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rosepascal · 6 months

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reunion || wed!Joel Miller x reader smut

summary: Going to your 10 year high school reunion was a mistake when you're forced to see your worst enemy after all these years. After a shitty reunion you decide to ease your tension at the bar where you meet a very handsome stranger. What's wrong with indulging in a little fun? (worst enemies dad!Joel)

warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, rough sex, Joel is in his 50's and the reader is almost 30, pussy eating, blow job, big dick joel miller, drinking, swearing, doggy style, joel pushes your face into the pillow, cowgirl, he fucks up into you. This is pure fucking filth lmao.

part 2

a/n: sooooo uh i this happened. I hope you enjoy this fic and it lives up to all ur smutty expectations <3 Also i couldnt come up with a good acronym for this so ur getting a shitty one.

You really thought that all the high school bullshit was over. I mean you graduated 10 years ago, you’re almost 30 for fucks sake. Yet when you walked into the old school gym for your high school reunion it felt like you were transported back to some of the worst years of your life.

You should never have agreed to go.

You don’t care about what everyone is up to, you see that on instagram already. Though despite their “perfect” lives on social media, you doubt that any of it is entirely true.

“Hi! Welcome!” You’re taken back by the incredibly cheery voice greeting you as you walk in the door.

After slapping on a name tag sticker you take in the gym. You spot a few people you remember and a few people who you used to talk to. After high school you lost touch with most of the people there sadly but they wave you over and you join them to save yourself from standing alone. Catching up is nice as you sip your punch that you wish had been spiked because the night was about to become incredibly unbearable.

“Welcome class of 2013!” A shrill voice nearly peaks the mic and it makes your blood run cold.

Of course class President Courtney Miller would be here.

Ever since you were kids Courtney Miller hated your guts. She tripped you on the playground, lied to the teacher, and told you that you couldn’t play on the playground at the same time as her and her friends. As you got older it only became worse. She’d spread lies about you and make nasty comments in the hallway.

Anything you found happiness in she tried to destroy. You thought once you left school you’d never have to deal with her again. Yet she managed to appear on your social media with her perfect husband and perfect life. Seeing her again made you want to turn and run but you stand your ground.

Her fake over the top smile makes you want to gag as she goes on her speech about how happy she is to see everyone again to relive the glory days of high school. When her speech is over she gets off stage to greet her old popular friends who never grew out of high school.

In fact someone tried to fit into their old letterman jacket. Her eyes meet yours and she smirks. She saunters her way over to you and you flash her the fakest smile you can manage.

“It’s so good to see you again!” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm as the people around you turn their heads.

“The last time I remember seeing you is prom, remember? Your date stood you up and went with me instead.” She cackles like a witch as you feel anger begin to boil.

“Really? I thought the last time we saw each other was graduation, when you stuttered through your whole speech in front of everyone.” You shoot back with a smile. Her smile never falters but her eyes shoot daggers at you.

“Great catching up.” She sneers at you, walking away and bumping you in the shoulder as she does.

The reunion is uneventful for most of the night. A few whispers here and there about you and Courtney but you couldn’t care less. It was getting boring truthfully. As you walk to the snack table you feel someone bump into you, followed by the feeling of punch being thrown on your back.

“Oh sorry, didn’t see you there.” You hear laughter as you tense up from the cold drink.

Everyone is laughing and you see Courtney standing by a guy with an empty punch cup. Her eyes light up with a smug look. Of course this was her doing. Anger and embarrassment swirls in your head as you throw your cup down and storm out of the room. Cursing yourself for even going to this stupid thing. Getting in your car you throw on the jacket you brought and drive straight to the bar.

You need a drink or two and you need it now. The bar is mildly busy but not busy enough for it to be obnoxious. After taking a shot of vodka, you sip on a drink and sulk in at the bar. You never should have gone to that reunion. There was nothing for you there, just memories of 4 years of bullshit.

“Pardon me but is this seat taken?” You look up to see a man standing by you.

He’s hot. Really hot. Definitely older than you based on the salt and pepper hair. Not to mention the tight gray shirt and jeans that really make his ass look great.

“Go for it.” He sits down and orders a beer. You can feel him staring at you, not in a creepy way but more of a concerned way.

“Are you alright?” He asks as the bartender passes him his beer.

“Fine, just a shit night.”

“Tell me about it.” He raises his beer to you and you clink your glass.

What’s the harm in talking flirting with an attractive man who’s taking an interest in you. Absolutely nothing you think as you scoot your stool closer to him.

As the night goes on you get closer and closer to the man who you learned was named Joel. Joel was somehow single and had lived here since he was a kid. He owns a contracting business with his brother and he’s got a daughter but no wife. He’s touchy too. With your permission of course.

Asking you in that sweet and sexy voice if he can pull you closer. Soon the stools were ditched for a booth in the corner of the room. His hands that were once kept at his side were resting on your thigh.

You aren’t drunk, despite feeling woozy every time Joel looked you in the eyes. His beer is long gone and its clear both of you are interested in moving the night along.

“Did you drive here?” He asks as he hands the bartender his card to pay for your drinks.

“Yeah, but I’ve sobered up.” He frowns and shakes his head.

“I don’t feel right letting you drive after drinking. Tell you what,” He leans in close to your ear, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

“How about I take you back to my house, can’t let a pretty thing like you take an uber home now can I?” You bite your lip as his hands travel lower down your back.

“Sounds like a plan.” You push lightly on his chest to guide him to the door.

The drive is a blur as you sit in the passenger seat of his car. You’re both antsy as you shift in the seat. His hands clench the steering wheel making his veins pop.

All you can think about is what those hands will do to you in about 5 minutes. He pulls into his driveway and he doesn’t even turn off the car before you’re out and at his door.

“So eager.” Joel smirks as he opens his door.

The door shuts and Joel has you pressed against the floor. His lips are on yours as he roughly moves his hands to touch everywhere he can. You let out a small moan as he squeezes your ass. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Reveling in how fast he’s able to reduce you into a mess. Clothes are thrown on the floor without a care in the world as Joel leads you to his bedroom.

“On the bed baby, all fours.” He slaps your ass as you turn around making you jump.

As if he couldn’t get more sexy. You prop yourself on his bed, shaking your ass as you look behind you. Joel stares hungrily at your ass as he strokes his cock. Getting down on his knees he wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you back. Teasing your pussy with his tongue.

“Fuck!” You gasp at the unexpected feeling. He locks you in place as his teasing turns into full on carnage. He’s not letting you breathe as he devours your cunt like a meal. His hands running up and down your ass, kneading it and slapping it as he pleases.

“Oh Joel!” Your head falls as pleasure courses through your body.

“Quit moving.” He scolds as he pulls you against his face. You’re practically grinding on it as he eats you out with utter precision. How this man is still single you’ll never know.

“Please please, wanna make you feel good Joel.” You whine as he pulls away from you. He wipes his face with two fingers and sticks them in his mouth as he stands.

“Fuckin’ delicous.” You nearly fold at the sight of it. Turning around you crawl towards him. His dick is big, bigger than you’ve ever had before but fuck you want it in every hole of your body. He tilts your chin up to look him in the eyes as he guides one of your hands to it.

“Don’t be nervous baby, you can take it.” Fuck yeah you can take it. His eyes close as you lick from the base to the tip. Pumping it with hard and firm strokes. Flashing him an innocent look you take as much of him as you can in your mouth.

“Fuckin’ warn a guy next time.” He groans as his hand comes to rest on the back of your head.

Pushing you as far as you can go on his cock. Strings of mumbled praises fall from his lips as you suck him off. Drool drips down your chin as you choke on his dick.

“Feels so good, so warm. Doin’ such a good job.” He pushes on your head and you make a noise as you gag slightly.

He looks down, worried he’s gone too far but there’s nothing but lust in your eyes. It takes all his willpower to pull out of your perfect mouth.

“Don’t wanna finish just yet.” He says, noticing the disappointed look on your face.

He manhandles your body back to all fours. He rips a condom from his wallet and puts it on with ease. Lot’s of practice you guess. He gets on the bed, admiring the view as he spits on his hand.

He strokes his cock for a few moments before sliding it in. He goes torturously slow but you’re thankful as it feels overwhelming. He’s so big and feels so fucking amazing.

“Oh god Joel,” You claw at the sheets as your lower half sinks down. Leaving you in a perfect arch. He grabs your hips and slides out, groaning at the sight of your cunt gripping him. Begging him not to leave.

“Fuck!” You cry as he slams his hips back in. His pace getting quicker the more noises you make. It’s egging him on, encouraging him to fuck you till you cry.

“So pretty.” Joel says smugly as he pounds into you.

He’s punching the breath out of you, filling you up with his cock. He grunts as he leans over you, one hand pushing your head into the pillows as he gets into a new position, one that makes his cock sink even deeper into you.

Your cries and moans are muffled by the pillow but it doesn’t matter. The feeling of being pinned down makes you want more. Not to mention the sinful sounds coming from Joel. He lets go of your head and you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Need-fuck.” You reach back to grab his hand. He grunts in response as he refuses to let up his pace.

“Wanna ride you. J-Joel please!” you moan desperately.

While Joel is enjoying reducing you to a puddle, he can’t say no to that. You whine as he pulls out, already missing the feeling of his cock. He gently moves you to the side so he can lay down and helps you straddle him. Your legs feel shaky as you rest your hands on his chest.

“This view is even better than before.” He grins as he reaches up to squeeze your boobs.

“Can’t wait to watch these bounce.” He mumbles to himself. You slowly slide down on him.

His breath catches in his throat as you squeeze his cock. Using his chest as leverage you start to move up and down until you’ve found a good pace. Joel is mesmerized by everything.

The way his cock disappears as you slide down, the way your lips part with every gasp, the way your tits bounce. He wants this moment tattooed in his brain forever. He reaches up to play with your nipples as you continue to bounce on him. He notices a slight falter in your hips.

