felt a simmering rage when he heard you deny your ties to them.

He hated it so much that he’d been less approachable and friendly for the better part of the day.

The staff noticed Felix’s change, whispering about how on edge he was on and off camera-cordial to everyone like always- but noticeably annoyed. You’d seen it too, very concerned he wasn’t feeling well and convinced just checking on him during the staff hour-long lunch break wouldn’t do any harm to anyone.

Everyone except you.

Felix was not above taking his growing frustrations out on you. The instant you shut his dressing room door, he’d covered you, hands preemptively inching the bodice of your silk skirt to touch your bare skin underneath as he placed one fiery kiss on your lips after another. “Stop letting him touch what’s mine, angel,” he whispers into your parted lips, drinking in the immediate whimpers you let out in return.

“You can’t be serious, Lix. More than half of the shoot requires us to “

He rolled his eyes, smirking in disbelief at your attempt to reason with him, “Does it look like I fucking care. Either keep his hands off you, or I’ll ensure it myself.” The rare sight of anger adorned Felix’s gentle features, voice a rumbling whisper, and the combination propelled you into subspace within seconds. He was never this openly possessive. He’d pout or sulk if you didn’t give him attention occasionally, but this…

This was new.

It made you nervous under his gaze, rendering you speechless as he hugged you close, lips reconnecting to your own in another sequence of tender kisses as he walked you backward into the vanity. Your exposed back hit the mirror with a soft ‘thud’ and you flinched away from it. Felix brought you close to him, letting his warmth resolve your shivering and trailing his hands over the intricate details of your artistic bralette.

You pulled away, smiling proudly as Felix took a moment to admire your decorated breasts, eyes darkening with desire as you leaned back with a knowing smile on your face. “Like what you see, Liz?” You tease him, giggling softly as you turn your head to look at him through the reflection. He nods slowly, tongue poking one of his cheeks as he snakes an arm around your waist, closing the tiny gap between you two and effectively spreading your legs to frame his waist.

“You know I do, angel. Always will…” he mutters adoringly, placing a trail of heated kisses along your neck, shoulder, and finally, the curve of your breasts. He groaned in displeasure as he realized the material was intricately clasped, making it a hassle to remove and one less place on your body for him to play with.

Felix solves the dilemma quickly, licking a long stripe over each one before nipping at your skin until barely visible bruises are raised on your skin. Your face burned hot, lust seeping to panic as he marked what he knew to be his, and though it felt amazing, you knew he was inching you both towards exposure.

“Lix, please don’t…they’ll see those…mm,” you bit back a moan as he made another affliction, purposefully making it noticeable. You flinched against him, hands flying to claw into his shoulders, “That’s enough…” you moaned into his ear. The demand lost its edge as it slipped off your tongue, concern becoming a blur as Felix tangled a hand in your hair, pulling it so you had no choice but to let him stain your skin with as many love bites as he pleased.

Your brows knitted together as each one became more intense than the last, the arm around your waist holding you flush against him, adding to the mind-numbing pleasure he was inducing.

You tried one last time to reason with him, stuck in thralls of heat and logical thinking, “Felix…th-“

He cut you off immediately, devoid of any sympathy for your plight, and his authoritative tone made that abundantly clear.

“I don’t care,” he retorts, and you whine in response, “..But I do.”

Felix laughed dryly, inwardly amused by your signature pout but unsympathetic with your reasoning. “You shouldn’t,” he replies softly, bringing his hands to caress your face. You stared up at him lovingly, leering into his touch as he pecked your lips, the subtle hums of approval thundering in his chest, building the pool of heat in your core.

“I know, Lix….” You murmur into the kiss, feeling his hands drop to your thighs, giving them light-handed squeezes. You subconsciously roll your hips to get his touch closer to your dripping cunt. He smiles against your lips, chuckling at your eagerness and immediately giving in to you.

“Desperate little angel, aren’t we?” He teased you, discreetly slipping the many rings off his fingers as you nodded your head and let out a breathless “mhm” in response. Felix shifted your silky skirt to the side, draping the fabric off of your legs as he cupped your mound with one hand. He bit his plush bottom lip as your hips bucked into his hold. A sheer thong was the only thing keeping your soaked folds away from him, and he remedied the obstacle by pulling it to the side.

“Fuck…” you hiss as the cool air hits your exposed cunt, slick going ice cold as Felix prodded to skilled fingers past your entrance. “It’s a miracle you don’t have cum running down your leg, love. It must be so hard walking around this wet for me, yeah?” His voice carried so much weight, doubling down on your own pleasure as he fingered you at the slowest pace possible.

You were at a loss for words, thoughts, or any coherent reaction as he curled his fingers forward to hit your sweet spot. Felix wanted a verbal answer, not just the satisfying gratification your moans brought him, “Need to hear you, angel..or I’ll stop.” You shake your head in displeasure, blushing heavily as you rush a reply, words slurring into excited whimpers.

“Y-yes…s-Ahm….fuck Lix…y-yes you’re right….”

“Good girl…” he whispers, pumping his fingers faster and pressing your clit with the pad of his thumb. You yelp quietly, whining curses as a familiar tightening ramped up in your stomach, and you clenched around his fingers as a result.

Felix groaned vicariously, smirking wildly before withdrawing his hand. “N-no! Lix, please!” You nearly shout in agony at the loss of fullness, ready to cry as he drops to his knees, faking a frown as he comes face to face with your glittering core. “You’re being awfully loud for someone who doesn’t want to get caught, love.” His warm breath fans the slick entrance as he speaks, putting you in a daze that intensifies when he flicks his tongue against you.

“Don’t care anymore…jus’ wanna cum,” you mewl as he focuses on the task at hand, finding the rhythm to taste you with his tongue perfectly and urging you to cum in his mouth with every deliberate action.

His blonde hair tickled your thighs, low moans sending vibrations through you in waves and heightening the toll your climax took on you.

Felix refused to stop until your cunt was all he’d be able to savor for the rest of the day. You nearly fell forward on him in a state of elated exhaustion as he stood back up and kissed you deeply. Your eyes slid shut as the creaminess of your release and his spit seeped down your throat, a wanton moan spilling from you both as his tongue danced with yours, and your hands traveled up to grip his hair.

“Careful…” he grunts, the sound giving way to an altered whine. You pull the blonde strands harder, lips connecting to his jawline and making your own mark on his tan skin. He reaches for his belt, glad his outfit wasn’t nearly as complicated as your own, and a sigh of relief comes out as a sharp exhale through his nose the moment his cock springs free.

You smile against his skin, eyes trailing down to get a view of it, “You’re such a hypocrite,” you taunt him. Amused to see how affected Felix was by the mere thought of another man laying his hands on you.

He groans, muttering a semblance of disagreeable words before shoving you back with gentle force. The conjoined feeling of the cold mirror hitting your heated skin and the instantaneous contact of his throbbing shaft gliding up and down your glittery folds has your back arching as ripples of pleasure course through you.

Felix drops his head to the crook of your neck, a few strands of his hair ghosting your skin as he places featherlight kisses. “Lix..” you mumble lowly, unable to think straight as he breathes in your scent, his hands grazing down your spine as he does.

“Promise me he won’t touch you again,” he whispers in your ear, his hips pausing, the tip of his cock inching into you ever so slightly. You whined loudly, head lulling back as your brows furrowed in frustration, one hand slipping from his tousled hair to clasp around his throat. Every breath he took raised his Adam’s apple, your thumb gingerly baring down the muscle as you shook your head slowly.

“I can’t..please don’t make me,” you plead for a compromise, but Felix disregards the refusal, pushing into your cunt inch by inch, torturing the both of you with the long-awaited security your fluttering walls would impose on him. “Yes, yes you can…you will. Promise me, sweetheart. Open your pretty mouth and swear to me that you’re all mine..” Felix shifted between pleading and demanding, eyes flickering from your expression of pure ecstasy as he sunk all the way into you to the space where you two connected.

A train of thought no longer existed for you as he pulled out slowly, slamming back so harshly that the vanity quivered from the subtle force. Your mouth fell open, eyes rolling in earnest bewilderment the rougher Felix got. “Fucking answer me…,” he groans, burying his cock in you, and refusing to move until you stuttered out a response.

Work be dammed. Telling some random guy to keep his hands to himself for the next few hours paled in comparison to your need to cum….and was honestly a task you’d do whether Felix was coercing it out of you or not.

So, as much as you cared for professionalism…it’d have to take a backseat to whatever emotion he was dragging you into now.

“I. I promise it won’t happen again…I promise, Lix…” You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, past the point of modesty and clinging to Felix for dear life as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. Your chest pressed into his, the intricate details on your bra chilling his burning skin and prompting him to hold you there with an arm snaking around your waist.

He fisted the sheer material of your skirt, almost ripping through it as he tugged it higher, nails digging into your skin possessively, and you winced in pain as he brought his lips to your ear again. “Hm, does it hurt, angel?” He asks, feigning concern, and the contrast of the sweet gesture amid brutality made your head spin endlessly. “Y-yes,” you huffed as a moan built in your throat, quickly slipping out as he shifted one of your legs up and around his lean waist. The adjusted angle drew a surprised cry from you, cunt gripping every ride and vein of his cock as he took advantage of the position. He was bruising your sweet spot with an intensity and speed you’d never experienced before.

Felix was generally endearingly romantic and rarely this aggressive with you. Seeing, well, witnessing this side of his character was an edge for you on its own.

You were surprised that you managed to hold out this long without cumming and even more taken aback by the steady stream of arousal pooling on the vanity beneath you. Felix noticed it too, cock twitching inside you as pride flooded his system, “You’re making such a mess, pretty girl… does it feel that good?” He grinned triumphantly when you nodded without hesitation, hips rolling to meet his thrusts at an even pace for as long as possible.

“Gorgeous, so…fucking gorgeous..” he praises your every reaction, running a hand down the expanse of your torso, stopping to press down where you could feel his cock the most. You blushed as the applied pressure emphasized exactly where Felix was inside you.

The coil in your core teetered on the verge of snapping, your hands disappearing underneath the hem of his designer dress shirt, and your manicured nails scratched into his toned torso. The simple action caused Felix to buck his hips and wrap his free hand in your hair as he brought you into an open-mouthed kiss. It was sloppy, void of any decency, as the both of you chased your high at the expense of the other.

You clawed at his skin, moaning louder as the knot in your stomach begged to loosen for the third time in a row. He stared into your dreamy gaze, reading the warning in them as he held your head close to his.

Felix wanted nothing more than to etch this very moment into your mind for the rest of the day -your life. The thought of you walking around, filled to the brim with his cum as you posed for one picture after the next plagued his conscious, and undid the last link of reason for him.

“Fuck this,” he snapped, brows furrowing with determination as he pulled out of you, and slid you off the vanity to bend you forward on it instead. Thankfully, you caught yourself in time, too dazed to stop him from kicking your legs apart, and reentering you from behind. “Felix…” you groan exasperatedly, shuddering as his cock stretched your cunt with ease, causing a thin drip arousal to slide down your inner thighs.

The blonde leaned over you, a hand resting on the curve of your back as he returned to his pace from earlier. Sweat starts to build on his tan skin, a concentrated expression adorning his angelic features as he pounded into you.

Blank.

Your mind was entirely blank the longer he bullied his cock against your sensitive womb and the tension mounting in your body multiples exponentially as he lowered himself to speak in your ear lowly.

“This is where you belong, angel. Just like this, with me, an no one else understand?”

You nodded weakly, fighting back tears as the urge to cum from the sound of his voice tempted you.

It’d only take one more possessive word from him -paired with that salacious smile on his face- to unravel you. Felix was at his end, too, eyes sliding close as the precision of his thirst became a tenuous blur.

“You think he’d use you this well, love?” He slurs the question, unintentionally pulling your hair as he snaps his hips harder. “No…”you sigh deliriously, reaching a hand to run through his hair and bring him in for a heated kiss, while the other latched against the mirror to hold you steady under his weight as the knot in your core spiraled loose.

“That’s it….angel, fuck, you feel so good…” Felix doesn’t even try to be discreet, zoned in on the way your cunt gushes on his cock, greedily taking the hot ropes of cum he releases. Oxygen alludes to you for a few seconds, an overbearing heat rushing through you and your body quivering in the aftershock.

You looked divine. Unreal even. That pleased smile on your lips as you giggled shamelessly only added to the glow you emitted in your shared highs.

“He won’t touch me again, Lix..” you panted softly, smiling more expansive as you clung to him tiredly and laid your head on his shoulder.

He understood then. Why he’d felt so stricken with jealousy over you the whole day. Yes, he loved you, but the underlying notion that no one else knew it angered him.

What good would it do him not to try and claim you, at least? If fucking you into the bliss of oblivion was what needed to be done….he could make that sacrifice.

Felix kissed the top of your head, grinning as you whined defeatedly as he shifted his hips to settle his cock further into you, “See, that wasn’t so hard to agree to, now was it, love?”

You pout, raising your head to glare at him playfully, “No….but now the stylists will have to cover me in two layers of foundation!”

Felix raised a brow, gently rolling his hips into again, and you melted underneath him at the overstimulation. “Who said we were done, angel?” He asks, smiling at your fucked out reflection shifting to a look of desperation. You opened your mouth to say something but the words died in your throat, replaced by a broken moan as he gradually pumped his length past your tender walls, spreading his cum over them, and edging you both to another round.

This was not how your day was supposed to go, but there was no fight left in you, and certainly not enough left to refuse being stuffed full with Felix’s cum for the next thirty minutes.

Felix chuckled at the sight of you accepting your fate, subconsciously rocking your hips back to meet his, and welcoming the oncoming warmth of his accumulating releases.

Maybe making him jealous could be your new favorite hobby….

++++++++

This one was fun. I'm kind of proud of how it came out too....my editing is getting better hehe.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Credits to owner 🖤 FYI if I met him and he made a joke I’d start laughing the same way zendaya was cracking up everytime Tom holland opened his mouth….i mean how else am I gonna convince Felix he’s my soulmate lmao 🖤

#skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader #lee felix smut #lee felix scenarios #lee felix x reader #lee yongbok #lee felix stray kids #lee felix #felix yongbok #felix stray kids #stray kids felix #felix scenarios #felix smut #felix #skz yongbok #yongbok x reader #yongbokie #stray kids yongbok #felix hard thoughts #felix hard hours

[anisespice]

“ hate your boyfriend ” || tokyo rev.

two

synopsis: aw, your boyfriend hates when he’s around? good.

pairing: college!toman x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, toxic!toman, possessiveness, reader is sort of an enabler, implied cheating, slight angst for the partner (rip lol), open-ended, maybe a little unrealistic?? i think that’s it.

notes: there's just something about them knowing they're the shit & and can't nobody check them for it <333 i don't condone making your partner jealous/uncomfy in real life...but i be kicking my feet when it's in tokyorev lol hope you enjoy!

tagged: @fantasycantasy ( if you'd also like to be tagged in future works, feel free to join my taglist <333)

"Be nice." Famous last words spoken to your boyfriend before you went to greet MIKEY upon his arrival. You were having a little kickback at your place, and it only made sense that your closest friend got to be there as well, despite how they felt about one another.