“Gettin’ tired?” He asks as he grabs your hips to stop you.

“Little bit,” You admit. Joel smirks as a wicked idea pops into his head.

“Let me take care of you alright?” You nod happily and Joel plants his feet on the bed. You thought he’d flip the two of you but he doesn’t. With all his force he thrusts up into you. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull as he hits the perfect fucking spot.

“Joel!” You wail as he forces your hips to stay still. He fucks up into you relentlessly. Hitting a spot that makes your legs shake. Loud cries and moans are pulled from your lips as he thrusts up without a break. He want’s you to fucking break apparently.

“Gonna come?” Joel taunts. His fingers are digging into your hips as he nears his end.

“It’s okay baby, go ahead. I got you.” You can’t take it anymore as you fall into his chest. Wailing from pleasure as you come hard around him. Your cunt squeezes him tight.

Not letting him move as he comes from the sensation. For a moment the two of you lay there in silence. Out of breath and completely spent. With all the energy you can muster you prop yourself back up. You smile as you feel his cock pulsing inside of you.

“Need you to get off baby,” Joel mutters.

“Don’t wanna.” He huffs and groans as you sit back on him.

“Too sensitive.” With reluctance you climb off him and collapse on the bed. He rolls over and gently kisses the side of your head.

“Need anything?” He asks as he rubs your back.

You reply in gibberish and Joel laughs. It’s been a while since he’s fucked someone silly. You barely notice he’s left until he comes back with a towel and water. Gently cleaning you up and putting you under the covers. Helping you sip on the water until he’s satisfied.

“Good night baby.” He wraps his arm around your waist as you both drift off to sleep.

If you hadn’t woken up with a dull ache between your legs you would’ve sworn last night was a dream. But it’s all real when you wake up next to Joel. He’s so handsome when he sleeps. You could watch him for hours.

“Mornin’” He opens his eyes and smiles sleepily. His morning voice is to fucking die for.

“Hi,” You stretch your arms and climb out of bed. You stumble for a second and Joel chuckles.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Think that's my fault.” You roll your eyes head out of the room in search of your clothes. Joel watches you walk away with a smirk. As you pick up your clothes you frown at the punch stain.

“What happened?” You turn around to see Joel walk out in sweatpants, putting on a shirt as he walks over to you.

“It’s stupid, I had my 10 year reunion and some asshole threw punch on me.” Joel shakes his head as he grabs his keys.

“Funny, my daughter had her reunion yesterday too. Maybe y’all knew each other.” He says nonchalantly. You laugh

“Maybe.” “Hold on, let me get a jacket before we leave.” Joel disappears back into his bedroom.

You look around his house, at the pictures on the walls and the decorations. You see a photo of a young girl with a graduation gown on and a diploma above the picture. Must be his daughter.

As you get closer you start to recognize the girl. The cap and gown was the same color as yours was when you graduated. Same school. Same year too. Your heart drops as the realization sets in. You know that girl because it’s fucking Courtney. There’s no mistaking that.

You glance up at the diploma and her name is printed in big letters. Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s no way the guy you go home with ends up being her dad. You’d never seen her parents before so it’s not like you would have known. Joel didn’t tell you his last name either but even if he did Miller is an incredibly common name.

“Sorry for takin’ so long, ready?” Joel asks. You turn around and try to shake the shock from your face.

“Yeah,” Your brain runs a mile a minute as Joel helps you into his car.

It’s not like you’ve really done anything wrong. He’s an adult, you’re an adult. Everything was fully consensual and as much as you hate to admit it Joel was the best guy you’ve been with in a while.

And as sick as it sounds, you can’t help but feel a little smug. Even if Courtney never found out, you knew that you fucked her dad. Joel pulls up next to your car and you thank him for the night.

“I know this ain’t exactly typical, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go to dinner sometime. I had a real nice time with you.”

You think for a moment. Would it be right to go out with Joel knowing who he is? Would he get mad if he found out you did know his daughter? He makes you happy. He’s hot and a gentleman. Could you deny yourself the chance over a girl who hated your guts?

“You know Joel, I’d love to go to dinner.” He smiles as he hands you his phone to put in your number.

He bids you goodbye and waits for you to get in your car before driving off. Not even a few moments later you get a text from him.

Friday at 7? I know this great Italian place.

Sounds perfect. See you then :)

;)

This might become the messiest thing in your life, but for Joel you know it’s going to be worth it.

—-

part 2

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #wed!joel

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houseofceline · 5 months

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My Pretty Girl - T.N.

Stupid Potions Exam

Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott

Warnings: None (yet ;))

Summary: Theo's not the one to tutor anyone but maybe he'll make an exception for a certain pretty girl?

< 3

__________________

“Damn mate you starving?” Mattheo teased as Theo scarfed down a muffin that Lorenzo found in his backpack.

Theo rolled his eyes as he finished chewing, “Hannah wouldn’t fucking leave my room this morning and made me miss breakfast.”

“You still seeing her?” Lorenzo questioned with his eyebrows raised.

“Seeing her is a bit of a stretch,” Theo replied, wanting to throw up at the mention of the girl. Sure she was a good fuck and all but he never understood why she had to throw a fit every morning after. It wasn’t the first time he threw her out in the morning, matter of fact it was everytime they slept together and yet the Slytherin girl still wanted to make a scene.

“Should’ve seen the look on Malfoy’s face when she cried and looked towards him for help,” Theo laughed, recalling the frightened yet disgusted expression his roommate made at her cries.

“You’re a gentleman for sure,” Mattheo spoke sarcastically as Theo chuckled at the statement.

“Yeah definitely,” Theo replied back in the same tone.

“Mate I’m definitely flunking tomorrow’s potions exam,” Lorenzo sighed as the trio approached the library.

Theo knew that studying with these two idiots nothing would actually be done, but what else was there to do on a Thursday night?

“Speak for yourself I’m ready to pass,” Mattheo boasted knowing that they had about the same grade in the class.

The three Slytherins looked for a place to sit.

The library was packed, it seemed like everyone in the damn castle was here preparing for some sort of exam tomorrow.

“Found a spot,” Mattheo spoke up as Theo and Lorenzo followed behind him.

“Mind if we sit here princess?” Mattheo asked as Theo moved beside him to see who he was talking to.

Pretty girl from potions. What the fuck was he doing calling her princess?

“Princess? You two dating or something?” Theo teased even though this was the last thing he ever wanted to picture in his head.

You looked away blushing while shaking your head.

This was one of the worst ways you could’ve responded to his answer in his opinion. Theo wanted to drown Riddle first and then himself at the thought of you blushing over him.

You didn’t think much of it. You knew that there were no actual romantic feelings between the two of you. You didn’t have any friends in history of magic and after meeting the two Slytherins they became your only friends in that class.

Despite not giving Mattheo an actual answer to the question the three boys took seats at your table.

Theo was quick to take a seat in front of you while Mattheo settled down beside you.

“Oh we’re all studying for potions?” Lorenzo took a peak at your books.

You sighed before pouting and nodding.

“It’s the worst subject to ever exist.”

Lorenzo nodded in agreement while Theo gasped.

“Worst? It’s one of the easiest subjects,” Theo scoffed while you and Lorenzo gaped at him.

“Tutor us then Nott,” Mattheo rolled his eyes as he took out his books as well.

“No, go ask Malfoy.”

You giggled at their interaction.

If your laugh was the first thing you hear when you get to heaven Theo decided he was going to start being a better person.

“No, Malfoy calls us stupid fucks everytime we get an answer wrong,” Lorenzo pretend to cry while the table next to us shushed him very loudly.

“Damn okay.”

“Open your damn book mate, you're the one that’s most likely to fail,” Mattheo said as he started to take notes.

“Actually that might be me,” you mumbled quietly as you tried focusing on the same paragraph for the thousandth time. You had read it over and over again but it felt as if it was impossible to retain the actual information.

“You good?” Theo whispered as he watched you stare blanking at the textbook.

He was doing charms homework. He didn’t think he needed to study for potions as he felt comfortable in his naturally gifted abilities. It was like relying on common sense for him.

You nodded hesitantly. Truth be told, you were so far from good.

You were positive that you were not going to pass the exam tomorrow. Your Ravenclaw was not Ravenclawing.

You couldn’t afford to get another bad mark since the exam would pretty much break or make your passing grade.

Another lecture about grades from your parents was the last thing you needed when you were still trying to earn their support for your chosen career.

Theo could tell you didn’t mean it.

He looked over to Mattheo and pleaded for him to leave.

He smirked before kicking Lorenzo’s leg motioning towards the two of you and then the doors.

Thank merlin he got the hint and began packing his things up.

“I’m feeling pretty tired, I need a nap break,” Lorenzo let out an award winning fake yawn as Mattheo nodded in agreement.

“We’ll see you guys later,” Mattheo waved before nodding to Theo for good luck.

Theo definitely owes them one.

“Here I’ll help you,” Theo offered as he got up and took Mattheo’s seat.

He scooted your chair closer and placed his arm around the back of your chair.

You started to feel your face heat up at his close proximity and hoped he didn’t notice.

He shifted the textbook towards the middle of you two before grabbing parchment and a quill from his backpack.

“Here take some notes,” he handed them to you as you nodded obediently.

“Wound-cleaning potion,” Theo began to read out loud to you as you started writing.

“Characteristics are as follows: purple, smoke and stung upon contact.” He listed and waited for you to finish writing before continuing.

You mentally thanked him for putting everything into simpler terms for notes as you wrote down everything he said.

Reading through the textbook it was hard to understand what the potion exactly was because it had so many words.

He continued to read and stop every time he wanted you to write something down.

In between your writings you couldn’t help but admire his face as his attention was fixated on the book. The dim lighting in the library made his jawline and face features stand out and appear sharper than normal. He looked so pretty.

“Stir counterclockwise for five minutes,” Theo finished as he turned his head catching you looking at him.

You immediately looked away and tried to hide your rosy cheeks as you wrote down what he had said.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Theo as he chuckled seeing your shy state before turning his attention back to the book.

Maybe another time he would tease you for getting so nervous around him, but tonight his goal was to make sure you passed the exam tomorrow.

#theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #draco malfoy x reader #hogwarts oc #hogwarts au #harry potter #slytherin #ravenclaw #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #hp fandom #hp fanfic

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jiminrings · 2 months

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fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don��t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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bahrtofane · 2 months

Text

here we go again - pt.1

pt. 2 , pt.3

jude x fem!reader , trent x fem!reader

empty promise after another leaves you walking in the cold. alone. on valentines day. youre never speaking to another player again.

word count : 1K+

watch it : mild fluff, heavy on the angst, situationships, toxic relationships, Jude is kinda an ass in this one sorry, not very happy ending

happy valentines day LOL

—--

you and Jude have a complex history, complex relationship.

you aren't officially together but at the same time you are exclusive. it's odd, but it's what works at the moment, (even if you wish he would just grow the balls to make you his already.)

you get he's a busy guy, top player both club and international. you aren't going to force him to choose you or make him get with you while his career is soon about to peak.

your wishes for more soon fade into the background as he presses gentle kisses into your skin. he called you a few hours prior, wondering if you wanted to keep him company while he binges movies and orders you a pizza. you said yes, maybe a little foolishly. but it's hard to stay away from him.

he's addicting. maybe it's a rush of being with someone whose whole existence is so grand. maybe it's the fact of knowing you have what millions of others crave for. you don't know, you try not to read into the intricacies. bad habit.

so here you are, face pressed up against his chest while you lay side by side on this stupidly large couch, action movie playing, your pizza done, belly full and body warm.

"what are you thinking about love?" he mumbles.

"you." you shrug.

"me ?" he chuckles.

you hum, wiggling deeper into the pile of blankets.

"i've been thinking about you. and us." he confesses, almost shy. the movie playing in front of you has long fizzled out of your attention.

hey might as well rip the band aid off.

"me too," you hum, "why aren't we official again?"

you feel him sigh dramatically, "because my career."

you squint. there goes the same lousy explanation. "you could put more i don't know, thought into us."

he shifts under the blankets , "valentine's day is coming up. dont worry love i have it all planned out." he assures you.

"oh yeah ?" you tease

"just you wait, the best valentine's day ever." he kisses the top of your head soundly.

—--

worst fucking valenties day of your life. you don't remember being more livid a day in your life. you cant remember the last time so much pure rage burned through you, hot enough to hurt. you didn't think it was humanly possible to clench your fist so tight youve dug into your palm hard enough to draw blood.

your head hurts, your legs hurt, you think your arm is starting to bruise from where you were shoved into a table on "accident" but what would Jude know. he was so busy taking pictures with models and laughing at corny jokes while you kept yourself company. texting and calling didnt work and he didn't even try to give you any attention the whole night, you can't keep doing this with him.

"you can't just run off-" Jude shouts from somewhere behind you.

"or what Jude. or fucking what." you seeth, not bothering to face him, storming out into the night.

It's your fault for trusting him all those nights ago. your fault for falling for the same shit over and over.

he sprints to catch up to you, "i don't know why you're being like this."

you stop dead in your tracks, "oh i don't know, let's think. you didn't tell me your escorts would be there. and to top it all fucking off they have to nerve to be on my ass the whole night, not letting me get anywhere near you even through we walked in together?"

he doesn't respond and you half the mind not to punch the shit out of him, walking further away from the club you just came from, heels clanking against the sidewalk so hard it hurts, pulling on your dress so you dont trip and fall. maybe you should let it go so you can fall flat on your face. that would be a better ending to the night than seeing his face. silly stupid you thinking this would work.

"happy fucking valentines day huh Jude. you take me to a damn club, you ignore me the whole night, and you spend all your time surrounded by other women who might as well just suck you off right then and there." you yell, hell if anyone hears. you want them too, you want him to be as humiliated as you feel.

Bellinghams date thrown away the moment you step inside, ignored and tossed for some common whores. oh you can't wait to see where your face ends up online after tonight. you can see the headlines now.

he grabs your arm, making you face him, "love listen-"

"no, you dont get to fucking do that anymore. you cant keep sweet talking your way out of things when you fuck up. why can't you just pretend to care" your voice shakes, you can feel tears brimming in your eyes.

"i'm not trying to talk my way out of it, i'm trying to explain." he tries.

you yank your arm out of his grip, "i'm not listening anymore, im done. all i asked was one day for us, just valentines day to make things work. and you showed me you dont care enough for that."

"please, let me fix this." he pleads.

"its too late."

"i wanted things to work so fucking bad, and you humiliated me Jude. i imagined a nice dinner, hell i would have settled for take out and a few kisses. that's how bad i want things to work, that's how bad i wanted you." you tremble.

"please my darling. let's talk about this. come back inside and i'll show everyone that you are mine," he holds a hand out to you, waiting. silently pleading with each breath he takes.

the street lights dance across his skin as for a moment you almost believe him. for a moment you think about stepping back inside with him. you can't do that to yourself, not again.

"no, iim done. don't follow me, don't call me dont text nothing. i want nothing more to do with you." your firm, final. swallowing the lump that builds in your throat, youd be damned if he sees you cry after this fucking shit show.

he stops in his tracks at this, not bothering to try and stop you.

it hurts more than it should to leave him behind you, but you honest to god can not keep up with his lifestyle.

all those articles and rumors were right you suppose, he's an arrogant stuck up bastard with too much money to know what to do with, too cocky for his own good and destroys anything good that comes his way. you hope he's happy without you.

#jude x you #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #footballer angst #jude bellingham angst #footballer x reader #footballer fic #footballer one shot #footballer imagine #footballer x y/n #footballer x you

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bratphilia · 6 months

Text

his bunny (w. afton x reader)

request: "hii!! i have been obsessed with your lillard!afton fics lately and i just have to ask you to write another. i was wondering if you could do something like afab! reader is a student in college and william is her engineering professor? she is purposefully failing his class just to get his attention and some “extra credit”. but little does she know william has been obsessed with her ever since she stepped foot in his class. if it helps, teachers pet by melanie martinez could have a huge influence on this. thank you so so much!! ♡♡"

note: thank you so much, i'm glad you've been enjoying the content i've been putting out! fun fact i was obsessed with this song when k-12 first came out. also professor!william has been on my mind recently so i'm glad you requested this!! the e-mail section is a little awkward because i absolutely hate using "y/n"

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: age gap (reader is college age 18-21 and william is 45-50), creepy and stalking behavior from william, oral sex (m receiving), facial, dirty talk, slut-shaming, mean dom!william, desk sex

engineering. your worst class. not because you were bad at it or anything. it was all your professor.

and no, not because he's a bad teacher either. he's just so fucking hot it makes your brain go fuzzy every time he speaks. he lectures with his large hands enthusiastically. he always wears some form of purple on him, whether it's a tie or his slacks. everything about him is so intoxicating.

but he's never noticed you.

not when you try to catch his eye before and after class. not when you greet him with a "good morning, sir." and every time you've attended his office hours, a fucking ta helps you every single time. it's making you go crazy, not getting what you want.

you even started to wear increasingly skimpier outfits. you always stick to a theme of a sexy school girl, even going as far enough to buy more short skirts and thigh high socks or leg warmers. the buttons of the blouses you wear paired with them are always unbuttoned just to show a peak of cleavage. you ignore the hungry and curious eyes of your other peers as you walk by them; it's not their attention you want. still, you feel a little silly putting in all this effort just for him to barely grumble a reply back to you at your futile efforts to talk to him.

so you put a plan in action. you either purposefully turn in every piece of homework late and answer most, if not all, the questions of your quizzes and mid-term until you're sure you're at the very bottom of the class grades-wise.

in fact, you wake up the day after your mid-term to an e-mail from professor raglan. the subject was titled "Meeting Request" with your name addressed at the beginning.

"I would like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss the current state of your progress in my class. After your most recent assessment and previous assignments, I'm concerned about your future in my class if you continue the pattern I am seeing reflected in your work. Let me know if tonight at 5:00pm works for you.

Thank you,

Professor Raglan"

any regular person's heart would have sunk to the pit of their stomach if they received that e-mail. however, you are not a normal person. your heart fucking soars. you immediately jump to respond in confirmation.

professor raglan knows better than to get caught up with students, but he just can't help it! you're too beautiful to ignore.

the craziest part is he knows what game you're playing. the outfits that reflect nothing but a stereotypical, sexy school girl you would see in a porn video. and especially the way your grades have dropped recently, when you started off being one of the brightest students in his class.

over time, he noticed your lack of participation in class. at first, he chalked it up to something more serious, like personal issues. and then he noticed those lingering stares, the way you chew your pen, twirl your hair, and rub your thighs together. he knows exactly what you're doing, and he's been ignoring you on purpose. he wants you to chase after him, to let him know what you really want, but you just won't. he partially doesn't blame you either, it would be highly inappropriate for a student to engage that way towards their professor. so he ignores you during class. he barely acknowledges the way you've tried to grab his attention.

steve more than reciprocates your feelings. in fact, he's probably more enamored with you than you can possible imagine. he has all your homework, your essays, even your mid-term saved digitally in a folder, with your name as the title, on his computer. he reads looks over them when he's taking a break from grading as a way to detox, which sometimes ends up in him masturbating thinking about you. he loves to read the failed work from his dumb little bunny.

he even followed you home once. he kept close distance away from you, hiding in the shadows of every corner you turned. it's the william in him that wants that does the stalking, he convinces himself. the hyde to his jekyll; his true self coming to show in the role he plays of an average college professor, a totally normal guy with a few quirks.

your room, conveniently let him catch a peep of you touching yourself, and you swore you saw you mouth the word 'professor' when you brought yourself to orgasm.

and so he decides to play your little game. after all, you created the perfect opportunity for him, and he's going to take the bait.

steve sits at his desk, grading the rest of the mid-term papers, while he awaits your arrival. your own paper is sitting separate from the other stack, easily accessible so the two of you can get straight to "talking" about it as soon as possible.

he hears a tell-tale knock at his door, and he tries not to answer with a smile in his voice as he calls out, "come in."

you open the door gingerly, and it takes everything in him not to eye you up and down, but at first glance he knows you're in your usual get-up. it's a pretty little number; white, short-sleeved blouse, black pleated skirt that stops around mid-thigh, and white socks that reach just above your knees. you smile at him, hands clasped behind your back, puffing forward your chest slightly.