It went well…for about five minutes.

Now, you stood between them as tensions arose, hands on your boyfriend’s chest to keep him pushed back while Mikey had no issue with fueling the fire, practically daring the bastard to swing first. It didn’t help that they’d drawn in a crowd, drunk instigators no doubt praying for a bloody brawl to liven up the once chill atmosphere. You don’t even know who started it, but you had a pretty good idea who was gonna finish it if things didn’t get under control.

“Aki, please, you promised you wouldn’t do this…”

“I didn't even do anything, he’s the one with the shitty attitude! Knew you shouldn't have invited him in the first place. And I'm sick of you always defending him, what exactly is this guy to you, [______]?"

Mikey kissed his teeth. “Such a nag. Can’t believe they have to fuck you-”

“Manjiro.” You hissed, sending him a warning glance.

He merely grinned, head tilted as he shamelessly cooed, “Yeah, angel?”

“The fuck you call them?” Aki pressed, taking a step closer. You planted your feet, preventing him from going any further. “Say it again, see what happens.”

Mikey shrugged, “Okay.” Leaning forward off the wall, he gently nudged your chin with his index finger, making you look directly in his eyes. “Yeah, angel?”

“You son of a—” Aki raised his fist, ready to swing; just what Mikey was hoping for. But, you were quick you latch onto the winding arm. No doubt he’d miss, then you’d have to explain why there’s a sandal-print on his face when he wakes up.

“He’s just kidding! Mikey has a, uh, crude sense of humor, always saying what’s on his mind at the wrong times. Never a dull moment.” You chuckled, nervously. “He didn’t mean anything by it…right?”

Sending him a pleading glance, Mikey remained unphased. The dark-haired gang leader eyed your boyfriend for a good, long minute. His dead eyes made the guy feel unsettled, especially since Mikey tended not to blink for periods of time. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment, so many late night visits Aki knew nothing about—But, there’ll be plenty of opportunities for that later. He’ll play it cool. For now.

Mikey’s stare never wavered as his posture remained relaxed, his aura alone stunning the whole room to silence. The bystanders watched with bated breath. When the pools of obsidian refocused on you, he gave a reassuring wink. Aki didn’t take too kindly to that, stepping backward and taking you with him. The delinquent scoffed, but bit his tongue; he may have won the battle. But there's always the war.

With clenched teeth and a hollow smile, Mikey replied with a simple, “‘Course not. We’re all just friends here.”

Unbothered would be an understatement when describing how DRAKEN felt knowing how negatively your boyfriend felt toward him. Frankly, all he needed was a reason, and he'd happily knock the guy straight out of his shoes. But, for your sake, he remained...cordial.

He also pretended not to hear your little argument in the next room, feet propped up on the coffee table with his arms draped behind the couch, wearing an all too complacent grin knowing he was the subject matter. Again.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot!?" Your boyfriend exclaimed, frustrated. Draken couldn't help but snort, wanting so badly to answer the question for you with a fat yes. "I've seen the way he looks at you, we’ve all seen it, so don’t act like I’m the one with the problem!"

“Takeru, just calm down, there’s nothing going on between us-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” The sound of something shattering, followed by your shriek, made the mechanic perk up in mild alarm; amusement no longer painted his face.

Alright, he thought. Here comes that reason.

It only took him a few strides to get to your bedroom door, nearly splitting the wood in two after he kicked it in. Startling the both of you, Draken’s first priority was to check on your well-being, scanning your person for any visible injury. Luckily, you just appeared to be shaken up a little. Once he was certain, the former blonde directed a hard look toward Takeru, then down at the lamp he just broke. Draken worked his jaw—He gifted you that lamp.

“Kenny…” you said, cautiously. You could sense his impending rage from mere inches away, and you knew your boyfriend would only keep poking the bear. And you’d be correct. “I-It was an accident. Things just got a little out of hand, that’s all-”

“The hell you still doing here, baldy? Thought I told you to-”

Draken chuckled, menacingly. Your partner fell silent, wondering what was so funny, while you just closed your eyes in defeat; you knew that sound meant nothing good. His gunmetal eyes leered down at the pitiful man, cracking his neck before he calmly spoke.

“So we’re just breakin’ shit now, huh. Alright. My fucking turn.”

“I thought you said you'd quit hanging out with him, [_____]! He’s nothing but trouble, have you forgotten he set my roommate’s car on fire?!”

“Tsk. He had it comin’.” Was BAJI’s response, digging through your snack cabinet for a bag of chips. Once he found them, he opened them and began munching away, a bored expression on his face. “Bastard almost ran over Patches, driving around like an asshole. But, he hangs out with you all day, so guess that checks out.”

Referring to one of the building’s stray cats that come around from time to time, you couldn’t help but snort, but you knew he was dead serious—Man doesn’t play about his furry friends.

“Who gives a shit about some stupid-?!” You quickly covered your boyfriend’s mouth before he said anything he’d regret. He wasn’t too pleased, but at least he’d get to keep his teeth.

You exhaled, then directed a frown at the ravenette. “Honestly, I wish you two would try to get along. I think you’d find that you really aren’t so different once you got to know one another.”

“Me? Getting to know that? Fat chance.”

Glaring, your boyfriend ripped away your hand. "Oh, like you're so easy to swallow?"

"Hm, your s/o thinks so."

"Keisuke!"

“The fuck’s that suppose to mean, gutter-trash?” Your boyfriend seethed, turning to you instantly and expecting an explanation. Your eyes were wide, and you waved your hands rapidly to deny the implication. “[_____], what is he talking about?!”

“N-Nothing! God, you always let him get under your skin so easily, Makoto. He’s just being a dick, that’s all…”

Your boyfriend didn’t look convinced in the slightest, brows tight with an upturned lip as he huffed in anger. You shrunk beneath his gaze, stuck without any bandaid words to fix it. Luckily, since Baji was in such a good mood, he decided to relent—It’s no fun when you’re the one suffering the consequences of his crassness. Finishing up the last of the chips, the arsonist crumpled up the bag and tossed it at dude’s face.

“Wha-!”

“Yeah, hot shot, don’t get your panties inna twist. I’m just messin’ with you. We cool?” Baji threw up a fist, fangs on display as he gave an unhinged grin. Makato flinched, but tried to play it off. With hesitancy, your boyfriend eyed the fist with contempt.

“Fuck you. And that ugly-ass cat.”

Probably wasn’t the best thing to say with a fist inches away from his face. Makoto might’ve hesitated; Baji didn’t. So much for getting to keep his teeth.

“You’re a freaking angel, thank you so much for doing this,” MITSUYA gushed, arms snaking around your middle in a warm hug the moment you stepped into the studio. Did he place his hands a little lower than necessary? Maybe.

You chuckled, returning the hug. “Y’know I’d never say no to a free meal."

He had called you for a favor to model a few of his latest designs, needing to make adjustments accordingly before presenting them at the end of the week. His usual canceled on him last minute, putting him in a really tight spot, and you just so happened to be the same size. By offering to buy you dinner for your troubles afterward, it was a win-win for everyone.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, saw right through Mitsuya. Which was why he so eagerly volunteered to tag along. The lavender-haired designer eyed the guy from over your shoulder, disinterested. "Oh. Didn't know you were bringing him."

"Got a problem with that, Mitsy?"

"Hey now, no bickering you two.” You playfully warned, pulling back from the hug. You fixed Mitsuya an apologetic smile. “I hope it's not too much trouble that he’s here, though. I always tell him how fantastic your designs are, so I guess he wanted to see them for himself. Isn’t that right, Haji?”

Said third-wheel grinned sharply, arms crossed as he sarcastically replied, “Oh, yeah. Can’t wait to watch ya. Very closely.”

Mitsuya deadpanned. But, his brow lessened in weight at the feeling of you tugging on his shirt, pouting at him as your eyes practically dazzled him into compliance. “Please, can he stay?"

It didn't take much for him to cave. Whether you’re aware of it or not, you had the delinquent wrapped around your finger. He sighed, then reluctantly agreed. It’s worth seeing the bright smile on your face, and especially worth the look on Hajime's when you wrapped your arms back around him in gratitude. "Thanks, Taka!"

Mitsuya didn't bother masking the smug grin he shot at your boyfriend, watching him struggle to hold his temper. "Anything for you. But, I’m not paying for his meal."

© 2023-2024 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

#🍁vanilla #part 2 mayhaps??? #idk mayhaps :/ #tokyorev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev angst #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev x reader #mikey #draken #mitsuya #baji

[aliaology]

STAY DONE

SUMMARY: you know you and alex should break up, but you’re too in love with him to stay done.

PAIRING: alexander holtz x fem!reader

WARNINGS: semi-toxic (?) relationship, slight cheating, blood

EXTRA: i know alex (most likely) wouldn’t actually cheat, but its just for the fic! my boy needs more about him done. also THIS SUCKS LMFAOO im a lil rusty. BASED ON A SONG.

the look in your eyes even after he yells at you was something truly remarkable, incredible even. the awe-struck gaze your eyes held as the boy in front of you angrily spoke. his anger may not have been directed at you, but he was definitely taking it out on you.

his narrowed eyes and irritated tone as he went on and on about his hockey game made your stomach twist and knot. the feeling only going away as he punches one of the picture frames, causing the glass to shatter and the frame to fall to the floor.

your awe-struck gaze was no more, and was now filled with worried as he walked into the bedroom, mumbling curses under his breath. you let out a sigh as you grabbed the broom from the closet. you swept the broken glass up and removed the picture from the frame. it was a picture of you and him when you visited italy.

you gave the picture a sad look before placing it on the counter and throwing the frame into the trash bag, along with the broken glass. after putting the broom back, you walked into your shared room, alex sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands. blood dripped from his knuckles and down his hands.

you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a few bandages and alcohol wipes. kneeling down in front of him, you removed his hands from his face, gently.

“i think you played well tonight, alex.” you spoke softly. grabbing an alcohol wipe, you carefully wiped up the blood and the wound, causing him to hiss in pain.

“can’t say much when i was only on the ice for like five minutes. i make one mistake and lindy fucking benches me.” he spoke angrily.

you gently wrapped his hand. “i think you should talk to them about being traded.” you told.

alex scoffed out a laughed. you gave him a look. “im being serious, alex. this team is messing you up— you know you deserve better.”

alex sighed, “ill think about it, alright?”

you nodded and stood up, placing a small kiss on his cheek before bringing everything back into the bathroom, and throwing out the bloody wipes.

you huffed out a breath, knowing how idiotic you looked in front of your friends. you told yourself you would be taking a break from alex, that you would give yourself space, find yourself.

you needed it, especially after finding out he was hitting up other girls. hearing this— you stayed cordial, but honestly, you wish you went off on him. you wish you didn’t stay calm.

but thats the thing with alex, as you stand here calling him, you realize you can’t stay done with him. he was a constant need in your life, he was the sun and you revolved around him.

“hello?” his voice sounded through your phone.

you let out a shaky breath. you stood on the sidewalk, your little black dress keeping almost nothing warm. you held your large coat close to you.

“can you come get me? please?” you asked.

you could hear a deep breath escape his lips before he talked. “where are you?” he questioned. you could hear the sound of clothes rustling, then the sound of his keys jangling.

“outside of the bar on hawkins.” you told, shivering slightly.

“jesus christ baby— outside? seriously? are you by yourself?” he asked.

“yeah.” you muttered into the phone.

you could hear him swear under his breath, the sound of his car door opening and shutting rang through your ears. “get inside that damn bar, wait near the doors.” he demanded.

you hastily obeyed and stood inside, right next to the doors. he stayed on the phone with you the entire time, letting you know when he was close.

once he got there, and you hung up, getting into his car, he gave you an irritated look.

“dont you ever do that again— you hear me? do you know how dangerous it is? standing out there by yourself in the middle of the night?” he spoke.

his tone was harsh, but he clearly was worried, at least you hoped. “im sorry”

he sighed. “dont apologize. lets just, lets get to the apartment.”

you nodded and titled your head against the window, watching the lights as you passed them. you hated the feeling of not being able to be the bigger person and leave.

alex was your best friend, but your enemy. he loved you and hated you. you loved him, and loved him, and hated him. but there was no one else you wanted to wake up to. no one else you wanted to go to bed with.

you just couldn’t stay done with him.

im unable to tag everyone!

TAGS: @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @lxnceclercs , @honethatty12 , @outrunangelss , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot , @lovinbarzal , @shadowsndaisies , @um-mads , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @Robloxlover2007 , @p3nislawd , @alexx-stancati , @queenmendes , @-eedwardss , @if-my-heart-bleeds , @love-like-woaah , @freds-slut , @sleepybesson , @love4lando , @equallyshaw , @bellstwd , @ivy-34 , @slafgoalskybaby , @hischierxx , @dancerbailey3 , @jackhughesily , @cstads-blog , @ru-kru , @sbrn0905 , @love4ldr , @loveforaugust

#Spotify #hockey #nhl #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #new jersey #new jersey devils #alexander holtz #alex holtz #ah10 #alexander holtz x reader #alexander holtz x y/n #alexander holtz imagine #tate mcrae #stay done

[kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings]

Oh man I just see reader and Sanemi only being cordial when it came to the wedding and when you and Genya children are involved

Oh man (^○^) can you imagine? it makes me giggle thinking about it.

I'm imagining something like that scene from castlevania occurring after you've said your vows to each other and its you, genya and sanemi stood outside in a gorgeous garden cause you needed a moment of fresh air - and to not cry in excitement at the alter,

"If Sanemi keeps you company so I can go greet the last of our guests can you two please not kill each other?"

"Oh please! We're not children"

With you chiming in with a,

"It's our wedding Genya, why would we start a fight?"

And as Genya leaves, steps muted against the floorboards, to go and greet your friends the smiles you and sanemi had on your faces fell,

"Eat shit and die"

"Yes fuck you"

veins popping in both of your foreheads with perfected false smiles

Honestly i could write this as a small/mini story just from all the hilarity that I picture happening!

Oh my god, could you imagine sanemi's speech? like, the one during dinner where a family member and/or best man has to give a speech about all sorts of stuff.

And if you had kids?

aw man, thats a whole event that leaves sanemi reeling - "Whadya mean you got a brat in you?!" + "OI! Thats my kid yer talking about!"

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny genya shinazugawa x reader #kny genya x reader #genya x reader #genya shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer genya x reader #demon slayer genya shinazugawa x reader #kimetsu no yaiba genya x reader #kimetsu no yaiba genya shinazugawa x reader #x reader #anime x reader

[theladyragnell]

11, 12, 13 and 16 for the bookses please!!!