"good evening, professor raglan," you say in an oh-so innocent tone, "you wanted to speak with me?"

god, the way you call him professor goes straight to his cock. "yes. sit down," he tells you, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk.

you sit down and your professor clasps his hands, leaning back in his chair. "i hope my e-mail didn't worry you. this will be quick."

he watches your face fall at his last few words and he has to bite back his amusement. "you see," he starts, taking your paper and pretending to look at your paper, "you didn't answer a single thing correctly. everything was wrong. it's funny, because i've heard nothing but good reports from the ta's that have helped you during office hours."

you lean closer as he continues. a plethora of excuses come to mind, none of which seem adequate for the situation he's putting it. "so i'm just wondering, how dumb do you think i am?"

your mouth slightly falls open. that was not the reaction you intended to invoke from him. "i—i can explain, i just need more—"

he rolls his eyes. "don't give me that. i'm not an idiot like you clearly are."

if anyone else had called you an idiot, you would have been offended, but from him? it goes straight to your pussy.

you purse your lips and rub your thighs together, waiting for him to continue to berate you. "is it extra credit you want?"

"yes, professor," you answer.

"then get on your knees, slut."

he rolls his chair back to make room for you and watches as you make your way in front of him. you get on your knees as he instructed, waiting expectantly.

"do i have to do everything for you?" he sighs in faux disappointment. he loves your shocked reaction that this is even really happening to you. "you wanted this so take my cock out."

"no, professor," you mumble, reaching for the buttons of his slacks. there's an obvious bulge tenting in his pants that almost makes you salivate.

you pull out his cock from his boxers and he shivers at how cold your hands are. you must be freezing wearing that outfit, he realizes. and, fuck, are your hands so much smaller that his. you begin by pumping him and then reach to kitten lick his tip.

you start to suck on the tip and he sucks air between his teeth sharply. it feels like heaven but he can't take your teasing anymore. he grasps your hair, making a make shift ponytail, and guides your mouth to slowly lower down on his cock. you moan around him causing a pleasurable vibration. he continues to use your hair as a way to control your mouth moving in a slow, up and down motion.

"ah — shit — stay still for me, yeah, baby?" he asks breathlessly. you do as he says, keeping your neck still as he begins to thrust into your mouth.

he bucks into you, grunting about what a "tight mouth you have" and how "you're such a dirty whore for your professor." you moan around his cock at his words, only encouraging his movements. the gurgling and gawk noises coming from your throat make him impossibly harder. the grasp on your hair becomes tighter and his thrusts more erratic. he's close.

before steve comes, he moves your mouth off and begins pumping himself. you watch him eagerly as he never breaks eye contact from you. when he does, it's when he shuts his eyes and groans, spurts of his come painting your face, your neck, and top.

you look so beautiful like this, he thinks, but it comes out as, "you look like such a messy whore."

you blush and lick the ejaculate around your mouth. steve grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet. you feel a little unstable but he's pushing you face forward against his desk. he lifts your skirt, which he doesn't bother taking off, only to reveal your thong. of course.

"were you expecting this?" he asks with a chuckle. he pulls your thong and lets it snap against your ass, making you yelp.

"no, but i came prepared," you say boldly.

he tsks. "such a slut."

steve prods his cock at your entrance, making you wiggle your hips when he slides it up and down your slit. you wish he would just stick it in already, but he's bent on teasing you until you can't take it anymore. he wants you to beg for him.

he moves your hair to the side to whisper in your ear. "tell me what you want, bunny."

you whimper at the close proximity. you can feel his beard brushing against your cheek. "need your cock, sir. been wanting it for awhile."

"oh, i know," he says, and you can feel the smile spreading across his face. "just wanted to hear you say it."

with that he presses inside of you, filling you up inch by inch, agonizingly slow. you whine desperately, wanting more. your fingers dig into the desk. he slips out for a moment and slams back in, filling you to the hilt. from that point forward, he starts thrusting at gradually faster pace.

the room is obscenely filled with the sounds of both of your pants and the sounds of skin slapping against skin. he punctuates every thrust with a degrading phrase. it gets you even hotter.

before you know it you're close. clawing behind you, desperate to grab something, he takes both of your hands and holds them against the desk, giving a flurry of hard, fast thrusts. moans and whines tumble from your lips as you feel your body completely captured by an orgasm that makes you weak in the knees.

steve pulls out and comes on your back with a groan himself, incoherently slurring words of "whore" "slut" and "dumb bunny." he buries his face in the crook of your neck, attitude completely doing a 360.

"you did so well for me, sweetheart."

#fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #steve raglan #william afton #william afton x reader

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paegei · 5 months

Text

RISKY

pairing - hoshi x afab!reader

summary - being vernon's hairstylist has its few obstacles... like your boyfriends sex drive.

a/n - lord... second attempt at writing smut ＞︿＜ also a v short fic...

NSFW CONTENT ! MDNI !

SMUT warnings under the cut !

SMUT warnings: semi-public sex (dressing room...), attempted quiet sex, unprotected sex (guys pls be safe), breeding kink, creampie, marking, pet names (babe, soonie, pretty thing, baby, love), soonyoung calls you a slut and whore ╯︿╰, getting caught having sex...

today had been… hectic to say the least.

jun and vernon had ended up arriving late due to traffic, dokyeom, being dokyeom, ripped his pants directly at his ass, due to being unable to sit still. and the biggest problem in your eyes, a horny hoshi.

soonyoung and you had been sneaking around behind the company’s back for the better half of a year now. despite his inability to keep his mouth closed, your relationship had yet to be exposed, even to the other members.

during late night pillow talk, soonyoung would complain about the members asking him to ask you out, ironic considering your already laying in his bed, his cum leaking out of you. all this says to you is that you need to make your obvious attraction, less obvious. that, however, is proving to be very difficult with the situation you’re in.

seventeen's waiting room had been reduced to chaos. stylists running around, desperately trying to find dk another outfit, jun and vernon only having just arrived, their makeup artists rushing through their regular procedure. and now, vernon’s hair stylist & hoshi were nowhere to be found.

soonyoung’s hand was covering your mouth, a, fairly lame, attempt to quiet down the noises that were escaping your kiss swollen lips. it’s not your fault you can’t shut up, not when soonyoung is fucking into you like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you cunt wrapped around him.

you're not sure how long he's been plunging into your heat, obviously long enough to have your mind slipping from between your fingers, but with his dancer hips and stamina ? he can do that within seconds.

“f-fuck babe. so fucking tight. just for me yeah ?” his words were punctuated with a deep, harsh thrust, a puff of air following each syllable he said. his pace was animalistic at best, torturous at worst.

“yes fuck ! just for you ! only for you soonie ! fuck please !” your voice was muffled by his hand, damp with the drool escaping your mouth. your pleas were met with a rumbling growl, his hips snapping somehow harder. his hand was a futile attempt to keep your location unknown, as the slapping of skin on skin in the dressing room was deafening, as well as the wet squelches each time him cock breached your walls.

his head had fallen into the crevice of your neck, his lips continuing the path they had taken earlier. his biting on spots that were sore from his previous actions made you scream into his palm. you could feel his smirk on your neck. the feeling caused you to wrap your legs around his back, heels pressing in to try a get him deeper, get you fuller.

the hand that had been resting on your waist moves up, abusing your chest. “my little slut hmm ? just can’t get enough of my dick huh ? my- fuck- good little whore.” his words were breathy, and the sound made you clench around him, just making him release more of those sounds. it was a vicious cycle but one you never wanted to end.

“soon- soon- please, fuck i- fuck please !”

“my cock fucking you so good ? fucked you dumb, pretty thing ?”

“soonie please- right there !”

“fuck so perfect for me baby. so fucking warm.”

the squelching had gotten louder, his grunts were becoming more consistent. your hips were tilting down to meet his thrusts, so close to reaching your peak. he could tell from the fluttering of your walls, suffocating his cock.

“you close baby ?” his head lifts up from your neck, to look into your fucked out eyes. not being able to form words from the intense pleasure, you simply nodded your head. you’re eyes were boring into his, begging for release.

“y-yeah me too love. squeezing me so tight i can’t help it.”

his hips no longer held a rhythm, just sloppy pumps into your depths, chasing his climax. his low grunts had become breathier, whiner. he removed his hand to smash his lips onto yours, your tongues dancing as your whines mixed together. his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit.

“please- please let me cum. soonie-“

“shhh babe i got you. let go for me. cream on my cock love”

after his permission reached your ears, your mouth dropped open, soonyoung licking into it. your thighs were shaking around his hips, as your back arches, eyes rolling back.

he continues his powerful thrusts to help you ride out your orgasm, as well as chase his own.

“gonna cum, baby. fuck, squeezing me so tight. shit- where do you want me love ?”

his voice was desperate, his hips bucking wildly into yours, on the brink of his orgasm.

“inside ! soonie please !” there were tears in your eyes from the overstimulation, desperate to feel his cum inside you.