I'm putting most of these under a cut both because I'm wordy and because you asked all the Hot Take Questions!

What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read?

So much recency bias in my reading! I did read some older works, though, and I think I'll shout out The Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson, a 2013 release, which I picked up because I had a "set south of the equator" square on my book bingo card. It's a dystopian future set in Brazil, YA, with characters who are allowed to be as fucked up as they would be under the circumstances. Quite dark! Shared a few worldbuilding overlaps with Robinson's Mars Trilogy but came at them from a perspective I liked more.

Any books that disappointed you?

Oh, always, yes, but often not the book's fault? For instance, I really want to like epic doorstopper fantasy but I simply don't, which means however much I want to love Sherwood Smith's books that aren't Crown Duel, A Sword Named Truth wasn't to my taste. And while I really loved The Hands of the Emperor when I read it, the rest of my Goddard reading has been very hit-or-miss, in ways that are more about my taste than about her being inconsistent.

Oh, no, okay: Lavender's Blue by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer. I was beyond delighted to have a new Crusie in my hands at last, after YEARS, but there's too much Mayer in this one. I don't like his work, I don't like the cop love interest. It was awful reading a book with the right banter and the right zany background characters and just wholly the wrong ethos. Ma'am, you used to write about charming confolk! Why are you sanctioning a cop who shoots teens' car tires out!!!

And, unfortunately, Of Fire and Stars by Audrey Coulthurst, too much Not Like Other Girls there for me.

What were your least favorite books of the year?

Well, see above, to start. I'm simply not the audience for The Friend by Sigrid Nunez, the literary genre and I aren't friends, but I had to read a National Book Award prize winner for book bingo, so I cordially destested my way through that. (Well-written! Just not for me.) Unfortunately, despite this being my Year Of Tamora Pierce, Tempests and Slaughter hits this for me. It breaks the characters and the worldbuilding in so many ways that made it impossible to like for me.

And last, I am NOT going to call out specific things here, because it doesn't seem fair to critique less-well-known authors whose products I read for free, but just for completeness, I signed up for a fantasy romance advent thing, where for the first 24 days of December I got a free indie/self-pub fantasy romance, anything from a short story to a novel, and while I found a few fun ones in there (though I'd already read and adored Casey Blair's The Sorceress Transcendent and if you like tumblr's favorite trope of showing up on your enemy's doorstep saying you didn't know where else to go you should read it), overall the selection wasn't particularly to my taste. I am glad to have looked at them, and have a few more I want to read, but alas, there seem to be a few different areas of the subgenre, and this selection largely came from the ones that don't interest me.

What is the most over-hyped book you read this year?

Ohhhhhh, I'm about to get canceled. I am so sorry, everyone, and I reassure you all that I did like Piranesi very much. But I did not really like Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. It wasn't BAD by any stretch of the imagination, to be clear! Over-hyped doesn't mean something is bad! Just that I'd been prepared by the general tone of people's discussion of it to be bowled over, and I spent sort of a lot of time checking the remaining page count.

#impetusofadream #answered asks

[golbrocklovely]

this is no disrespect to either of you three anons, so please don't feel like this is me trying to be a bitch.

but oh my GOD i don't care lol

i'll just say everything i feel about this here and then be done with it.

ms singer was a girl colby went on a few dates with, and was done "dating" her by like halloween or a little bit after. he didn't even know malia until sam's bday, so it's not like he left ms singer for her. ms singer herself has said she's on good terms with colby and that she has no hard feelings for malia, it's katelyn she has issues with.

colby unfollowing her on her bday was not done maliciously. he just unfollowed her, most likely, bc he has unfollowed every girl he either a, dated/had a fling with or b, found hot. shock and awe to absolutely no one, she falls into that category.

but also she's STILL talking about her beef with katelyn. and look, she has every right to talk about it as long as she wants to. i'm not here to say she can't vent. but let's be real for two seconds: first and foremost, fans are egging this on and we all know that. anyone that wants to argue otherwise is just plainly ignoring what is happening. ppl go on her tiktok lives just to ask her about katelyn so she can start complaining about her yet again. and the only reason fans want more tea on katelyn is bc they hate her bc she's not kat. full stop, full transparency, that's why that's happening. yall don't like tess; you just like that she gives you tea on a girl you hate bc she maybe once shaded kat when in reality if you have more than one brain cell you would know that's not what she did. stop being so up kat's ass that you think everyone is out to get her.

and secondly, tess can complain - sure. but she is talking about real ppl that are now dealing with real hate. it's the whole fuck around and find out method. keep talking shit on someone, and someone close to them (ie colby) is gonna stop fucking with you. why is this a surprise to anyone?

and i'm not here to say that katelyn is innocent. don't mistake me for that. i'm just saying, if katelyn was a shitty friend to her, then that's a shame. but the beef is very much between the two or them, and not us. stop egging it on for content reasons, or for twitter threads, or for whatever weird reason yall try to justify in your head this all for.

not only this, but colby and ms singer only dated MAX a month, but i don't even think that's the case fully. they went on a couple dates and stayed cordial. some of these fans are acting like he blocked his bestie or something. they remained friendly with one another bc things didn't end badly between them. they don't have to have loyalty towards one another, that includes colby. this isn't some betrayal. he unfollowed bc he's taken now, and she's still talking about his best friend's gf. it's really that simple.

dear god, all of this is such hs drama bs and i'm so tired of hearing about it, honestly. i'm too old to go back to my hs self who would have throughly enjoyed this drama. but seriously, can we find literally anything else to talk about??? i'm actually begging at this point.

and colby didn't unfollow ms singer bc malia told him to. he did it bc he wanted to. he's a grown man, as many on twitter love to point out every time he does something they deem as childish. why do you think this is any different?

also, sam and kat pretended to be besties after the break up. let's be real here. there clearly was some awkward tension left between them, but if they told the fandom they were going no contact and never talking again except maybe in passing, ww3 would have started. so they remained cordial to be appease fans (and probably themselves in one way or another). and realistically, kat probably made sam unfollow her (by blocking him/muting him/removing him as a follower) bc the day she did that was after pics of him and katelyn leaked from new years. realistically she probably wasn't thrilled about that and needed some space. it also didn't help that the khakis personified that is sam golbach decided to like a tweet that she made saying how nice her spotify top five looked without the "take a look at my bf" song, which CLEARLY WAS ABOUT HIM. he got his ass blocked after that, and rightfully so lmao

i would like to request - respectfully to all anons going forward - to stop bringing up ms singer, shea, and stas. hell, throw kat in there too. i don't care enough about any of them to hear what's happening about them. i'm tired of talking about them. some of them i've been talking about for years, i've said my piece on them countless times, and i just want something else to talk about. bc it's always the same stories over and over again and i just cannot care about it any longer.

also, since i might as well throw this in too, if you genuinely think snc are malicious in any compacity - STOP WATCHING THEM. why are you here if you genuinely think colby is a slutty manwhore who fucks anything that moves and is malicious and a shitty friend and whatever other random nonsense you think he is?? why are you here if you think sam is a terrible boyfriend who's also a bit of creep and has as shitty gf and again, whatever random other shit you believe???? why are you here???? you don't like snc anymore, and yet you waste your time talking about them. what you really like is the tea that comes from them and the ppl they have surrounded themselves with. i implore you to log off and find a hobby or a content creator you ACTUALLY like.

(also none of this was really directed at yall. more so the fandom et large. sorry if it felt like i was yelling at you guys. wasn't what i was trying to do here lol)

#ask #personal #cb ll #sg ll #i've had it. officially lol

[invinciblerodent]

Oh, this Guardian introduction scene is a lot more impactful and confusing if they look like someone your character has very strong ties to, but never wants to see again, than if it's a random hot buff tiefling lady.

So... for this run I made them look like Herric, Iona's "ex"-husband. (I mean, technically they're still married, kind of. I suppose if you mutually try to kill one another with fire and an axe respectively, and then flee into the wilderness not knowing if he's dead or alive but at the same time not even caring and just starting to use your maiden name without a secodn thought, that oughta count as something of a divorce.)

This person, he wears the scar she gave him that last time, that shining burn that stretches and twists across his face... the last image that she ever saw of him as she fled into the woods. That fury, and pain, and murderous intent had etched itself into her memory, to the point that on the rare occasions she is forced to recall his face, this is what she sees: bubbled, gnarled flesh, either raw and gleaming as if it had been polished, or healed over with new skin to take its place, as it would be by now, and a once-handsome face, now distorted in contempt.

This person... they're his spitting image, but they are a stranger nonetheless. She had known Herric practically her whole life, lived with him, shared his bed for over half of it, and their voice, their movements... they're all wrong. They (he?) wear Herric's face, but they seem to have none of his ignorance, his temper, his virulent hatred of all that is magical, arcane... indeed, they chuckle at her immediate hostility, offer her kindness, don't look at her with disgust, desire, or dread, and they command great magics that leave her equal parts awed and terrified.

She doesn't trust a single word out of this creature's mouth. She doesn't want, or doesn't want to need his help. She doesn't want to think about his words, or how he may or may not be the reason she's not a monster yet.

... And talking to Astarion in the morning about these things, it also leaves her with mixed feelings. Sure, to be called an "utter drip" who "hates good news" and to be asked if she has some sort of condition forcing her to "spoil his fun" does make it all feel a bit less daunting and more ridiculous, it kind of clears her head, and his theatrical bristling that makes him seem almost like he's a big, wet bird puffing his feathers makes it difficult not to smile, but... she can't tell him why exactly this has her so shaken. They're not at that level yet, if they're ever going to be.

At this point, they're not exactly "please console me and let me feel safe when my past unearths itself from its grave like some sort of grotesque zombie and comes back to haunt me" type of a thing, they're more of a "let's fuck in the woods and tell each other heavily abbreviated stories about ourselves that more or less omit all the parts that would paint us in less favorable lights" thing.

Honestly, she kind of hates that in this fragile state, she finds herself wanting not only his touch, or a cordial conversation, but his comfort, too.

(In due time, that.)

#squirrel plays bg3 #oc: iona raedir #basically she just wants a hug #and it feels weird that the one she thinks would be most likely to give it to her if she asked is Wyll #though she has known him and Karlach less than a tenday #... although the others too she has only known ABOUT a tenday #feelings are getting murky here by now #and also; she's realizing with no small amount of dread that the githyanki might be the most normal person in the camp #I mean... a sharran. a vampire spawn. a devil. and two time bombs #and then there's also lae'zel #for someone who spent the last 35-50 years in a life where the most excitement was either... singing while weaving or going on a magehunt? #a little peculiar #.... then again a sorcerer going on a magehunt is also strange but yknow #to find the splinter in the eye of another is to forget the pole in yours

[thot-writes]

girlies idk if any of nyall have played tailor tales but im playing it rn bc apparently this one dude (dimitri) is supposed to be “””submissive””” but …. i have so many thoughts abt this im gonna rant

SPOILERS FOR TAILOR TALES DIMITRI ROUTE

ok im not finished yet but im in the climax (haha) of the story and girls girls girls i am so fuckin peeved off

first of all!!! 1) i would not call this a submissive route by a long shot. it still has every single otome trope of “omg he’s a man…” “he so tall and strong 😳😳” “it’s kinda weird that im 4 years older than him 😖”

like yes he’s shy and blushes a lot but that’s lichrally like the only submissive trait about him? once he gets horned up he “”switches your positions”” and becomes dominant, holding ur wrists down and shit and im sitting here tapping my watch like that judge judy gif waiting for an opportunity to be a dominant MC in my dominant MC route. like what?? who could possibly think that he’s submissive in this route??

2) when MC’s crusty ex boyfriend & his gf come harassing the MC for some reason her dumb ass thinks it’s “a bit excessive” to get security cameras inside and outside her boutique?? bitch huh?? they’re sending u mail and wrecking ur flowers and shredding ur packages and u think it’s a bit excessive??? first one to die in a horror movie syndrome right here girls

3) i get that some people like this but i HAAATE the slow burn “why am i jealous of him hanging out w other girls?” “why am i flustered when he’s shirtless?” type bullshit like im curious are people actually that dumb irl?? like babe ur either horny or in love it’s not fucking rocket science

4) on top of this, dimitri has shown very clear signs that he likes the MC. he even skraight up blurts out “i like you!” like despite the fact he retracts that and covers it up with some dumb “i mean ur a girl and i like girls” excuse im like PLEASE. USE UR BRAIN.

he takes pics of you, he blushes all the time around u, he likes it when u tease him and not ur alpha bestie sarah (god i wish we were sarah), HE HAS A PIC OF U TWO AS HIS SCREENSAVER, and MC is STILL like “wow… does he like me?? am i crazy??”

like yes bitch. ur crazy, but not for the reason u think. ur crazy for being SO DAMN OBLIVIOUS that even dimitri smacking u in the face with a neon sign that says “im in love with u” wouldn’t be enough to convince u!!

5) MC’s too polite 👿 when i think dominant i think someone who’s not afraid to stand up for shit when they think it’s right, and when dimitri gets slapped by his own mother instead of beating her senile ass into mince meat you’re STILL CORDIAL WITH HER???!!!

i’d be dragging her out of my damn shop by her karen haircut i can tell u that fucking much!!

6) on top of all that….. keep in mind that MC and dimitri have made out like four times at this point and just a few minutes earlier dimitri LITERALLY SAID “you’re special to me” SOMEHOW AIRHEAD MC IS STILL SURPRISED WHEN HE CONFESSES HIS LOVE FOR HER!!???!!!??

i seriously…. im … fucking seriously i couldn’t. there have been so many points in this story where im like “bitch are you dumb?” but this was takemichi-throwing-away-his-only-weapon-in-a-gang-fight dumb. as in i had to literally stand up from my computer, pace my room, and contemplate my existence because i just don’t understand what the fuck is going on in here on this day

i got so frustrated from that moment that that’s what spurred me to write this rant. i lichrally don’t think i could calm down otherwise because i am just in absolute awe at the sheer brainlessness of this MC. the current line of dialogue that remains frozen on my screen is “He what now?!”

also just an unrelated pet peeve but man i wish people who were horny for each other would just fuckin act on it more. MC is mad horny for dimitri and she just criticises herself for being a “horny teenager” when she’s only twenty-fucking-three dude??? does MC think that 23 year olds don’t fuck??? why is she acting like she’s retirement age or some shit?? fuck it, even old cunts in retirement are getting pussy! why does she think it’s so shameful to be horny as a 23 YEAR OLD???!!!

don’t get me wrong though. i still like the game, i love the fashion maker part of it and indie games w this much effort should always be supported imo. but im just disappointed that i went into this game expecting it to be a different spin on the same tired otome tropes we’ve seen over and over and instead it’s just regurgitating every single cliche

absolutely no hate on the dev(s?) this is just my critique of it— calling dimitri a submissive route just bc he blushes & can cook is a complete wrong move. he’s not submissive, MC is not dominant (just cheeky), and i doubt any predominantly dom fans would see them as such. the entire route gives me the vibe of “a predominantly submissive person trying — and failing — to write a dominant one”

no shame or shade if u can’t do that btw, we all have our strengths, im sure i would suck shit at writing a submissive MC if i were making an otome. but it’s like… either commit to the bit and learn how to write dominant MCs better, or stick to ur strengths and continue writing submissive ones.

anyway sorry for the wall of text i just had to vent my frustrations. it is SEVERELY disheartening to get ur hopes up for some good rep and instead getting….. whatever this is

that being said if anyone of nyall like fashion and don’t mind being a *cough* sub *cough* i do recommend tailor tales, it’s on steam for anyone who’s interested!

#musings #tailor tales #vent #rant

[violetmuses]

Could've Been || A Stephen Holder Drabble

TITLE: “Could’ve Been ” || A Stephen Holder Drabble 

FANDOM: “The Killing” (AMC/Netflix Series)

CHARACTER: Homicide Detective Stephen Holder

PAIRING: Female Reader + Stephen Holder

MAIN STORYLINE: News from Stephen makes your world come crashing down. 

WARNINGS: Angst, drug references, dark themes, strong language, etc. 

Author’s Note: As one last warning, this drabble includes references to drug use, dark content, strong language, etc. Please read at your own risk.

J Krew: @nerdysuperchick @a-reader-and-a-writer @babblydrabbly @lacontroller1991 @shadowkittybucky @loverhymeswith @justin-hammers @weallhaveadestiny @xoxabs88xox @katjnordstrom96   @mayhem24-7forever @lilisangel @skvatnavle @sociiallydiisoriiented @heresathreebee @alieninoklahoma @bewitchedisme @maddu-oliveira @reveluving @sugapapichulo @hodgepodge-of-rog

By Your Side - Masterlist

_________

2012

It could've been right, but I was wrong.

Only think 'bout you when I'm alone. 

You only hit me up when she's not home. 

And that's why I can't get caught up… 

“Could’ve Been” by H.E.R. ft. Bryson Tiller 

“Hey, could we talk about something?” Stephen had been playing another card game with you at your apartment when stops out of nowhere to speak. 

“Sure.” You pause, making full eye contact with him. “What’s up?” 

“I…uh…I met someone…” His whispers, but the biggest smile reaches his face for the first time in a while. He even puts down the cards and takes out his phone, scrolling before showing you a picture: 

She’s pretty. You think to yourself. Neat hair. Lovely eyes. 

“Aw, that’s nice.” You respond with cordial behavior and smile out of respect for him. He deserves to be happy, even though your own heart has broken into millions of pieces now. 

Does she, this new woman, even know him like you do? 

Does she know about that he’d rather stay up all night and watch cartoons instead of sleeping right after work?

Does she know that he’s never been a fan of coffee, only drinking herbal tea like some ritual? 

Does she know about Davie, the adorable nephew that changed Stephen’s life forever? 

Does she care about his sobriety? He’s been proudly clean for months now despite the stress of work near Linden. 

So many questions reach your mind, but you know better than to start an argument. He’s happy, that’s all that matters. 

Right?  

“Happy for you.” You say, beaming another smile with hopes of not seeming disappointed in front of him. 

“Thanks, girl.” He clips, offering to clean up those playing cards from the floor before standing up. He’s already putting his sneakers back on from habit and shrugging that hoodie, planning to leave your side. “It was good to see you.” 

Don’t cry. You remind yourself. There’s no other choice. 

“You’re welcome. See you around.” You pull yourself together from within, but watch as he opens that front door to your apartment and leaves, vanishing down the hallway. 

________

Days later, almost frantic knocking on the door jolts you out of sleep around midnight. Police didn’t shout to open up, but you remained cautious, using careful footsteps and eyeing the peephole just in case. 

It was her. Caroline Swift, District Attorney.  

Stephen’s new girlfriend stood in the hallway with crossed arms. Both anger and disappointment lined her face. 

“Hello?” You open the door, but guarded its threshold, not allowing this stranger to immediately walk in. 

“Who are you?” she narrowed her eyes. Silence fell between you both, but you wouldn’t flinch around her. 

“I’m guessing that Stephen never told you about me.” You make an attempt to defend yourself of course and succeed. 

“Oh, he did.” The woman scoffs across from you, obviously not overjoyed by these current circumstances. 

“Then what the fuck is your problem?” You snip back and try to figure out what she actually meant right now. 

“Stephen’s in a relationship with me, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t check on him all the time like some crazy ex.” she lies to you, furrowing her brow in the process. 

“I don’t know what you think is going on, but I’ve known Stephen for a while now. You have no idea what he’s been through. Having friends in your corner makes all the difference.” You affirm, trying not to yell because other tenants sleep in the building.  

“If you’re really his friend, then why does he still have your phone number logged as an emergency contact?” The woman exposes this detail and your blood boils already. 

“Worst-case scenario.” You tell her. “If he can’t reach you or Liz, I’m still available. How dense are you?” You fume once more, but still won’t shout out loud tonight. 

“Keep your distance. You’re desperate.” she says. It takes everything within your body not to punch her in the face and rack up your crimes now. 

“Keep this up and I’ll tell him that you stalked my apartment tonight.” You arch your brow, noting that this is your first encounter with this woman, someone Holder apparently trusted. “That charge would definitely look bad on a District Attorney’s record of all things.” 

At that moment, both of you freeze and then realize that Stephen is standing nearby, too. 

“What are you doing, Carrie?” Holder rasps his voice while facing the woman, boring those hazel eyes towards her with frustration that you’ve only seen through his breaking points.

“Baby, I..I’m sorry…We were…”  Caroline stammers through nonsense and fails to lie. You’ve earned the upper hands, but don’t celebrate. 

“Uh-uh. I never told you where she lived. What the hell are you doing?” Holder of course doesn’t lose composure entirely. 

“In my opinion, it’s extremely unhealthy for her to call your phone. So, it was better to give a warning in person.” Caroline says, glancing between you and Holder. 

“Are you cutting me off from everyone I know?” He asks her that reasonable question and you can only watch in silence. 

“No, Baby. I just…” Caroline trails off her words once Stephen lifts his finger.

“Don’t call me Baby again.” Stephen lowers his voice and you both turn to face him, waiting to hear this man speak up for himself. “I don’t care how you think my friendships won’t matter. You can’t be the only person who checks in with me besides Linden and my sister.” 

“Y/N bugs you every day. Check your call log next time, Stephen.” Caroline pushes through this argument, not caring if you hear everything. 

“Well, maybe if you didn’t ask so many questions about my job, I wouldn’t have to call other people. As much as I love you, you’re not my therapist.” Stephen defends himself once more while addressing Caroline. 

“If I’m not, who is? Last I checked, you don’t even visit those NA meetings anymore.” Caroline reached for the proverbial jugular and knew damn-well that she crossed the line. 

“You know that? Fuck it. Leave her alone or we’re breaking up.” Stephen put his foot down and enough was enough. 

“Fine, but don’t be surprised if she ends up barging into the precinct and searching for you with a baseball bat one day.” Caroline stomped off, leaving you and Stephen alone. 

Despite that earlier but cordial silence, you step back and head back towards this  open door of your apartment, aiming to slam the door in Holder’s face. 

“I’m sorry.” Before you could even carry out that plan, Holder’s voice reached your ears. 

“Whatever.” You brush off his so-called apology, knowing that another argument would’ve sent you over the edge. “I’m going back to bed at this point, Stephen. Good night.” 

“Y/N,” He whispers your name, standing not far away from that front door as it nearly closes. 

“What, Stephen?” You clench your teeth, pissed now. “Go back to Caroline before she burns the city down.” 

“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me, all right?” His tone changes, shifting between anger and desperation somehow. 

“What do you want to know?” You paced, upset. 

“In all honesty, something felt off when I first told you about Caroline the other day. What’s wrong?” Holder addresses the elephant in the room. 

“I’ve already said that I was happy for you, Stephen. What are you talking about now?” You narrow your eyes, hoping to defend yourself again. 

“I know when you’re lying, girl. Six months back is actually a lot longer than you think.” Holder tells the truth and you can’t deny it. 

You met not long ago during his absolute rock bottom. 

If it wasn’t for the hoodie and washed-out jeans, he probably would’ve shivered to the bone outside. You had just picked up snacks from the corner store when its threshold bell rang behind you. The clerk recognized him in silence, but jutted their chin as a greeting. 

Your own heart broke into millions of pieces after paying up front of turning around for a moment. 

Holder pocketed both hands into his soak-through hoodie, but his ratty sneakers tapped over and over again, like maddening rhythms. You had never anyone fidget with their body this much in your life. 

But his eyes explained the whole story.  Hazel yet broken. Sullen. Utterly exhausted. It was as if he’d cried and yelled all at once until his face no longer showed any form of joy. 

“Jimmy, could I pay for him? He’s pretty much jonesing for those chips right over there.”  You ask the clerk. Jimmy nods. 

It isn’t long before you pay and hand over that small bag of chips to Stephen. His hazel eyes perk up only slightly, but at least there’s a short silver lining now. 

“Thanks.” Holder rasps towards you, just taking the bag and walking out as quickly as he showed up. 

Now, you watch as those hazel eyes plead in silence, needing someone to understand rather than seeming gone. 

“If you didn’t buy me those chips, I would’ve gotten high.” Stephen lowers his head, revealing something you didn’t even know. 

“Damn.” You whisper. 

“I….I miss you…” He struggles. 

“It’s too late. You said it yourself. It would never work.” You deadpanned, feeling utterly defeated. “I’m a shitty friend anyway. You’re better off without me.” 

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be dead by now, Y/N.” Holder is completely serious and you could never debate this logic. “You pulled me away from an addiction, Mama.” 

You nearly cry, remembering so many scares from the past. Soon after, realization washes over you: You saved his life and Caroline would never understand. 

“I had to. You deserve so much more than misery.” You admit, moving your fingertips gently along his clothed shoulder. 

“Shit.” He scoffs, moving away from your brief touch. 

“What?” You narrow your eyes once more. 

“Made one of the worst mistakes of my life the other day.” Holder says, leaving you puzzled. 

“What?” You repeat yourself and wait for an explanation. “What mistake did you think about?” 

“Not choosing you.” Before you can respond, Holder leaves, breaking your heart all over again. 

#strong language #tw angst #tw: angst #drug reference #tw: drugs #addiction #addiction tw #drugs tw #tw drugs #dark themes tw #the killing fan fic #the killing fanfic #the killing #stephen holder x you #stephen holder x female reader #stephen holder #stephen holder x reader #joel kinnaman fanfiction #joel kinnaman

[desires-of-sin]

Scenario Snippet: Sloth getting drained of every last drop by Gwynevere~

Describe a scenario, accompanied with the words ‘Scenario Snippet’, and I’ll write a small snippet of my muse in that scenario!

Sloth had only been summoned to Her Majesty's chambers as it was often when she was struck by the need to entertain herself with him. He often felt conflicted of his status with the goddess, but he had to reason with himself...he was just her favorite toy, and naught more. A good lay, and a good servant. Still, it seemed she was in a boon-granting mood, because she had decided to strike a deal with him. He found her in her usual state, laying on the pillows with a serene smile, greeting him as usual, before she ordered the chambers sealed and that she shrunk herself down to human form...which was still about 2 feet taller than Sloth was. She had a challenge for him: if he could continue to sexually please her for a solid 24 hours, from sun-up to sunrise, with NO boons...she would be his slave for a week. But if he failed...then he would be forfeit as a personal toy for a week, given the form of a chambermaid and tossed amongst the covenant for a week. Cecil grit his teeth, staring into her gilded eyes with resolution. It was clear she wanted something...and Cecil was going to provide for his lady whatever it was that she wished.

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

The first few hours were relatively tame. It was making love, or at least as Sloth thought of it. He was mostly teasing her, giving her head, fingering her, massaging her, trying to buy time without losing precious loads. Despite this, her teasing voice and touches threatened to send him into overdrive every time. But he had to stay strong....to stay strong!!

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

By noon, the two were fucking cordially. Missionary, Sloth bounding over her while looking down at her, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. His legs hurt, as did his core, but he couldn't give up...look at her! Her beautiful hair splayed out in the pillows in front of him! Her singsong voice, echoing his name! Her massive fucking tits bouncing around with his hands on them, feeling the warmth of a summer day in her skin! He loved her, he had to admit it. But the challenge wasn't over yet....over 12 hours remained.

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

By nightfall she had taken mercy on him and started to ride him, taking the dominant role and giving his sweet and dirty words of encouragement, somehow STILL finding pleasure on his dick despite load after load after load being lost on her divine body and inside it...and yet, it never last for her. She just cleaned up perfectly and kept going.

----------

In the dead of night, when he teetered on the words of unconsciousness, he was almost defeated. He had nothing left in the tank. He could barely thrust into her. Gwynevere looked at him with disappointment, and leaned up to his face. And she chided him. She expressed that disappointment, and started describing how awful this next week would probably feel for him. She laughed, and shrugged, and made careless remark after careless remark, getting Sloth angrier and angrier at her. She even mentioned other lovers who had lasted far longer than this, and thus she had hoped he would join them. But alas...it seems he wasn't worth it. That caused something to snap inside of the sin. A fire engulfed his soul, almost, and he pushed the goddess down onto the bed, pinning her there with strength once unrecognized.

"I will not...allow you....to talk down to me in such a way...goddess or not! I am...the most devoted...of your lovers...." He gasped, as he could feel strength surging down there as his dick suddenly sprang to attention, surprising the goddess herself.

"And I will not stop tonight...until you love me....as I love you. And I love you so, so dearly, my goddess..." With that, Sloth put the goddess into a breeding position and started jackhammering her pussy as fast as he could. He didn't care about pain or fatigue...or anything. He wanted her to love him. To call his name and swear to him. And the goddess's moans filled the hallway as Sloth fucked her with a vigor he had never fucked her before, not with a boon nor with equipment. Just raw, unadultered lust and love, with the full intention to make her feel good.

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

As the morning dawn cracked through the windows, neither took note of it. Cecil, now driven to the closest thing of Hollowing he had ever experienced, was continuing to breed the goddess, who had long since lost the ability to coherently speak anything but his name. For the 100th time, he came inside of her womb, his seed spilling out onto the cushions with another declaration of love, and then again he pulled his dick out of her pussy and placed it on her tits, where she immediately began to suckle it. But nothing came out. He was completely...utterly, tapped out. And with that, Sloth fell backwards and lie in defeat, his body starting to numb and fade. He had quite literally...fucked himself to death.