“gonna fill you up so good baby, pump you full of my cum- shit !”

his words were cut off, his lips crashing back into yours to muffle his whimpers. soonyoung had never had an orgasm this powerful. his cum was filling you up, painting your insides as his thighs trembled. the two of you were gripping each other so tight- tight enough for bruises to form on your hips, scratches down his back.

after he calms down, the two of you still. he was still buried deep within you, as you both panted into each others mouths.

“fuck… sorry. didn’t realise i’d cum that much” he shoots you his signature grin, one of humour & innocence, as if his cock wasn’t going soft inside your walls.

“‘ts okay, soonie.” you kiss him, softly this time. he begins to pull out, & you both hiss at the sensation. glancing down at his cum leaking out of you, his stuffs his fingers back in.

“gonna keep it all in for me ?”

“i don't know babe... you came a lot” you grinned up at him, both feeling giddy for getting away with this. or so you thought. as you leaned forward to share another kiss, a voice interrupts you.

“you guys done in there ?” it was seungcheols voice, his words drowned in disapproval.

“oh shit- yeah man ! be out… in a sec” his voice died down as his eyes met yours, pure fear in them.

“hurry up. because you just had to get your dick wet we only have 5 minutes before we’re on. get out here now.”

you hear his footsteps fade away, and you and hoshi lean into each other to hide your giggles.

“mkay… i gotta go love. you gonna be okay ?” his gaze was worried. aftercare was a big thing in your relationship, and you could tell he felt guilty about having to rush through it.

“i’ll be fine soonie, okay ? you go kill this stage” he helps you get dressed, shooting you one last look before booking it out of the room. you smile fondly at the sight, before the extent of what just happened dawns on you. the two of you were going to be in big trouble.

not proof-read ! lmk if there's any mistakes (づ￣ 3￣)づ

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt #svt x reader #svt smut #hoshi x reader #hoshi smut #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung smut

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kenjakusbraincum · 5 months

Note

Not a request but i just wanted to share the daydreams Your sukuna fics have inspired like a clueless sourcer tries to take his pet away and sukuna let's it happen as a test of loyalty. Like he knows that this servant is suspicious. And of course being very loyal as soon as she realizes and tells sukuna that they tried to get her to leave, clinging to him, begging him to let her stay beside him 😭

He wouldn't intentionally want to test you, but now that he saw the opportunity... Where's the harm? You'll never know. Besides, he knows you wouldn't leave. He does, but hearing it from your mouth is not the same as actually seeing you make a decision to stay when faced with a choice to leave.

That servant is bold to think he doesn't know. Even bolder to believe running away is possible at all, much less with you. Okay, if it was one servant, maybe he wouldn't notice. But you? He sleeps with you almost every night. He wakes, almost in panic, when you do as little as shuffle or make a noise in your sleep. He would know you're gone.

But you are not as aware of this as he is. It starts with the little things. The servant talks to you as she washes your hair. Usually, she complains about her work, and you let her. You miss talking to people other than Sukuna, even if they're bothersome. Until one day, when she asks you what he's like when he's with you. You smirk, not immediately thinking why. Sukuna hasn't exactly trained you to be a critical thinker, on the contrary, he's dumbed you down quite a bit, to his liking. But you do still think, at least a little bit. Would he like you sharing details of your intimacy with him to others? No, hell no! You think he might just kill you. You think this is the worst way you could possibly betray him. After all, he trusts you with that vulnerability. So you tell her he treats you like he treats all of his servants. Obviously, with a little bonus of allowing you in his bed.

On another occasion, she mentions running away. Now you're conflicted. You're confident enough in your relationship with Sukuna that you know he wouldn't kill you for failing to refer that information to him. He knows of your good nature, so fundamentally different from his. He usually doesn't hold it against you. So you don't tell him, but it weighs heavy on your conscience every time you're with him. It's not the obligation, it's just that hiding things from him feels wrong. You're so used to telling him everything, all the time. Now you feel complicit. And he notices.

The situation reaches it's peak when you have a particularly bad day with Sukuna. It truly takes so little for him to hurt you, a single word is enough, much less a string of words as demeaning as the ones he spat at you that day. You cry in your room, and the servant, that vile servant! She really tried to convince you to leave now, when you're as emotionally vulnerable as you can be! She says so many things that don't ring true. That you don't deserve this, that you can be free and worry about your own needs and not someone elses...

She doesn't understand that Sukuna doesn't treat you badly. On the contrary, most of the time he treats you like royalty. And on the other hand, she doesn't understand that you wouldn't know what to do if you leave Sukuna. You're useless. Any life and survival skills you've had are long gone now that you've spent years being pampered by him every day. You're good for basically nothing, other than indulging in your little hobbies and serving, pleasuring, loving him. You would have to work, but most importantly you would be alone. Who could ever provide you with such a carefree life in the outside world? No, you don't want anyone to provide you with that life! You have it here. You don't want to leave. And every second you spend there listening to her says otherwise.

You tell her no, and when she starts insisting, you start to get up. And then she keeps going, she's following you, and you're begging her to stop because if she doesn't you'll have to tell him. And she doesn't, and now you're in tears and running from her, and barging into Sukuna's throne room unexcused. He is busy with his usual daily dose of slaughter, and he's doused in blood. But it doesn't matter because its him, and you feel safer in his arms than you would feel tucked away at the end of the world. Even if his embrace smears you in blood, and engulfs you in the scent of death.

Sukuna is usually weary of being interrupted, but he notices you're panicked, crying, and babbling nonsense. On and on about how you don't want to leave him, how you beg him to forgive you, for not having told him earlier, for not having seen it earlier. You never want to leave him, because you're the happiest when you're by his side. And then he gets it. He gets what he wanted. He picks you up so you can bury your face in his shoulder and calm down. He's not mad. ''Who upset you, my little pet?'', he asks in his softest voice, reserved only for you. ''And how shall we punish them?''

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk #asks #not a request BUT you inspired me to write this little drabble >:)#i love this concept sm

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chuuyasheaven · 6 months

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♡ Addicted to your kisses ♡

♡ Tags: Dazai Osamu / afab! Reader, making out, pet names, praising, soft sex??, desk fucking??, idk what's acc happening rn, Reader distracting Dazai, p/without any/p? , might contain grammar errors, rushed drabble, cringe, etc.

♡ Notes: NEW FORMAT ?!?! But also srry for disappearing, school's already making me want to kms

Dazai had a lot to do this week, there were a ridiculous amount of documents and reports which had to be filled. He also didn't take a lot of breaks during all this, and the worst thing of all? Not being able to be around you. Not being around your sweet touches, your sweet voice and most of all, your addictive kisses. But it's probably better this way, he may be locked in his room at all times but atleast he's not getting distracted!

When you first found out, you were glad that he was catching up on stuff, but now it has been almost two days since you last been with him. Hell, you even started to get worried, so why not check up on him? Just a quick peak and small talk and then leave him be? That was your original plan, trying not to get him overwork himself, which started off innocently. . Until you kissed him. It was just a quick kiss on the forehead, how did it escalate to this?!

"S–shit, i missed you so much, 'donna.", Dazai panted between kisses, while you were just eager for his lips to touch yours again. From this one kiss, it all started from one innocent kiss for most of the paperwork to lay on the floor and you sitting on his desk, with your arms around his neck as he made out with you passionately. You were so deep into it that even his tongue entered your mouth, fighting for dominance even though you're submitting to him. Dazai's hands are now on your waist, holding you close to him. "Did you miss me too?"

"Yes, i did. . a lot, 'Samu.", you answered his question, just the way he wanted it. "Your kisses are so addictive, darling, i just can't stop after one.", he explained while looking you in the eyes lovingly. You needed him so bad, it was even a joke anymore, and trust me, he could tell. "You want more, love?", he asked, you nodded once more, eagerly and excitedly. Dazai only smirked and slid of your pants, leaving you in your panties. He then unbuckles his own belt. You could see his obvious boner, getting more excited yourself.

Dazai just took out his dick and pushed your panties impatiently to the side, sliding into you immediately. When he was in fully, you let out a quiet whimper. After waiting for a few seconds for you to adjust, you gave him the sign to start. Dazai moved his hips slowly first, already groaning in pleasure while your whimpers turned into moans. His hands were still on your hips, his head now on your shoulder trying to stay quiet. "You feel so good, f–fuck. .", he grunted softly into your ear, only getting you wetter. Dazai's thrusts got faster as this went on, he himself started to whimper slowly.

"You're s–so pretty, I can't–,", Dazai started, getting cut off by his cock twitching so good inside you, that it he had to take a deep breath to continue. Dazai giggled drunkenly before continuing his sentence. "I c–can't control myself. But you like it, don't you? You l–like the way you have me wrapped around fingers so easily.", You arched your back as he trusted into you deep, letting out a slutty moan during it. "Y–you're such a good girl, I love you so m–much.", he whimpered softly, twitching a second time.

The skin slapping in the room got louder and sloppier, meaning that you and Dazai got closer to your orgasm. You placed your legs around his waist, resulting into him going even deeper than before. "D–dazai,", you whimper loud enough for him to hear. "Y–yes, my love?", he asked while lifting his head from your shoulder, smiling drunkenly at you, very slight drool rolling down the corner of his mouth. "C–can I get a kiss, p–please?", he just leaned in, kissing you again. As his lips smashed against yours, your back arched again. Dazai twitched once more before cumming inside you, both of moaning into the kiss while you came with him at the same time.

Letting go of the kiss, you tried catching your breath and Dazai pulled out a few minutes later, sitting down back onto his chair and leaving you still on top of his desk. "Did you finish your work, 'Samu?", you asked, while Dazai just laid on your thighs breathing lightly. "Not really,", he stated. "Then go finish it. You know what happens when you don't.", you warned him until you felt his warm breath get closer to your inner thighs. "Relax, darling, let me clean you up first, hm?", before you could protest, Dazai was already breathing towards your cunt's direction.

"—I can't leave you leaking our juices onto my desk, can I, 'donna?"

AHHH I ACC LIKE THIS !! ♡

♡ Random tags:: @soukokulatte, @rxyyyyy, @miloofc !!

#Rei's Drabbles !! ♡#dazai smut #bsd dazai #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #dazai x reader

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝Like we're going to hustle the shit out of his brain.❞

part 01 | it's called a hustle, sweetheart

chapter summary:

[ The math is easy in Helaena's head. One brother, heartbroken and moping and in a red flag relationship redder than Mars, and one hot best friend who is definitely his type. It's 1 + 1 = 3, really. ]

[ 2,345 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— this is going to be comedic and stupid in its comedy, bear with me - fake dating, fwb situation, toxic on and off alysmond, no use of y/n - mentions of sexy times but no sexy times yet (it'll be coming though, so minors gtfo) - multi parts - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— the main vibe is silly and sexy !! you're hel's hot friend !! you getting it down with cregan stark (as you should) !! dunno yet how many parts, but we vibing !! comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

You and Hel watch her baby brother, Aemond of usually calm and pretty countenance, drag and wince as he took a mug of coffee- a slow, almost painful affair - mumble something, somewhat of a gratitude and an apology 2 in 1 special, and reverse drag and wince back into into the room.

It's a painful shuffle. A Michael Jackson awkward moonwalk attempt. A pitying regression from the usually very pretty boy you've made it a habit of teasing.

In the past few months, there hadn't be a lot of teasing from you.

When the door clicks, you turn to Helaena with an absurdly amused snort. "He's really such a pathetic little meow meow, huh?"

She slaps your arm. "Stop it. He's really down. Alys really did a number on him this time."

"She always seems to do a number on him every time they breakup." You fight the urge to roll your eyes, for the sake of the concerned frown on your best friend's pinched, starlight eyebrows.

After all, this isn't the first time of the very many on and off moments of the Alys and Aemond Train. You bore witness to it like you're sat in an empty cinema, popcorn stale and it hurts your jaw to chew, and the train has come unloose from the tracks about thirty minutes into the film, but the plot is predictable because it recycles.

Which makes it a garbage film you can hardly stomach, rolling your eyes and getting the fuck out of the cinema about to demand a refund.

Sure the first time, you felt bad, felt horrible for the both of them as it did seem like they loved each other. You had even commended the maturity of their decision, expressed sympathy and an even pious comments of 'but you were both so good together!'

But then the pity kind of loses its momentum when it's been the third time. The fourth. The fifth. So on and on and on...

At some point, you start thinking that maybe Aemond Targaryen— of pretty Jupiter glaze and cherry-pinched lips, a Greek god humbling at the image of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen's genes combined— third time's the charm! or fourth in Viserys' case, snort — is kind of a masochist.

Because despite saying that they're growing toxic for each other, he comes back.

Every.

Goddamned.

Time.

The maturity made way for screaming matches, bolts of peaking jealousy, and purposeful social media posts made to hook, line, and sinker the other person— like. Gods.

There was pettiness. There was red flags. And then there was the Wikipedia page that pops up when you search 'who is the worst toxic relationship?' and it doesn't even have a paragraph. Or a sentence. Just a picture of Aemond and Alys.

If Aegon Targaryen was made of easy vices and churlish, lazy smirks— his fingers, though cold and sometimes clammy, are still nice against your shoulder when he makes lazy circles at an attempt to flirt before you laugh it off and threaten rip his balls off, because if there's a few things that piss off Helaena, it's her older brother trying to go near any of her friends —

Aemond liked it in deep, ruby-red shards of a cracked heart being put together again and again. At first with superglue. Now he was more or less going with prayers and spit.

At some point, the pity turns to amusement turns to a roll of your eyes turns to concern shifting from the young man to his sister, your best friend, left somewhat the only one left to care for her crash and burn of a baby brother.

And you know for a fact that Daeron Targaryen is a menace on a dirt bike, and yet out here, in these streets, Helaena was worrying for Aemond.

Their mother's favourite child, their grandfather's most studious, and the pride and ego of Kings Landing U Business Department.

Helaena isn't used to worrying about Aemond like this.

You're not used to Helaena worrying for Aemond like this, and the usually pretty boy you liked to tease was starting to piss you off because of it.

"Hel," you start carefully, knowing you're threading on dangerous waters. As much as Hel adored you and no matter how many times she says her brothers are idiots cut from a blended cloth of her Hightower and Targaryen roots— she was also unmistakably protective of them.

She sighs, putting down the pancake batter she was mixing, and you, who was in charge of actually frying them, turn. She had hoped to talk to Aemond when he woke up, but clearly he was still very much smashed at any attempts of comfort or reprimand, even she wasn't sure anymore.

"I know, okay?" Hel mutters. "I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," you rush. At her doubtful look, you insist. "It's really not. I care about the little punk too. Even though lately I kind of just... want to hang him by his boxers on the balcony... make him see reason from there."

It works, Hel laughs. Then she smirks. "That little punk is only three years younger than you and a whole foot taller, babe." Then she blinks. Eyes going wide as saucers, which would be comical if not for the fact that she looked like she got the prophecy of Bathroom Urge Number #1. "Oh gods. Oh my god!"

"...Did you poop yourself?" Her face descends into a scowl, swatting you with the bowl. You yelp, giggling. "Hey, hey! Stop- Hel, you're going to spill everywhere! You know kitchen rules! No violence near the stove!"

"I was about to say I got it, you harlot! I didn't shit myself!" But she stops pestering you with the bowl as you snort.

"Okay, one, harlot? Who are you? A medieval peasant?"

"Please. If we were in the Middle Ages, I'd be a princess."

"That's actually too true, my princess, how dare I."

Hel raises an eyebrow. "But back to point- wait, actually, damn, where were you last night?"

Helaena already knew the answer. Apart from the fact that it is a best friend's duty to be apart of every slight and win in another's life, you had used your regaling tales about Cregan Stark as a means to distract Hel from worrying about her brother every time he broke up (or her; they're very gracious to each other as they take turns in piling to this toxicity), once again, with Alys.

"At Cregan's," you respond lightly, turning to flip another pancake into an awaiting plate. You were at Cregan's last night, so you only found out about Aemond's newly- and briefly - placed single status this morning when you got into the apartment you shared with Hel. She promptly placed her brother in her room while she, seeing as you weren't in yours, slept on your bed.

"And what did you do?" She knew exactly what you did— what you both did, every time since meeting again two months ago at the bar you worked.

"I helped him, uh." You stuck your tongue out, busying yourself with breakfast to clench at an excuse. "With his taxes."

Helaena snorts. "What does taxes have anything to do with the hickies? Gods, you look like you got mauled."

You snicker, fingers briefly dancing over the blue and violet marks over your neck and collarbone. It dipped lower to your chest and thighs, but you weren't going to tell your best friend that. By her wry grin, she already knew anyway.

"Okay, okay, enough of that. You said you 'got it'? Got what? A way to stop your brother's toxic relationship with the very hot older woman that we all known and adore as Alys Rivers?"

"Yes!" Then she hesitates. "But... are you and Cregan...?"

"What? No! I told you." You roll your eyes. "It's just a thing with us. We're both single, not really ready for the dating scene. He broke up with a serious relationship not long ago, he's not ready for it, and I'm sorry, but unlike your brother, is dealing healthily with it."

"With you."

"With me, yes." You shrug, turning off the stove once you've scraped the entire bowl. "So no, we're not in a relationship. But what's your plan got to do with my amazing- and frequent - sex life?"

"And you're sure you don't like him like that?"

You roll your eyes. Hard. "Yes, my royal pain the ass, I am."

Before you can react, Helaena has grasped you by your arms, watery lavender eyes wide and begging.

"Hel, I love you, but I don't like you like that."

"I love you too and same, no, no—"

"What do you mean 'no, no'? That is so offensive—"

"—I mean Aemond."

"I don't really love your brother either, though, I find him extremely pretty," you muse.

"Good! Might help with my plan!"

"What is your plan?"

"I will owe you, so, so much."

Your eyes narrow. "The fact that you're not telling it to me straight means it's a big ask, Targaryen."

As guilt flashes in her eyes, you know you're right. "So, so much. I swear. I will do your laundry— the chores! All of 'em! For a month!"

"Helaena Targaryen, I swear to the gods—"

"Canyoupleasefakedatemybrother?!"

You blink, triyng to unwound what she just spat in one exhale. "I am not fucking the sad out of your brother, that is also not healthy."

"What!? No!" Hel inhales, enunciating better now. "I said, Can you please fake date my brother? My poor, heartbroken, wonderful, you said so yourself 'very pretty', baby brother?"

She blinks, owlish and pityingly, the way you know she knows has gotten her out of a lot of messes. Has gotten her brother, Aegon, out of a lot of messes with their grandfather, who you know to be an asshole to anyone— the incident when he sideway called you a whore, still very bright in your mind; a grudge that keeps on going — but his granddaughter.

"Hel, I adore you, but that's the single most, stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"No, no, it's a lot more complicated than just you fake dating him, duh, I mean like, he knows it too! Like we're going to hustle the shit out of his brain!"

Your eyes flicker to Helaena's room where said sad sack she wants to hustle the shit out of, is in. "Elaborate."

"I meant like. Okay, so we know how this is going to go, right?" She rolls her eyes, her voice lowering to a hush, but her grip on you is just as strong. "They're broken up, he mopes around for a few days, goes to the seven stages of grief the on steroids version, making weird posts and baits against Alys until one of them takes a bite, then they meet trying to feel each other, suss each other out, next thing you know, they're in bed together and we're back to the Good Days of Aemond and Alys as seen on TV! But oh wait, it's worse every time it recycles! Like your favourite show but with butt-ugly new cast they never address!"

Hel takes a deep breath, defeated and desperate all at once. "I am so tired of it. Mom is so tired of it. You're tired of it. And I know, deep down, Aems knows this isn't a sustainable way to love someone. To be in love with someone. But he doesn't know anything but Alys. She's his first everything- yeah, I know about that too, it's disgusting. But now... there's you! My very hot, very beautiful, very amazing best friend."