"I'll be back...for that promise...my goddess...." he wheezed as he faded away, to the nearest bonfire, leaving the goddess a cum-coated mess on her own bed, panting like a whore. If this is what he was capable of....she might alter the deal and make herself his slave for 2 weeks to get more!

[getinthefuckingcarkitten]

One day i'll make a character sheets for my PCs but for now lemme just copy paste some shit bc i've saved too much in my drafts and i want to clean it up a bit. So some info about my PCs below more or less organized, probably more on the less side.

THE MENACE

Foxglove (true name [REDACTED]), my actual meowmeow wasn't 100% raised in the orphanage. She was sent there when her mom died at 10. She spent weeks being weird and standoffish and basically just picking fights if anyone tried to get close to her.

One of the few people she never hit was Robin, because Robin was always nice about her personal space. They are friendly and cordial to each other to this day despite everything, but Foxglove doesn't really spend a lot of time with Robin/will not save her ass from Bailey.

Because she was only taken in as an older child, she doesn't respect Bailey half as much as she should.

Her first crush was Winter and her first official girlfriend was Whitney. She was part of Whitney's clique and generally a delinquent and a bully, which made her reputation with teachers quite awful, which pained her a bit since Winter now sees her as a talented troublemaker at best.

Other school LIs like Sydney (when Pure, at least. Corrupt is... a bit different.) and Kylar avoid her like the plague. Kylar has had an embarrassing crush on her that she was mocked relentlessly for and made the poor weeb into Whitney's target for months.

Had a really bad relationship with an unnamed older woman when she was younger that really finished fucking up the fuck up.

Met Avery while dancing at a party, by the way, and not in the usual ways because. Um. Because i wanna. Avery pulled her away from some lecherous partygoers and done fucked up both of their lives forever.

She is legiterally obsessed with Avery and molding herself into a perfect companion for her. This has made her a better student to impress her but estranged her from all of her friends :( She is also way more polite now, though her charisma is natural and she didn't have to work on that as much. This change has pleased Winter! :) She's also a delight to have in parties or in gatherings in general.

She is both a mean sadist and a freaky masochist. As much as she likes bullying the weak, she has this whole thing where she's sure she should be punished and just needs someone to do it for her because she realizes she's too self absorbed to do it herself.

Though she lets Avery push her around and only playfully banters in response, she often has complete meltdowns where she starts telling Avery exactly how much she sucks and how she's never going to be loved and how they will go to hell together hand in unlovable hand. Idk which one of them is crazier for staying together at this point.

She has been a fox since a looooong time. She messes with occult stuff quite oftenly, and as a fun fact has been a suspect in a disappearance case (but police is still useless in this town lol).

Local School Prince

Ronnie (Veronica), my main and most played with PC on the other hand was 100% raised in the orphanage. As a kid she was always protecting the smaller kids from bullies, which included Robin, who is now still her best friend/pseudogirlfriend.

She has an honest to God savior complex. Her life isn't complete if she's not servicing the weak and vulnerable... Especially weak and vulnerable girls. This has somehow made her into a massive player.

Like, it's not like she wants to play with girls' feelings. It's just that she gives them so much love and attention and protection that they fall for her and then what should she do? NOT kiss them? You're being unreasonable :(

She's very oftenly mistaken as a boy. The first time she cut her hair she was made fun of at the orphanage so Robin cut her own hair too. They both have worn it short since and Robin seems to be picking up on way more than just her haircut.

Despite that, for a long time her behavior made Robin think that she should act more ladylike to have Ronnie's attention. This isn't true at all, by the way, and Ronnie thinks Robin never looked hotter when she starts dressing masculine too.

Despite all of that, will likely never admit the romantic nature of her and Robin's relationship. She thinks of Robin as family despite the fact that they're oftenly crossing lines, because she doesn't want to ever lose Robin as a friend since they have both been there for each other's worst moments. Kylar would love to have half as much codependency as they have tbh.

She's dating Kylar officially. It honestly just started with her kissing the poor girl to make her stop getting mocked at a class get-together Kylar was about to run away from in tears, and Kylar remembered this forever but Ronnie forgot about it until she saw Kylar getting bullied again. She has since made it her mission to protect her and maybe raise her reputation a bit if she can convince Kylar to act less like a soaked cat. Maybe brush her hair before coming to school. She desperately wants Kylar to stand on her own legs, but while she can't, Ronnie will gladly support her.

On the point above. She is a bit too proud of Kylar attacking people, honestly. And slowly she's been thinking Kylar is much cooler all of a sudden... It's a strange feeling, and she's not too sure what to make of it. But her drawings and her cringe anime have started to worm their way into Ronnie's heart for real.

Btw she does NOT realize how deranged Kylar is. Has no idea. She doesn't know about the sex doll (which may have had a dick at some point before Kylar realized something very important). She thinks Kylar is just kind of weird but does NOTTT grasp how insane she is.

With Sydney, she had a more distant relationship, but what were jokes to fluster the religious girl became friendly chats and then Ronnie walking her to the temple and helping out with her mom's shop and more and more conversations about sexuality and suddenly Sydney was dying her hair black and showing up to school in pants instead of her long skirt.

(Btw, i think it's be funnier/more in character if i pretend they dyed Syd's hair in a school bathroom after school hours in an event that was a battle between them, the mirror and God.)

Would apologize to Sirris for butchifying her daughter but a. She's not sorry and B. Sirris seems to think it's kinda cool actually

Whitney was probably the hardest relationship to have. They used to beat the shit out of each other, especially when Whitney picked on Robin, Kylar or Syd, but one day Whitney's jokes went a bit too far. Ronnie saved her from the consequences of her own actions but that didn't mean they were friends.

But her and Whitney started to become closer when she found out "Foxglove" (Ronnie thinks that name is cringe. Her real name [Redacted] is much cooler, but Foxglove is a weirdo anyway) had ditched her for Avery. Maybe it was the sympathy of yet another poor soul getting sucked into Avery's bullshit but she started to go softer on Whitney and then suddenly they were fucking because Ronnie is a gay whore‼️

Anyway. Yeah. Avery. Ronnie had dated Avery briefly and it ended horribly. She was just trying to make Avery feel better since she sensed some loneliness in her but she soon learned that misery loves company and that Avery was legitimately too much to deal with. She tried to first make Ronnie into something she wasn't, trying to force her either into a boyfriend role or making her act girlier, and neither pleased Ronnie. Then the fights started because Avery wouldn't accept a "no" and Ronnie wouldn't take shit then Avery started to get physically violent and then they threw hands at a pub and that unfortunately didn't ruin Avery's reputation as much as Ronnie would have hoped.

I think she only really understood what type of evil Avery was when she saw her pick up another orphan girl (not Foxglove, that one she managed to warn).

Her relationship w Foxglove is tense at best. After finding out about some shit however, she keeps her distance and wishes Robin would stop being so nice to her before it bites her in the ass.

Honestly just a puppy fr

Bane is probably the PC i draw/talk about the least because i've only now thought of a name for her LMAO. She's based on one of my first PCs ever who i've made a new save for recently. I have less info on her bc i'm slowly working thru her save.

She used to be a normal, if a little cowardly girl until she got lost in the forest. When Eden found her, she was more wolf than person, but honestly good enough (Eden's standards are low.)

Had honest to God almost forgotten how to speak human words until Eden spoke to her more or less regularly. Eden was surprised she could talk at all after only hearing her bark, growl or yap for a long while.

She has slowly become less of a savage wolf and more of a dog and then somewhat human again.

After spending like, three years or so living with Eden, she has decided to go back to school. Still learning to not solve conflicts through dominance checks and vicious bites, but she's making progress :)

#foxglove the vixen #ronnie the prince #bane the wolf #now with pics #i forgot to mention it but foxy had the highest crime stat of them and is currently doing community service rolf

[deenoss]

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Fame For Shame

The moment (Y/n) walked through the front doors of Blackwell Academy, he had not expected for people to instantly throw their gaze towards him. It confused him at first but slowly he picked up on the fact that it could've been one of two reasons: the students heard about the incident at the pancake house, or the media finally found out where he was and the students of Blackwell were keen to ambush (Y/n) with the means of bombarding him with questions and photos.

It was the latter.

As the pair walked down the hall hand in hand, (Y/n) had his head bowed but up enough so he could observe the facial expressions of the people he walked past. The constant reassurance that Kate was there to comfort him numbed his anxiety until they walked into their first class for the day, which was Maths. Barely anybody took notice of who'd arrived except the one person they wished hadn't.

"Fuck. Here comes Victoria." (Y/n) muttered under his breath.

Kate heard what he said and tensed as the short-haired blonde girl approached them. To accompany her friend, Taylor Christensen scurried after the more popular girl and listened in on the conversation that unfolded.

"So, (Y/n), you're a celebrity huh? What are you doing in hiding, huh?" Victoria addressed the brown-haired boy cordially.

"For this reason exactly. I don't like fame." (Y/n) answered nonchalantly. "Is it too much for a modicum of respect that you give me some space? I really don't need this right now, Victoria."

"Aw, c'mon, (Y/n). Don't you want to have a little fun? I mean, like, maybe we could help spruce things up? By the way things are going here at Blackwell, it's so boring. You know, (Y/n)..."

"Victoria, can you please just leave us be?" Kate intervened.

The short-haired blonde girl scowled at the slightly shorter girl and waved her hand up dismissively towards (Y/n)'s girlfriend, much to his disapproval of her attitude towards them, especially him.

"Whatever, Marsh." Victoria snarked. "Just because I apologised for what I did doesn't make us friends. So why don't you make like a tree and get outta here?"

"There's two things I want to say to you, Victoria... one: I don't like you talking to Kate like that. You two may have made amends for the video but this doesn't give you the right to just talk down to her. I don't care if you known I'm famous or not, I will take you down..."

"Whatever."

"And two: it's leave! 'Make like a tree, and leave.' Until you decide to not act like a total ass, then come talk to me. Otherwise, stay away from us."

Her beady gemstone green eyes stared into (Y/n)'s, making him feel uncomfortable inside as he thought about a potential outburst she appeared incapable of containing. On the surface, (Y/n) remained composed and stood his ground.

"You think you're better than me? Is that it? Do I need to remind you of the fact that everybody has seen your penis? Oh, and by the way... tiny." Victoria sneered, her index and thumb pinched together with a millimetre of space between them.

Kate was quick to restrain her boyfriend from verbally lashing out at Victoria. To their surprise, (Y/n) fought the urge to argue with the blonde girl and refrained from escalating things further when their teacher walked into the classroom right after the bell went off.

"Alright class. Let's all take our seats - the ones you've all permanently allocated yourselves - and open up our textbooks to where we last left off," said the teacher.

The teacher lectured them on the topic for the day. The students wrote in their books, scribbling down exactly what their teacher wanted them to write - to use that information valuably to revise before their examinations. The sounds of pens scribbling on paper and squeaking on the whiteboard was barely applicable in killing out the silence. After the confrontation, Kate was concerned about (Y/n) as she constantly checked on him as they worked in silence.

(Y/n) and Kate were seated at the back of the classroom. Kate faced the front of the class with (Y/n) adjacent from her with his back to the window. Unbeknownst to Kate, (Y/n) was already aware of her staring at him every so often, even being fully concentrated on writing notes in class. The class spent a good half hour writing down notes before their teacher had them complete work that would later become homework.

At the end of the lesson, almost every student got up at once with the exception of Kate and (Y/n), whose original and yet very limited intention of leaving class as quickly as the rest, stayed behind with his girlfriend where they slowly packed up together. Making their way out of the classroom, they journeyed and fought their way through the tide of teenagers to their next lesson, that being Photography.

After the conspiracy of popular photographer, Mark Jefferson being arrest for criminal charges, the principal of Blackwell Academy was left with a desire for a substitute teacher. Luckily for Mr Wells, he had soon found a suitable candidate to replace Mark Jefferson. To ensure that the new teacher he had hired contained no twisted personas or mental illnesses, he had the sub undergo a psychological evaluation to determine whether they were suitable to teach a small class of young adults or not.

The students who previously attended Mark Jefferson's Photography classes entered the room hesitantly where they found their substitute teacher seated at their desk, staring at each and everyone of them, followed by a warm greeting upon entering the classroom. Regardless of gender, the students in the Photography program were cautious of their teacher's behaviour; understandably warranted after the allegations put on their previous teacher, Mr Jefferson.

"Good morning everyone. My name Carrie Fields and I will be leading your Photography classes - substituting for your previous teacher, whom I believe you're all aware - for the rest of this month. I'm so glad you could cordially make your way here for what will be your second-last lesson of Photography for the week, but also, for this year. Due to your examinations coming up very shortly, you will be studying for your test these two whole lessons. Mr Wells was adamant that you all be at top game for this so I'm entrusting you will all do so at your own pace. If you need anything, I will be at my desk. Alternatively, you can collect a copy of all the books you may require to further your studies and notes at the back of the classroom. Now... role call." The teacher spoke with a friendly, chill attitude the students found pleasing.

Some students groaned and rolled their eyes, much to the surprise of their teacher.

"Alyssa Anderson."

"Here."

"Max Caulfield."

"Present."

"Victoria Chase?"

"Here, miss."

"Taylor Christensen?"

"Yeah..."

"Daniel DaCosta."

"I'm here, miss."

"(Y/n) Donohue."

"Here, miss. Present as always."

"Stella Hill?"

"Here."

"Kate Marsh."

"I-I'm here, Ms Fields."

"And Courtney Wagner."

"Present."

"Alright. Everyone's accounted for."

Once the students had time to themselves, they all divulged into their notes where they look down and stared at the written content. Just one table away, Victoria schemed as she waited for her teacher to withdraw her attention off of her and the class before she wrote on a scrunched up piece of paper and tossed it directly at (Y/n).

As soon as she threw the paper, Victoria watched (Y/n) with devious intent. The brown-haired boy flinched when the paper hit him, making him curious as to what touched him. His eyes fell onto a ball of paper on the floor beside him. He leaned over to grab it without care on whether Miss Fields was looking in his general direction and unravelled it.

Kate took notice of (Y/n) being distracted, she curiously looked at what was in his hands and attempted to read the message in her mind. (Y/n) visibly cringed at the message before he tossed it aside and resumed his studying. Drawing out his phone, (Y/n) hooked up his earphones and played his playlist on Spotify which he shared with Kate to help distract them further from any unwanted and unnecessary attention.

Kate herself enjoyed listening to his music but felt it wasn't enough to comfort him with what malice Victoria Chase intended to being onto him. By reaching her hand across, Kate touched his forearm, briefly stealing her boyfriend's attention. He gave her a soft and reassuring smile as he took her hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they went back to studying. Victoria was half disappointed but satisfied nonetheless that she got her message across.