You nod. "I am agreeing with most of your points so far, especially the compliments geared toward me."

She playfully slaps your arm, continuing. "If we pitch this as like, you helping Aemond make Alys jealous... make it seem as if we're helping him out by sussing her out... you're a total bombshell, babe, Aems will see that there's more to love and lust than just Alys Rivers. It doesn't have to tell all, start and end with her. Every time." She grins as if she's so smart, finally releasing you and placing her hands on her hips to complete the look of 'Yeah, my idea is brilliant, I know'. "We just need to get his eye away from the not really prize, and make him realise there's more than just the toxic in and out of a failing relationship with your first love."

It's hard to tell her that her idea might not be so bad after all, but Helaena is already grinning as she reads your face like an open book, jumping and clapping around silently.

"Hold on, girlfriend," you say lamely. "How are we even sure I'm his type? Imagine thinking all this, and I'm a plate of grass to a carnivore."

Helaena snorts. "Please, girlfriend. You're older than him, hot as hell, and has a coochie that keeps Cregan Stark well entertained that he's politely said no to the female population that wants him. You are not grass. You are a prime rib-eye they need to ship from the other side of the globe and further ruin our climate."

At your snort, a blush spreading across your face, you press your tongue against your cheek, not willing to concede just yet but feel your will slipping with all the positives.

First, no chores for a fucking month.

Two, you'll have fun (in his own way), adorable pretty boy Aemond again, sans the toxic.

"He can't fall in love with me, Helaena," you say carefully. "I'm serious. I don't like him that way."

She is already shaking her head.

"Of course not, he won't. We just need him to focus on anything else other than Alys. Gods bless her soul."

"She's still alive, Hel, Jesus."

"But you're perfect for this. No ones going to fall in love with anyone. I promise." Helaena grins, tearing a piece of pancake and popping it in her mouth. "My plan is foolproof."

A few thousand hours later, her plan, is in fact, not foolproof.

TAGLIST (message to be added! please ensure you are able to be tagged to get notifs): @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss

#aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd fluff #hotd crack #aemond fluff #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#helaena targaryen #alysmond #tshbft ༊*·˚ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ

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luveline · 1 year

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wb baby blurb for remus taking care of clingy/needy drunk reader who just keeps babbling compliments and praise to remus

"I don't think you should go out with Marlene again," Remus jokes.

You smile at him. Your eyes are shiny with some of Marlene's eyeshadow pen, a glossy looking pink that shines iridescent when you move. He wipes at the smudge of it travelling to your cheek.

"I know why you think that," you say, voice heavy with the weight of your intoxication, "but I should. Here's why you should let me–"

He cuts off what is likely a very long list with a quick kiss. "Dove, I'm not going to stop you."

You glow at his fondness. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. When have I ever stopped you from doing what you want to do? Like when you insisted you could double the pumpernickel recipe, and we were eating bread four times a day for the week."

"That was nice bread, handsome, you know it was. You loved it."

He frames your face with both hands. Your head shifts in his lap, and your eyes widen ever so slightly, lashes fluttering.

"Ooh, you're handsome," you say, like it's a revelation. "You're lovely, look at..." Your hand presses clumsily to his cheek, fingertips unafraid as they ride the ridge of his worst scar. "Look at you."

He can't stand that, can't stand being looked at like he's something worth looking at, but when it's you. He can accept it, even if he doesn't believe it.

"My handsome boyfriend," you say, you're still going, you're tracing over his face like you have a hundred times before.

"My drunken fool," he mumbles.

"You have such a nice face. You have these pretty things," you say, pulling the skin under his eyes, "and this nose. You have the best nose ever. Ever ever." Your lips are shining with maybe spit or maybe lip gloss. He presses the pad of his thumb to it to wipe it away.

"Thank you, dovey," he says.

You deserve over the two peaks of his top lip. "For what? Ohhh, you are so hinting for a kiss." You slam your eyes shut, screwed too tight. "Okay, I'm ready. Please."

Your 'please' is what gets him. He strokes your cheeks. "You're sure you're ready?" he asks, entertaining your melodrama.

"Triple sure."

"Okay. Hang on to your seat," he says.

You twist your hand into his t-shirt. He leans over your, tilting his head and torso to one side to align your faces, and his lips ghost against yours. You lift yourself off of his knee to encourage a firmer press, and he holds your head carefully in place. He tries to make it as Prince Charming as possible, all the gentleness and magic of your very first.

You sigh against him. He knows he's managed it.

"Handsome and a really good kisser," you praise, awed.

He has to hide his smile in your cheek.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin imagine #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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goldsbitch · 3 months

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I gave so many signs

summary: First unrequited love is not the one to ever leave your mind. Y/N looks back at her missed connection with Charles Leclerc from the time they were just teenagers and regrets having him slip away.

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

exile - Taylor Swift Lie to me - 5 Seconds of Summer (feat. Julia Michaels) Worst of you - Maisie Peters

warning: Present time, the past

Coming back home to Monaco always brought a sour smile to her face. She loved growing up in this strange small town where everyone knew each other and celebrities came to show off and then went back to wherever, to tell stories of Monte Carlo.

They say that you get to experience three very different real loves in your lifetime - and only if you're lucky, it would be with the same person. Her first love was Charles Leclerc.

I saw you lookin' brand new overnight I caught you lookin' too, but you didn't look twice

Visiting family was the reason why she always came back, but going out with the few girls from high school who stayed there was a treat she dared not to miss. There is just something about hanging out with those people who helped one buy the first eyeshadow and with whom she pregamed at one of their step dad's dermatology office before going on trying to get into any club that would allow minors in. So there she was once again, at the old time spot, having a harder time to hold her alcohol since she'd passed the magic non hangover years. And to her luck, he walked in only a bare half an hour later than her.

Whenever she saw him, even after those years, it was like everyone else had dissapeared from the room. He seemed to age like wine.

It's 3 AM and the moonlight's testing me I know that you've been holding on to someone else And now I can't sleep

"Come here to me," she teased, moving closer to him. He tried to stop her and playfully pushed himself the furthest away possible the couch would allow. "Charlie, let me see!" she insisted and sat on top of him. She had to act quickly, there would be no way for her to keep the upper hand. He was just turning eighteen soon and the time in gym was starting to bring back results. "I do not have any hairline, Y/N," he gasped, annoyed. His tone changed. Back then she interpreted it as just him being done with her shit. Looking at it now, there probably was a different reason why he became more stiff. She sat on him, going through his hair and taking few photos, blissfully unaware. "I'll show this to you in a few years and we'll see! Ha!" Charles eyes were shooting arrows in her direction. She looked back at him, curious and not grasping the moment in the same way as he did. "What?" she asked simply. "Nothing..."

I can see you standing, honey With his arms around your body Laughin', but the joke's not funny at all

She laughed a bit at that memory as she sipped her drink and tried her best to avoid keeping looking back at him as he sat with his current friends and an absolute gorgeous girl laughing at his joke. She knew who she was. Sometimes she peaked at his socials and then blocked him again right away. She certainly knew he had her blocked.

They went to different schools and Charles had his racing activities anyway. So they'd spent a lot of time texting. A lot.

It was just one of the horrifically long school days where she doubted the point of her existence. Life had to be more than sitting in a pointless computer science class. She wanted to be a big lawyer girl boss one day, so why would she ever care about programming. There she was, staring at the assignment from the teacher who was stuck in 20th century anyway, having little to no clue what to do. As she'd usually do, she texted Charles. Bombed him with twenty texts demanding attention, before he finally responded. "OMG i thought someone had died" "i am dying charles" "no your not" "*you're" "i can go back to my race simulator if you keep being a little shit" "nooo, please dont go. you're my only hope. sorry, your. i get it, you got out of the school too early." "that's it, i'm gone" "noo, please stay, I'll be nice and say nice things about you" "i'm staying, go on" "you are absolutely gorgeous" "yes, agree. more" "you are soo funny, amazing, future heart breaker and your passion for racing is so inspiring" "i like this. more"

Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancin' on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

They were inseparable, yet nobody knew. Always meeting alone, because they did not need anyone and their social circles didn't really meet together. Whenever he was back in town, the two of them would hit up their favorite café or hang out at his house and then go for a walk. The two of them walked around Monte Carlo as if they were suppose to be the cartographers creating the first map of that area ever. Those were the good old days that came to end very unexpectedly.

We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (Didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

His hands were shaking when he sent the email. But he just could not take it anymore. He was over the moon in love with her and didn't know how to contain it.

"there is no easy way to say this. i love you. sorry. i'm stupid and i know we're just friends. but i basically live only for racing and seeing you. i'm terrified of seeing you with someone else. if there is at least a cell in your body that feels the same, please let's meet up and talk about it. if not, do not reply and i will never mention this again and deal with it. i love you."

She was seventeen when she got his message out of the blue. A scared little girl who was petrified of feelings and anything relationship related. So she never replied to his email.

All this time I never learned to read your mind I couldn't turn things around (I couldn't turn things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (You never gave a warning sign)

Charles had a very little hope that she'd feel the same - why would she, such an amazing person, kind, fun and totally glorified in his eyes, so he could not even imagine him being worthy of her. But what if? What if he was enough? With every day when she did not respond to his email, his heart sank lower. Still, the pain of the first rejection is a hard one to take, because it's usually from a scared unexperienced heart to another and the clumsiness causes great deal of accidental collateral damage one remembers until the end of their life.

You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

She texted him from school few days after that - a normal text, as if nothing happened. Both of them were too chicken to address the situation openly. So he opted for buring his feeling and she for playing like she had no idea. Deep down, she always knew, even before he emailed her. They texted, continued to meet up. But it was never the same again.