Time flew by when the bell rang indicating that it was their first break for the day. (Y/n) and Kate, a star couple, exited their class and headed outside to the front yard to spend their recess together. (Y/n)'s earphones were still comfortably secured in their ears as they had their food. They conversed as they normally would, which would entail with love proclamations and bits of public display of affection.

The day flew by rather quickly for most, but for some it was just another long day at Blackwell. Now that (Y/n) was aware the whole school knew of his fame, they never stopped short in giving him personal space, excluding a few who didn't wish to draw any bad attention onto themselves due to the friction in their relationship with (Y/n) by staying well away from him. It was, however, the cruel intent of one who hoped to slander (Y/n) with many cruel method.

Sunday

It was early in the evening when (Y/n) attended a family dinner with his girlfriend's family. They had spent the day earlier on spending quality time getting to understand (Y/n) as a person. It really did please (Y/n), knowing that he was accepted by his girlfriend's family, especially after proving himself beforehand. What pleased (Y/n) more was that they didn't care much about the videos a out him and Kate, nor his fame.

The Marsh's served lamb casserole with garlic bread and mashed potatoes for dinner. (Y/n) loved lamb, which was not a coincidence as he suspected Kate informed her mother of his food interests and dislikes beforehand. Dinner was going splendidly and everybody was enjoying themselves, more so Linda who had a few too many glasses of wine.

Next thing they knew, Linda had retrieved a photo album and shared them with (Y/n) and her family. (Y/n) had been given a rather peculiar opportunity to witness the Marsh's photo album, most of which were photos about Linda's and John's children growing up from mid-late pregnancy in her womb throughout their lives; thus bringing sheer embarrassment onto her children while her husband took joy in the shy and pained expressions his daughters pulled.

"... this is one of Kate when she got her first stuffed animal," noted Linda as she pointed at a photograph of her eldest daughter hugging a stuffed tiger on one Christmas Day.

The little girl in the photo wore cyan long pants and a shirt that had written 'Child of God' on the chest with an arrow between 'child' and 'God' with 'of' in the centre of said arrow. (Y/n) chuckled lightly at the sight of his girlfriend as a child clinging onto said stuffed tiger like it was single-handedly the most amazing thing in the world. By the way (Y/n) got the pleasure of knowing Kate in every way, he knew there was no way that tiger would ever outmode him.

"Ooh, ooh! This one's of Kate on her first day at school."

The next photo certainly had its retro filter with the date stamped on the bottom right corner of the photo. Kate was a small cub wearing a cat t-shirt in a black skirt with her hair done up in a ponytail, holding hands with her mother when she was in her early thirties.

"Aaand, here's Kate on her First Communion..."

(Y/n) tore his eyes away from the photographs to the girl seated next to him. Her face was hidden in her hands but it didn't stop (Y/n) from seeing the red outline of her flushed face. Comfortingly, (Y/n) touched her hand to get her attention. Startled by the physical contact, Kate relaxed when she realised that (Y/n) sought to comfort her. She allowed him to hold her hand while his thumb brushed across her knuckles as her mother obliviously showed (Y/n) more photographs.

It took quite some time for Linda to finish with her business of exposing her family photo album to her daughter's boyfriend, with the assistance of her husband who pried her away from the album that Tilly quickly put away. When (Y/n) noticed Kate and her sisters collect the dishes and cutlery, (Y/n) jumped in without a moment of hesitation and offered to clean up for them.

"You're so sweet, (Y/n/n)," whispered Kate when she gave him a light peck on his cheek.

Tilly and Lynn were surprised at his offer but allowed him to do so whilst the two younger siblings headed to their rooms. Kate, however, elected to stay behind to help (Y/n) with cleaning up, in spite of his protests. Nearly fifteen minutes later and (Y/n) and Kate made their way to her room for the night. The young couple brushed their teeth after changing into their pyjamas - luckily (Y/n) had previously brought in spare clothes for such an occasion.

Kate took a second to undo her hair bun to let it all run loosely even though she knew (Y/n) didn't care how she had her hair, only that he would reassure her that she was beautiful and God made her in His own perfect image. Once they were laid in bed together, they were practically entangled; they laid facing each other with their foreheads touching.

Soon enough, the couple drifted off into deep sleep.

#kate marsh #kate marsh x reader #victoria chase

[messers-moony]

One in the Same | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Wife!Reader

Summary: Reader notices Draco going through the same pain as her ex lover and desperately wants fix her faults.

“Mr.Malfoy, can you stay after class, please?” 

“‘Course, Professor Black.”

An average day in second year. Professor Black - Y/n - taught History of Magic after Professor Binns decided his time was up. Too long of teaching sleeping students who could care less about his lessons. However, once Y/n took over the position, kid's grades improved and people were no longer sleeping. She made things fun and inventive.

After class time was up, everyone filed out of the classroom aside from the blond Slytherin boy. Draco has always been on the good side of Professor Black. She was always extremely kind to him despite his rather sour attitude at times. But Draco was always hesitant to initiate a conversation to really speak his feelings to her. But this was the first time she had him stay after class. 

Y/n pulled out the chair in front of her desk as he sat down. His white-blond hair and gleaming blue eyes. His young face, not yet defined. Y/n with her h/c hair and curious glinted e/c eyes. 

“Draco, I want to start this by saying I don’t know what your home life is like.” Y/n began, “I went to Hogwarts with your parents, though, and he wasn’t always kind. Your mother was cordial with me, though.”

“If you don’t find me intruding, what’s your home life like?” 

“I- Um- It’s good.” Stammered Draco, “Father and Mother are always kind.”

Y/n’s eyes glinted with curiosity, “Lucius tolerated me.”

“Tolerated you?”

“I married one of his best friends.” Y/n chuckled, “He didn’t have a choice.”

Draco tilted his head, “Sirius?”

“Oh heavens no!” Y/n exclaimed, “Regulus. Sirius Black's brother.” 

“My- My dead cousin?” He queried. 

She nodded, “Yes. I married Regulus right after graduation. His parents weren’t thrilled, but he loved me so, here we are.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were his parents like?”

“Horrible. The worst.” Y/n spat, “Sirius got the worst of it, but Regulus did occasionally too.”

“Walburga and Orion were awful. Using the crucio curse is not a great punishment for kids.” Draco’s eyes widened, “Both of them had scars from the curse. Sirius ran away at sixteen, and Regulus was used as their puppet. So used that at the age of eighteen, he felt like he had to prove himself. Which inevitably got him killed.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“Well, would you like my honest answer or my Professor answer?”

“Honest, please.”

“Between you and I, I still haven’t gotten over it.” Y/n shrugged, “I see something that reminds me of him, and I’m back at the start all over again. It takes time, and it’s taken plenty of time, but here I am, doing what I love. Teaching kids.”

“Anyways.” Y/n smiled, “You’re dismissed. I’m sorry I took up your time. However, if you ever feel the need to speak with me, let me know. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Draco picked up his bag, rustling as he stood up. The blond boy was still digesting all the information he gained. He couldn’t believe that his cousins got the crucio curse for a punishment. He thought his parents were bad. Theirs was way worse. Draco was about to walk out of the classroom but turned last minute to look at his Professor. 

“Professor?” 

“Yes, Draco?”

“There’s-“ He swallowed, “There’s a Quidditch match this Saturday. Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. If you have the time, I’d like you to come.”

“Of course. I’ll be there.” Y/n smiled. 

He walked out of the room without a second stop. He felt better about himself now. He had someone who genuinely seemed to care about him. Draco didn’t trust her just yet, but he wouldn’t be opposed to speaking with her as he had just now in the future. Professor Black had always been open and honest with her students. Perhaps that’s why kids liked her so much. 

Saturday arrived quicker than Y/n would’ve hoped for one reason. She, herself, didn’t own any Slytherin-colored merchandise anymore. But there was a box in her quarters that she brought with her to Hogwarts every year. Regulus’s old clothes meaning all his scarfs, ties, button-ups, pants, hats, etc. Y/n couldn’t seem to get rid of them. Frankly, she didn’t want to get rid of them either. 

Carefully she pulled the cardboard box from the top of her closet. Taking a pair of scissors and breaking the tape seal she had put on it multiple years ago. Inside laid many pieces of the evergreen and silver cloth. Y/n’s hands gravitated to the green and silver scarf. Bringing it to her nose, she was shocked. It still smelt like him. Godric, this was going to be more challenging than she initially thought. 

Nonetheless, she put it around her neck along with her button-up and tight-fit pants. Y/n put on the green gloves, much too big for her but had fit Regulus perfectly, the tie, and the scarf. It brought her a sense of nostalgia. It made Y/n feel like she was a fifth-year going out with Regulus on a date to Hogsmeade. But she wasn’t fifteen or in fifth year. Y/n was a Professor and a full-grown adult. And Regulus was dead. 

The game was going well for Slytherin at the beginning. But like most Quidditch games, things can change rather quickly. Ravenclaw was studious. That was for sure. They played skillfully. Y/n sat in the Professor stands with the rest of her colleagues. She sat between McGonagall and Flitwick. But white-blond hair caught her attention in front of her. Lucius Malfoy was here spectating his son. 

McGonagall nudged her, “Where’d you get the Slytherin gear?”

“Regulus.”

“How have you been, dear?” McGonagall questioned softly, “It’s been a whirlwind, but nothing I can do will bring him back, so ‘m still here for him. It’s what he would’ve wanted.” Y/n replied. 

Minerva placed a hand on the girl's knee, “If you need anything, let me know.”

“‘Course, Professor.”

The game ended tragically. Slytherin had just tied the game when Cho Chang had caught sight of the snitch. Sadly, she was able to grasp it before Draco. Leaving Slytherin with two-hundred and thirty points while Ravenclaw ended with three-hundred and eighty points. Lucius seemed furious with this conclusion and stormed off the stands. Y/n knew something was up, so she followed him. 

She came up in a deserted hallway in Hogwarts. Draco stood - now changed into the usual Hogwarts robes - and his father stood before him. From the view she had, Draco’s back was to her, and his father was towering over the boy. 

Lucius had a cold and icy voice, “You are insufferable!”

“You had one job, Draco! One! Catch the damn snitch.” He scolded, “Perhaps you were too daft to figure that out?”

“‘M sorry, father. I didn’t mean to. Honest.” Draco was pleading and begging for mercy; it made Y/n’s heartache at the familiar words. 

“Mum, Dad, I seriously didn’t mean to!” Regulus had cried after breaking a vase, “Excuses, excuses, they won’t get you anywhere in life, boy!” Orion shouted. 

Tears collected in his silver eyes, “‘M sorry! ‘M so sorry!”

Walburga pointed her wand at him, “Crucio.”

Lucius scoffed, “Malfoy’s don’t cry, wipe those tears.”

“Should‘ve sent you to Durmstrang. You come to Hogwarts and forget everything I’ve ever taught you.”

“Father, I really didn’t mean to! She just got there faster than me.” Draco begged. 

Y/n saw it before Draco did. Lucius raised his palm slowly, and Draco flinched. Y/n saw the pale hand rise into the air, and without a second thought, she ran in front of the young boy, taking the blow that was meant for Lucius’ son. Draco heard the sound but never felt the impact. Carefully he opened his eyes to see Professor Black standing in front of him, a hand on her cheek. 

“How dare you get in the way!” Lucius yelled, “How dare I? How dare you for trying to leave a hand on your son!” Y/n retorted her bright cheek red from impact. 

Draco was appalled, “Draco is your son! Not a toy or a puppet, and I will not stand for this!”

“You don’t have to, half breed.” Lucius seethed, “As you said, he’s my son. Not yours.”

“I could give less fucks!” Y/n exclaimed, “Draco is my student. I will not be having you lay your hands on my students.”

Lucius scoffed, “Where’s your child, mm?”

“Right, you don’t have one.” Lucius answered, “Because your blood-traitor of a husband decided to get himself killed!”

“Regulus was not a blood-traitor for trying to right his wrongs!”

“Regulus and Sirius were no different from each other.”

“Leave them out of this!”

“Oh, so it’s still a soft spot for you?”

“So help me, I’ll-“

“Petrificus Totalus.” Draco stated while holding his wand, causing his father to fall to the ground, paralyzed. 

Y/n stared at the body in shock, “Draco.”

She didn’t even have time to reprimand him before he burst into tears. Y/n turned quickly and embraced him into a much-needed hug while the boy sobbed on her shoulder. Y/n’s hands went through Draco’s white-blond hair gently while he let every emotion out. She pulled away and wiped the tears on his cheeks. 

“You’re going to be okay, I promise.” Y/n informed, and Draco nodded, “Th- Thank you, Professor.”

Y/n smiled and sent him off to the Slytherin common room, leaving her to deal with Lucius. The Professor dragged him to Madam Pomfrey to deal with. Later that night, in her quarters, while brushing her teeth, she noticed the considerable bruise covering her left cheek: Blue and purple hues mixed to create a dark blue-violet looking color, almost grey. 

Sixth year was now here. Y/n’s fourth year of teaching at Hogwarts, and she couldn’t have asked for a better job. On September 1st, she went through the floo-network to arrive in her teacher's quarters. Looking at the time, it seemed that students were just about reaching onto the grounds when a knock sounded at her door. 

“Come in!”

A blond boy, much taller, defined face, and grey eyes had just walked into her teacher's quarters, “Good evening, Professor.”

“Good evening, Draco.” Y/n greeted smiling brightly, “What's on your mind, sweetheart?”

Draco didn’t know where to begin as water collected on his lower lash line, and gently he pulled up his left sleeve. Godric, it felt like deva Vu all over again. 

“Y- Y/n.” Regulus called through his tears, “What’s wrong, baby?” Y/n asked, sitting beside him on the four-poster bed. 

Regulus couldn’t help the tears that helplessly fell down his cheeks. His eyes were silver and blurred. Cheeks flushed and hair knotted. This past summer had been a shit show for him with Sirius running away and just everything that had gone on. Regulus had never felt this hopeless before. 

“I- I need your help.”

“Of course, anything, baby.”

He swallowed, “Just know that I’ll love you forever. Okay?”

“‘Course.”

Gently, he released a breath of air and pulled up his left sleeve. The combined snake and skull only meaning one thing. Regulus was now a death eater to the Dark Lord. Tears sprung in Y/n’s eyes but not because of disappointment but because of worry. She didn’t know what she would do if Regulus were to be gone. 

“They forced me!” Regulus pleaded, “Please, please don’t leave me.” 

Regulus was weeping, and Y/n took him into her arms, “Shh, shh, I’m not disappointed. I’m just worried about you.”

“I don’t wanna- I don’t wanna do this.” Regulus whimpered, “Please help me.”

“I’m gonna help you ‘m love. Don’t worry.” 

“What happened this summer?” Y/n asked as Draco pulled back down his sleeve.

“Auntie Bella.”

Draco was trying so hard to swallow his tears as his Professor was now face to face with him, “Draco.”

How was her voice so sweet and calm, almost like she had done this before, “It’s okay to show emotion. It’s being human. Let it go, darling.”

Just like that, the dam broke, and Draco was a sobbing mess again. How was it that Professor Black had always managed to feel more like home than his actual parents? What had his mum done for him while Bellatrix was giving him the mark? She had just stood there watching pain contort on his face. Y/n felt more like a mother to him, more like family to him. 

“Shh. Shh. You’re safe here, Draco.”

“They- They want me-“ He was choking on his words, and Y/n placed her hands on his shoulders, “Take deep breaths and then explain. Okay?”

He began to inhale and exhale air at a slow pace, “They want me to-“ Draco swallowed, “They want me to kill Dumbledore.”

“Okay.” Y/n stated, letting out a breath of air, “You and I will get through this.” 

“You- You promise?” 

“I promise.”

Perhaps it was instinct now for Draco to stay after in her classroom. After every lesson, Draco would visit her in her classroom just to be in her company or to talk. What was it about Y/n that drew these people close to her? Ones with broken souls who believed that couldn’t be helped. Was it her kindness? Perhaps it was her caring nature—too many variables to pinpoint. 

The moment Y/n heard crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, she knew something was wrong. Approaching cautiously, she saw Harry Potter doing the same behind Draco, who stood facing the basin, dried tears on his cheeks. Everything happened too fast for Y/n to understand. But when Harry spoke an incantation that left Draco bleeding out on the floor, everything changed. 

She was jumping into action hastily, falling to her knees beside the blond-haired boy while Harry was almost in tears at his mistake. Y/n took her wand out and began muttering spells to heal the boy's chest. Harry was now in a heap on the floor, tears filling his glorious emerald eyes while the Professor took care of his harm. It took ten minutes before the bleeding stopped, and Y/n turned to face Harry. 

“Harry.” 

“‘M sorry. I- I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad I was here.” Y/n replied, and Harry looked like a mess, “I need you to go to the Gryffindor tower and not speak of this to anyone, okay?”

He nodded and stood up sluggishly. Harry left the bathroom, leaving Y/n with an unconscious Draco. Sighing heavily, she picked up the boy and lugged him to the hospital wing, where he was taken care of. The following day an owl was pecking at Y/n’s window, leading her to wake up and take the note from the owl’s foot. 

“Draco won’t stop calling for you.”

Y/n freshened up, brushing her teeth, hair, and a change of clothes before making her way to the Hospital Wing. It was quite a ways away from. Her section of the school, but if Draco needed her, she needed to be there even if it was six o’clock in the morning. Her shoes made a light tap along with the wood as she walked and hesitantly opened the big door to the infirmary. 

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Madam Pomfrey said with her hand over her heart, “Draco has been asking for you, my dear.”

She gave a tiny smile as Pomfrey pointed to where Draco was lying. Carefully she stripped back some of the white curtain and pulled a chair beside his bed. Y/n took his hand in his. It was cold and pale. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine holding Regulus’ hand in the same exact way after a horrible Bludger accident. 

An hour later, Draco finally woke up, “Mornin’ sweetheart.”

“Professor, you- you came.”

She smiled, “You called for me, of course, I’d come.”

Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position, his grey eyes locked on her warm e/c ones, “Sorry, I just, didn’t expect you to come.”

“How are you feeling?” 

“I feel okay. Little sore but nothing I haven’t been through.” 

Y/n smiled sadly, “I knew a boy just like you, you know?”

“You did?” Draco asked, and she nodded, “I did.”

“Could you tell me about him?”

“Well, he was strong, smart, and closed off. His home life wasn’t too great either and was forced into being what his parents were too.” Draco looked eager for more, “Eventually, he realized that this wasn’t the life he wanted. He no longer cared about his parent's approval. He just wanted to be him, but by then, it was too late.”

“Too late?”

She nodded, “He was already in too late, so he did the only thing he thought of. Betraying his parents, his family. He was so caught up in what he was doing he didn’t realize what he was doing, and now, because of that, he’s no longer with us.”

“But you aren’t too late, Draco.” Y/n stressed, tightening her grip on his hand, “Let me save you. Let me help you.”

Tears ebbed at the corners of his eyes, “Please.”

Y/n took him in her arms and rubbed his back soothingly, “You aren’t alone. I’m here for you.”

It took months, but everything was over. It felt like time had stopped. Y/n could remember the terror standing outside of Hogwarts as the death eaters stood on the other side. Narcissa was calling for him - the boy who had no choice - and Draco was panicking as Lucius began calling his name. 

Draco swallowed and shook his head. 

It was the feeling of relief that brought Y/n solace. Draco took the step that Regulus took, and she would make sure he didn’t pay for it. The relief felt like a breath of fresh air now that the war was over. Y/n had stepped into the Great Hall panicking, hoping, praying that he was okay. At that moment she saw it. 

He was crouched in the corner. People were glaring at him all around. Draco saw. He saw the Weasleys crying over Fred. He saw Harry look empty, staring at Remus Lupin and Nymphadora. The way Lavender Brown’s parents sobbed over her dead body. He saw the way Dennis Creevey was yelling and screaming in pain at seeing his deceased older brother. Draco could remember how close they were. 

Nonetheless, he stood up and ran into her arms: his solace, home, and safe place. Draco couldn’t remember what it felt like to be held this tight. He dug his nose into her neck and just remembered to breathe. She pulled away to see a small smile playing on his lips. Y/n cupped his cheeks gently. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.” Y/n smiled, “I can't explain how proud I am of you. You did it.”

Draco smiled and leaned into her hands, “Thanks, mum.”

#regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus arcturus black #the noble house of black #draco malfoy #Draco Malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy x you #Draco Malfoy x y/n #Draco x you #Draco x reader #Draco x y/n #regulus x you #regulus x reader #regulus x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #james potter #james potter x reader #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders era #golden trio era #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader

[duskholland]

ok but "Why are you getting jealous, baby?. You know I would fingerfuck you right in front of her." with mob!Tom

me reading this request and going !!! lmfao. i love it. nsfw 18+ !!! extended warnings under the cut <3

–it’s mob monday–

extended warnings: jealousy, mentions of alcohol, fingering (fem receiving), slight degradation (calls her a slut once). i like this a lot tho hehe.

–––––

The mansion is decorated to the nines, with glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a temporary bar standing in the centre of the atrium, and a sea of serving staff covering the ground floor. There’s a string quartet in the corner, and there are so many diamonds hanging from necks and wrists that it’d rival the most exclusive boutique in Mayfair.

Tom likes to throw these get-togethers a few times a year. He invites everyone he knows—partners, foes, suppliers. Everyone gathers in your house and mingles cordially over champagne and canapés, pretending that they aren’t all armed with deadly weapons and surrounded by security personnel. It’s always a special occasion, and it’s one of the few times a year that Tom can relax when he’s around these people.

You know he enjoys it, so you always try your best to play your part. You’re in a long, sweeping tulle dress, tinted with your favourite colour and flattering you in a way that Tom adores. Your breasts ache, still tingling with the reminders of the tough lovebites your boyfriend had sucked to their underside when he’d first seen you in the dress. You’d been interrupted before your shenanigans had gone further, and you’ve been aching all night. Your arousal has only been made worse as you’ve watched Tom waltz around all evening, strolling from conversation to conversation with confidence, a broad smile, and an incredibly tight-fitting tux wrapped around his figure.

You’ve been holding back the temptation to jump him all evening, but you fear you won’t be able to hold it in much longer. Your skin prickles with want, the space between your legs throbbing, and you can’t stop yourself from peeling away from your conversation and moving off through the crowds in search of Tom.

It doesn’t take you long to find him, leaning up against the bar, champagne glass in one hand, the other arm resting on the bartop. You find yourself scowling as you recognise who he’s talking with: Monique, the leader of one of the other gangs in London. She’s always cosy with him, always emits an awful aura of intrigue whenever she’s around your boyfriend, and whilst you trust Tom more than anything, you don’t trust her.

You observe them for a few moments, trying to talk yourself down from acting unreasonably, but then she reaches out and rests a hand on Tom’s shoulder, and you can’t stop yourself from strolling over to them. You approach from behind, wrapping a hand around Tom’s waist and feeling him stiffen until you press a quick kiss to the side of his face. You move purposefully, knocking Monique’s hand off his shoulder as you settle at his side, resting your temple on Tom’s shoulder as you look at the other woman.

“Evening,” you say curtly. “You don’t mind if I borrow Tom for a moment, do you, Monique?” You pause for less than half a second before smiling, sickly sweet. “Brilliant. Thanks.”

Tom’s smirking, you can feel it on his face as you take his hand and pull him away from the bar. He catches up to you, murmuring into your ear as he lets you guide him, “that was a bit rude, love.”

You pout, only stopping when you’ve pulled Tom into a hallway. It leads off into three separate rooms, all full of your guests, mingling and laughing, but the hallway itself is vacant. You lean against a wall and tug on the front of Tom’s suit, jerking him closer until he’s pressing up against you and you’re able to bury your hands in his hair.

“Sorry,” you mutter, your jaw set in a hard line. “You know I don’t like her.”

Tom scatters a few soft kisses to the side of your face, slowly wearing down your hardened demeanour. “Why are you getting jealous, baby?” He murmurs, lips held by your ears. He briefly bites your earlobe, causing you to moan. “You know I’d fingerfuck you right in front of her.”

You whimper, pulling on your lower lip as you feel one of his hands stroke over your hip before sinking between your legs.

“Tom,” you say, voice breathless. You look over his shoulder, eyes skimming the vacant hallway. You part your legs. “Someone could walk in.”

“And?” You can feel him smirking against your neck as he bunches the side of your dress up at your waist, giving his hand easy access to slip up to your centre. “Fuck, love, no underwear?” Tom pulls back, eyes glinting almost black. “You’re soaked,” he coos, stroking two fingers through your slit. He teases your entrance until you’re whimpering and bucking your hips down against them, at which point he indulges you by sinking them into you. The discomfort fades as he stretches you out on his slender fingers, adding a third one a few moments later as you moan. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Always so desperate for my touch.”

You grab at his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your head back and whimper. Tom’s skilled with his fingers—he’s learnt exactly what he has to do to bring you to your knees, every single time. As his digits nudge up to stroke your g-spot, his thumb wrangles your clit, applying the perfect pressure as his lips mark your neck, leaving bruises on your form as you melt.

“Tom, Tom, fuck, that feels so good. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

“Mmmm, don’t worry.” Tom nibbles at your ear, hot breath fanning across your neck. “Gonna make you gush for me, lovie. Right here, when anyone could walk in. Bet you’d like that though, wouldn’t you..? Bet you’d love everyone here to know how much of a needy slut you are for me.” You moan, shaking against the wall as his words coax you to the edge. “Go on, darling. Get my fingers wet, mm? Cum for me. I want to feel just how desperate you are.”

Your eyes roll back as you do as instructed, unable to keep quiet as you fall into your climax. Tom kisses you, pressing his mouth to yours to muffle your loud noises of enjoyment as your cunt clenches around his fingers and your clit revels in the pleasure being given by his insistent thumb. You gasp as you pull away from him, riding out your high before slumping a little, your figure shaking as you watch Tom remove his hand and suck on his fingers for a few moments. The glint of his Rolex is almost as pronounced as the hungry spark in his eyes.

“Thanks,” you mumble, voice hoarse. “Needed that.”

“I know you did.” Tom pulls your dress down before resting his hands on your waist, slowly dragging his palms up until they’re resting over your boobs. He winks as he gives your breasts a soft squeeze. “Are you going to behave now, or will I need to fuck you too before we go back out there?”

You smirk, drawing your hands over his shoulders before dragging him closer. You kiss him passionately, letting your tongue dip into his mouth and hearing him groan in response. Your hand settles in Tom’s hair as you kiss him a few more times, not wanting to distance yourself completely, craving him.

“I think you know the answer to that question, Tom,” you mumble against him.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re right.” He reaches down for your hand and shoots you a wink. “You’re insatiable, darling. Insatiable.”

You just shrug, letting him pull you towards a vacant room. “Can you blame me?”

Tom looks back, his hungry eyes roaming your figure as he shakes his head. His smirk grows fonder, and you feel your heart clench with love for him as he chuckles.

“No,” he murmurs, pulling you closer to kiss your hand, “because I feel the same way about you.”

#i really like this one :') nothing i would rather have as the last official mob!monday blurb... </3 thank ou #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #tomblurbs #myblurbs #mob!tomblurbs #mob!tomfic #tom.filth #smut #q

[ppersonna]

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float?  - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic.  this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot.  i think it flows better that way!  i hope you enjoy this.  this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on.  this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions.  while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed.  please take care of yourself and proceed with caution.  18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong.  Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware.  The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day?  He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years.  He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved.  Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs.  He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.  

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other.  Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.  

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed.  Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released?  Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better?  Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built.  He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.  

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.  

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him.  Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled. 

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.  

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.  

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here.  I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all.  “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.”  She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely.  Words wouldn’t fix the wounds.  She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed.  The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced.  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.”  Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured.  Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds.  And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money?  He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved.  He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived.  It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet.  Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes.  It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat.  “Happy for you.  I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words.  Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously.  “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much.  I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed.  Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar.  You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him.  I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.  

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs.  He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack.  Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone.  He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered.  “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly.  You stole a look back at him, at his words.  

“Yoongi, you need to see someone.  You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay.  I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed.  He was thin, so sickly thin.  While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks.  His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.”  All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed.  Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets.  Yoongi’s body was trembling.  He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan.  He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.  

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.  

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.”  There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized.  The kiss was slow, gentle.  You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own.  Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.  The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans.  This wasn’t passionate or steamy.  It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.  

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could.  He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.  

He didn’t want to fuck you.  He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him.  He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.  

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging.  Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent.  You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely.  You missed him.  You loved him.  You hated him. You never felt more complete.  The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow.  The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off.  His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point.  Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again.  He felt alive.  

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain.  He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close.  Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him.  Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man.  Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features.  Fuck.  

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him.  He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.  

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness.  Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals.  There was crying.  There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning.  He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time.  Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie.  He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend.  He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him.  Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.  

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T.  He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction.  He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in.  He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother.  He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers.  She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy.  You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension.  He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones.  Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud.  “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.  

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped.  “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him.  You were proud.  Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay.  It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation.  He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had.  He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his.  He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.  

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances.  This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative.  Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself.  Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you.  Yoongi loved himself, as he was.  Broken and healing.  Addicted and sober.  Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety.  Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you.  He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain.  Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried.  Jesus, he cried so much.  He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.  

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks.  The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy.  He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.  

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.  

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts.  You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.  Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it.  Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had. 

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no?  He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees.  Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good.  You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering.  You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face.  No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago.  No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.  

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.  

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most.  The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.  

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display.  He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most.  Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body.   His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have.  I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess.  So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue.  He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”  

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly.  Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.  

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over.  It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself.  You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.  

You were his, again.  He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love.  All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby.  You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself.  Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.”  He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love.  Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”  

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together.  Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun.  Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed.  You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed.  You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly.  Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7.  He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.  

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything.  Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes.  Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation.  Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful.  Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.  

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself.  Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief.  Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.  

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside.  Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.  

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #hyungsmutsociety #btswriterscollective #minthlynet #heartsforbts #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #agust d #bts agust d #bts suga #suga

[babybluebex]

not your duke [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: prince!tom holland x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 2.7k ➽ summary: at the dawn of the new century, you meet two men: one, your betrothed, and the other, a prince with a secret.  ➽ warnings: explicit language, gothic era shit bc i live for that ➽ a/n: many thanks to the loml @earthlyholland​ for coming up with the title and urging me to finish writing this i luv u kiss 

Nothing had ever drawn you into London. In fact, you were staunchly opposed to the idea when your father first told you that you were moving. What was the point of it? You knew that your father could conduct business as easily from the States as from England, but what’s done is done. You had lived in London for a short time, only a few months, before you realized the real reason why your father relocated you. 

You met your fiancé at a party. London was known for its aristocracy, and your father’s banking business had put him in high regard with many of the British elite, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were invited to a New Years party. “The Osterfields,” your father told you. “I’m told they have a son only just older than you.” 

“Really?” you asked, looking out the window, hardly curious. “His name?”

“Harrison,” your father told you. The carriage bumped along the street, and you swayed with it. “The Honourable Harrison Osterfield of Kingston.” 

“Of course he’s noble,” you muttered. “Father, will you ever stop trying to marry me off?” 

“Your younger sister is already married,” your father reminded you. “If it’s not soon, it’ll never happen. And Sir Harrison is a perfectly agreeable gentleman.” 

“Agreeable to you,” you scoffed. 

“He’s an Oxford-educated man,” your father pressed. “Well-read, which I know is something you covet. I’m told he’s a good conversationalist as well; I guess you’ll be able to judge that for yourself tonight.” 

You cried out in opposition. “Father! Am I to meet Little Lord Fauntelroy tonight?” 

“Watch your tongue, girl. You are to meet your fiancé tonight.” 

The New Years party hosted by the Baron and Baroness Osterfield was what you expected, a lush spectacle of champagne and pleasing music and perfume. It wasn’t the sort of place that you usually found comfort at, but you tried your best; the Baron Osterfield was a close business partner of your father’s, and you couldn’t afford to muck everything up by having a foul attitude. “Lord Osterfield,” my father began, placing a hand on my back to usher me into his conversation. “Might I introduce my daughter?” 

The man before you was older, his fair hair tinged with a bit of grey, but he was dressed wonderfully in his tails and a red tie. “Pleasure to meet you, miss,” he said in a sonorous voice. “You’re the lass that’s engaged to our Haz, yes?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smiled, and your father sent a warning pinch to your back through your dress. Attitude, you could hear him scolding you. 

“Have you met him yet?” Lord Osterfield asked. “He’s a strapping lad; running around with his uni mates, I’m sure.” He looked around the room, bustling with activity, and he made a quick motion with his hand when he spotted someone across the room. 

The space before you was suddenly filled by a young man, still older than you, blond hair and green eyes, a wonderful smile on his face and his cheeks blushed. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, and he took your hand in a gentle but strong hold. “Hello, madam,” he said cordially. “I’m called Harrison. Haz, to most.” 

“Haz,” you repeated slowly. “I’d rather keep with Lord Osterfield, if that pleases you.” 

“Of course, madam,” Harrison said. “Might I interest you in a turn about the garden? It’s such a lovely night.” 

You looked to your father for permission, and he patted your back with a nod. Harrison saw this and gave a smile, and you hooked your arm with his as he led you out into the cold December night. Harrison’s body was warm and you found yourself moving into him, and he finally stopped at a metal bench along the path. “Do you mind if I smoke?” Harrison asked, settling himself onto the bench. 

You shrugged. Harrison took that to mean “No”, and he situated a cigarette in his mouth. It was rolled perfectly, either the work of a skilled amateur or a professional; either way, it was the smallest proof of his aristocracy. All of your friends smoked lopsided cigarettes that had tobacco that spilled out of the ends. 

“I’m sure you like this as well as I do,” Harrison began. “I told my parents that I prefer to marry for love, but my younger sister is already married. They said it was getting to be--”

“Too late,” you supplied. “My father said the same of me.” 

“You prefer to marry for love as well?” Harrison asked. Feeling slightly more at ease than before, you sat down next to him, fiddling with your skirt to lay right. 

“I would like to,” you said. “But we both know that’s not possible.” 

Harrison shrugged. “We only have a few minutes left of this year,” he said, looking at the Swiss watch on his wrist. “Who knows? Maybe 1900 holds newfound possibilities.” 

You tilted your head. “What makes you so sure?” you asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Harrison chuckled. A strand of blond escaped the rest of his styled hair, and you gently pushed it back, earning you a smile from your fiancé. “I’m just hopeful.” 

“Hope can be dangerous,” you remarked. 

“That’s true,” Harrison said. “But what’s the harm in having a little hope? Perhaps we can learn to love each other.”

“Perhaps we can,” you agreed. “I guess we have the rest of our lives to do that.” 

Harrison smiled at you, and you huffed out a laugh. He pulled a drag from his cigarette, and he said, “So we’re getting married, huh?”

“Seems like it.” 

There was a shout from the house, one that made Harrison look over, and you did as well to see a man, about the same age as Harrison, dressed nicely with curly hair, half-hanging out of the house. “Haz, get your stupid arse in here!” the man yelled. “Find your girl, the clock’s about to turn!” 

“I have my girl, you git!” Harrison cried. Before either of you could say anything, the man slipped from the house and came over to the two of you, and Harrison rolled his eyes. “Here we go…” he whispered. 

“This is her?” the man asked. He was British too, and he smiled at you widely. 

“Yes,” Harrison said, and he stood up. You did the same, and Harrison carefully took your hand. “This is Y/N, my fiancé.” 

“Ah,” the man said. “Hello, madam.”

“Y/N, this is one of my mates from university,” Harrison told you. “Duke Harold Holland of Kingston-Upon-Thames.”

“Call me Harry,” he said quickly. “Everyone else does.”

“Harry,” you said with a relieved smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Harry said. “Have you only just met?”

“Just several minutes ago,” Harrison told him, his arm snaking around your waist. 

“Well, it’s quite cold out,” Harry said. “And the clock’s about to turn. Come in, madam, get a drink.”

“Oh, I don’t drink,” you told Lord Harry Holland of Kingston-Upon-Thames quickly. “It doesn’t agree with me.” 

“No matter,” Harry said. “I’ll warn you, though: a drink completely agrees with your fiancé.” He gave a laugh, and you noticed that Harrison shifted uncomfortably next to you. 

“Well, Christ, don’t make me out to be a drunkard,” Harrison laughed nervously. “You’ll frighten her away, and we only just agreed to go through with this.”

“Not meant to frighten you, madam,” Harry said quickly. “In fact, my oldest brother doesn’t drink. Perhaps you two will get along.” 

“Oh, no, Harry, she’ll hate Thomas,” Harrison sighed. He looked at you, then added, “Thomas is quite a bore, honestly. Not nearly as fun as me, Harry or Sam.”

“Sam? Thomas?” you asked. You agreed that Haz and Harry seemed like fun, but anxiety thrummed in your chest. If Thomas was a bore to Harrison, you didn’t want to know what he truly thought of you. You could easily also be classified as a bore: you preferred reading and drawing to the piano or squash that was popular with your friends. You had done ballet when you were growing up, but were by no means athletic otherwise. 

“My twin brother, Samuel,” Harry began. “And Thomas is… Haz is right, he’s an awful bore. He brought a fucking book tonight, can you believe it? What sort of sod brings a book to a party?”

“But Thomas is a good friend,” Harrison added. “He’s a wonderful listener and gives excellent advice.” 

You nodded slowly. Thomas already seemed like a better match than Harrison, and you cursed your father. Of course he would match you with someone who wasn’t the best option for you. But no matter. Your fiancé offered you his arm and you took it, and you followed the men back into the ballroom. There was a renewed energy, and the ballroom was abuzz. You were introduced to Duke Samuel Holland, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Harry (as they should), and were briefly told about the twins’ younger brother, a boy of sixteen named Lord Patrick. The Honourable Charlotte Osterfield came after Sam, and she was giggling the entire night; she was engaged to Sir Tuwaine Barrett of Chelsea, another uni mate of your fiance’s. 

“Where is Thomas?” Harrison asked, looking around wildly. “He promised me that he’d be my New Years’ kiss!” 

“Did he swear to it as he did to Nadia?” Harry chortled. “I bet he’s gone home already. Slipped away without any of us noticing.” 

The clock chimed, and Harrison turned his jade gaze back to you. You gave him a gleeful look over the brim of your champagne as you took a sip, and your body cowered at the bitterness of the French alcohol. “Happy New Year, dearest,” Harrison said quietly, just for you to hear. “Here’s to many more.” 

You nodded. Suddenly, your chest felt tight, and your head was spinning, and you knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. You suddenly saw the rest of your life flash in front of your eyes: The Honorable Lady Osterfield, on your husband’s arm every single day, expected to please him and serve him. You didn’t want that. 

“Y/N,” Harrison said, putting a hand on your shoulder. His eyebrows were furrowed, and you at least felt comforted at his genuine worry. “You look pale. Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” you whispered. “Quite fine. I told you that alcohol doesn’t agree well with me.” 

Harrison nodded, his lips drawn thin, and he turned to Harry. “Call her carriage,” he instructed him. “I think my dearest needs to go home.” 

Harry nodded, giving you a worried look, but hurried off to do as his friend requested. Harrison took the flute of champagne from you and set it down, and he put a hand on your back. “I hate that you’ve gone ill,” he said. “I do wish we can see each other again, though. I enjoy your company greatly.”

“And I, yours,” you replied. “I really apologize for my behavior--”

“Harrison,” a booming voice came, and you looked to see the Baron Osterfield approaching you. “I need to speak with you, son.”

“Father, can it wait?” Harrison asked. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.” 

“His Majesty needs to speak to you,” Lord Osterfield said. “A business venture, he says.”

Harrison looked from you to his father, and he chewed his bottom lip. “I’ll be right there,” he told his father. “I just need to escort Y/N to her carriage.”

“Harrison, Dominic cannot be kept waiting,” Lord Osterfield grumbled. “Especially not on such a matter.” 

Harrison looked at you once more, then his eyes caught someone behind you. “Thomas,” he said. “Thomas! Come here, please!” 

Your heart hit against the wall of your chest when you finally saw Thomas Holland. He was a well-built man, wearing nice clothes that were a bit worn in places. His hair was dark, and in frizzy curls, crawling down his face, as was the fashion. His eyes were the color of amber, his cheeks pink, his lips thin but like a rose. He had a book under his arm, bound in leather, a bit of paper sticking from the top. “Would you do me an amazing favor?” Harrison asked. “I have to speak to your father; can you escort Y/N to her carriage out front?” 

“Y/N?” Thomas asked, and your heart warmed and melted just like chocolate. He had a beautiful voice, and you could just imagine the way he sounded as he read aloud. 

“My betrothed,” Harrison said, gesturing to you. “She’s fallen ill and must be taken home at once.”

Thomas finally pulled his gaze to your face, and a lopsided smile came across his face. “Oh, of course,” he said. “Such an honor to meet you, madam.” 

“Same to you, sir,” you said. “I’ve heard tell about you.” 

Thomas’s smile faltered. “Good things?” he asked. 

“Nothing but the best,” you said. You still felt dizzy, but Thomas’s warm hand on your arm brought you comfort, much more than Harrison’s did. “I apologize again, Lord Osterfield. I hope to see you soon.” 

Harrison kissed the back of your hand. “Same to you, dearest.” 

Thomas led you out of the crowded and loud ballroom to the front of the manor. “Lord Osterfield?” he chuckled lowly. “He’s your fiancé. You should call him by his name.” 

You shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to,” you said. “I hardly know him.” 

Thomas nodded. “I understand,” he said. “So… Harrison told you good things about me?” You nodded, and Thomas let out a laugh. You could tell that it was bitter, though. “Excuse my language, madam, but that’s a load of horseshit. You know it as well as I do. Harrison only puts up with me because my brothers are his closest mates.” 

You were startled at his honesty. “I suppose that’s true,” you mumbled. “My sisters are the same with me. They call me boring, say I’m no fun.” 

“The same is said of me,” Thomas said. “I’m perhaps the least commendable of my brothers.”

You nodded carefully, then tilted your head to look at his novel. “What are you reading?” you asked. 

Thomas smiled. “You’d like to know what I’m reading?” he asked. “Are you actually curious?”

“Yes!” you said. “I just read the most wonderful novel, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It’s called McTeague and it’s about an American dentist--” 

“By Frank Norris?” Thomas asked excitedly. He pulled out the book to show you, and you smiled at the same one you had been describing. “It’s so entertaining. You’ve finished it, then?”

“Just last night,” you told him. “I won’t spoil it for you, but it was so wonderful.” 

“Have you read The Picture of Dorian Gray?” Thomas asked. When you shook your head, Thomas’s face went red, and he laughed. “It’s my favorite. I could lend you my copy, if you’d like.”

“Oh, Thomas, that would be so lovely,” you gushed. “You’re too kind.” 

Thomas shrugged. “You’re my best mate’s girl,” he said. “I’m obligated to be kind to you.” 

You chewed your bottom lip. “And what of your wife?” you asked. “Am I to meet her soon?” 

Thomas came to a stop at the edge of the steps, casting a glance out at the carriage that rumbled closer. “I am unwedded,” he said. “Courtships have come and gone, but none have ever come to fruition. My father believes in me proposing rather than being forced into marriage, but I’ve never found a lady that I truly loved.” 

Your carriage stopped before the two of you, and the Osterfield’s servant opened the door for you. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, then turned his attention to Thomas, and he lowered his head in reverence. “Your Highness.” 

“Your Highness?” you repeated, and your heart flipped in your chest. “But I thought that you were a duke?”

“My brothers are,” Thomas explained. “But, seeing as I’m the oldest and heir apparent, I get a different tile.” 

“Your Highness, though?” you chuckled. “What are you, a prince?” 

Your laughter died when you saw the stony look on Thomas’s face. “Yes,” he said. “Did Harrison not tell you?” 

You shifted. No. Please, God, you pleaded. Don’t let it be true. 

A smile played at Thomas’s face. “My lady,” he said. “I’m Thomas Stanley Holland. Prince Thomas of England.” 

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland au #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland x reader #prince!tom holland