Flashing back to New York City I was done, but you undid me Classic me to run when it feels right

It was hard to get closure for her. After all that had happened and the mess the two made for each other was a hard lesson she remembered vividly. She glanced at your first love again - and finally she met his look, after almost two years of managing to missing each other while they were both back in Monaco. She'd daydreamed about bumping into him, the two chatting and smiling again. The world stopped again for few moments. He shot her an unsure quick half smile that said it all. She knew him too well for that.

And now I wish we never met 'Cause you're too hard to forget While I'm cleaning up your mess I know he's taking off your dress

It was her prom night and she could not be more excited. All her friends were here, family, even Charles managed to get in town to watch her dance and drink all night. She had the night of her life, perfect end to end this chapter of life. The excitement her eyes held was contagious. She spent the first half of her evening with the family and Charles, sharing few dances and laughs. If felt like the good old days. But one shot of tequila led to another and there she was, drunk as pirate and unhinged like a teenage girl. Charles did his best to keep her parents at bay, keep them occupied while he got one of his friends to take care of her. He was worried she might do something stupid, like walk up to the stage and fall down breaking all of her bones. Finally, her parents decided to leave without having to saying goodbye to her after Charles spent a good half an hour convincing them she was just in the back stage and that he'd get her home safe. When they were gone, he began to search for her, only to finally find her sitting on the stairs, making out with the friend he assigned to keep an eye on her.

So take me to every party and just talk to your friends Why don't you let me down, I'll let you do it again Go on and walk all over me, just don't walk away Give me the worst of you 'Cause I want you anyway

It was like being cut open alive and having people watch. There was nothing even remotely graceful about her actions, she was literally sitting on the floor having a battle of tongues with another drunk teenager while people had to walk pass her. It was embarrassing. Charles didn't know what to do. He wanted to run away and never come back, but he couldn't leave her there alone. He couldn't bring himself to stop the two of his friends, because he was just too sad and heartbroken to do so. He just stayed nearby and kept an eye on them. It was one of the longest nights in his life.

She couldn't remember the second half of her prom night and Charles would never speak of it, even though she begged him many times. He always became stiff and started to leave the room. She only kept asking, because it marked one of the biggest shifts in their friendships. He became cold, unresponsive and after few weeks, he stopped communicating completely.

You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before

Funny how people's faces change with years, but the eyes stay the same. The eyes and the look. Charles looked at her the second time this evening. It was like staring back at the eighteen year old boy who was drowning in his feeling.

It was one of her last nights in Monaco before leaving for university. Finally, her dreams were coming true. She was more than ready to get our to show the world she was a force to be reckoned with. She sent Charles countless messages before her final departure, at that moment, she was sure she'll never ever get back to Monaco and wanted to at least understand why he became distant. One evening, he finally agreed to meet up and talk. She was over the moon. Knowing that she could always turn Charles over, she left feeling confident - he was one the very few people she was sure shared the same soul as her. It was as if they'd never stopped talking. Jokes flying everywhere, the two of them strolling around, having no idea this would be the last time (and maybe, that was better for her at the time). There was so much to share, the two kept talking over each other for hours. Charles was happy when she finally stopped to take a breath for a moment. She looked him in the eye and saw a look she'd seen countless of times on his face. There was a shift in her mind and out of nowhere, she was kissing the boy she'd been unknowingly in love for years. She'd realize that she loved him only once she started dating a random guy from her college, expecting the same feeling Charles gave her. But it never came. Had she known, she'd have stayed with him. He tried to convince her to start dating him. Almost begged her to try it with him long distance. But there was a whole world for you to discover, places to be and versions of her that needed discovering. She had kissed only once. But it was a kiss of a lifetime. He blocked her on all socials after she rejected him again.

I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs, so many signs You didn't even see the signs

The girls were laughing at some joke she missed while digging in her memory for traces of her first love. Charles Leclerc. He was sitting few tables away from her. This time, her heart sank as he kissed his girlfriend on the cheek as they walked away from the bar. She wanted to run to him, to talk to him again after all those years. To tell him the same thing he once emailed her. To explain that she was just too young to notice she had the love of her life right next to you. But she knew all too well what his answer would be. And just like he had back then, she never wanted to hear it out loud.

And I know that you don't, but if I ask you if you love me I hope you lie, lie, lie, lie, lie to me

part 2

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eludin · 8 months

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THE CROWN'S WHORE | CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS: Addiction themes, sexual content, manipulation, dark themes, incest (this is Westeros people), grooming, and possibly more in the future.

The Realm's Delight wasn't Rhaenyra Targaryen once Vyera Waters started walking and talking. She was unaffected by the sexual moments held within the brothel she called home and would often approach the clients without hesitation. The whores around her try to coral her away, but she had her father's stubbornness. She slipped out of their grasp and pestered the clients for their stories since most were knights, children of lords, or lords in general.

She grinned widely and listened with apt attention, easily washing away the agitation they may have had with a bastard brat bothering their fun times. She made cute and sometimes strange noises at certain parts of the story, dramatically reacting at the more messy bits. They laughed at her very open reactions.

The Gold Cloaks quickly turned into regulars, bearing toys, books, and whatever a little princess could wish for. One smile from Vyera and they melted. They proudly told her stories, not only of themselves but also of her father. They listened just as attentively when she shared stories from her dreams; of talking cats whose grins sent a chill down one's spine and who vanished and reappeared before your eyes, hot deserts with horses made from sand threatening to bury you deep within the dunes, or riding the back of a bird the size of a dragon with feathers made of steal.

Ariston Algood smiled as the girl flipped through her new book. Many prayed for the poor girl to be the occasional late bloomer. That was the only thing keeping her from being thrown into the beasts' den.

Just one more day, one more month, one more year without that light that shone from within her being snuffed out by scum who desired to torment and corrupt that light.

Yet, no Gods answered their prayers.

She had bled a day prior and was now dressed in provocative clothing. No longer the baggy rags she used to wore, but a dress made of thin, almost see through, fabric. It looked peculiar on a girl of nine name days. Only the worst of scum would find pleasure in the sight.

"Riz?"

He smiled and patted her head. "Thinking, squirrel."

Vyera rolled her and scowled at the words sprawled on the page. "Dragon, not squirrel." Her words didn't fit her cuteness as she pouted and patted the thick pages. "And you're supposed to be teaching me how to pronounce these words."

Ariston laughed and joined her on the bed. Books with varying thickness surrounded her and most he never cared to read until Vyera. They never seemed all that interesting. It was just words on the page. What good were words when actions could be seen centuries after the person had passed? Yet, she hugged them close as if they were a fine treasure worth more than the gold mines at Casterly Rock. She brightened up at the usual pleasures, like jewels and beautiful dresses and gifts, but books got a loud and vibrant reaction.

She bounced off the walls of the Whore's Blood Brothel with each book, eagerly snatching from any offering hand and pestering the person to read it with her.

Some of the married lords who visited bonded more with her than their own children. "I wish my children had such a hunger for knowledge as you," said the Heir of Blanetree, running his fingers through her locks. She had preened under his touch and giggled, like a dog eager for treats and praises.

Lord Broom sighed, "A whore's daughter knows duty and grace better than my own daughter."

"Such a pity."

None did anything to change her situation; not that the girl complained. She clung to her mother and the brothel as any child would cling to their home and their mother. A year or two more and that opinion would certainly change.

Ariston leaned closer to Vyera and looked over the page. "Where are you finding difficulty understanding?"

"What does this mean?" she taps at the word abomination.

Fuck.

He peaked at the book's name. Just as he thought, it spoke of the Faith. "Uh... Something going against the order of the Gods. Like, um... the... the Children of the Forest with their magic." Sweat gathered at the base of his neck. "Don't you want to read something else?"

Vyera frowned and stared at him. For a Dragonseed, she resembled her father incredibly close yet there were a few traits none knew where they came from. They knew without uncertainty that Narelle of the Whore's Blood was the girl's mother. Yet she carried traits neither side of her lineage granted. Her eyes were golden and flecked with silver. Her canine teeth were ever so slightly pointier and sharper than most. Even as a child, her features were already showing a sharpness no girl her age naturally possessed. Unlike either parent, she possessed an innate glow that simply compelled every man who entered her presence to shower her with gifts, praises, and affection. Some were less pure than others, but she paid little mind to those types.

Her expression softened once she saw whatever there was in his eyes. "No need. Tis' truly fascinating to read how certain sorts of individuals view the world." She paused, and added, "And don't worry about the stuff on bastards. It doesn't hurt me. I know who I am, and I am not everything that is written in this."

"You are none of what is written."

She smiled and pressed against his side. "Riz?"

"Hm?"

Vyera curled up and hugged herself. Instead of the girl he'd grown to care for, a child frightened off the future revealed herself to him. "The brothel master will want me to lose my maidenhead. Doesn't matter I am a child, he's gonna want evidence." She peaked at him through her dense locks. "I don't want it to be any of the others. I care for them, and I know they would never intend to hurt me. I... Please... Please be the first once my moonblood ends. I... I don't want it to be anyone else."

Oh, fuck… She… As much as he gagged at the thought of any of the Lords lusting over Vyera, it made painful sense.

Ariston was not that far in age from her. Only seven namedays apart. It was still strange yet…

He looked down at the girl who skipped up to him, even when he was running his hands along her mother’s sides. Now that had been mortifying. She smiled widely and rushed him with a hundred different questions. Their second meeting didn’t go any better either. Neither did their third. Yet, she cared for him, eagerly listened to his stories of his home, of his older siblings, of his parents, and now… looked to him for protection from any who wished to destroy whatever innocence she protected with a tiny dagger.

He had no doubt she’d ask any of her other friends the same favor. After all, he couldn’t spend the entire day with her. His pockets did not boast such a fortune. And yet…

“If that is your wish.”

He couldn’t free her from the brothel’s clutches; he couldn’t shower her with luxurious gifts; he couldn’t protect her as he wished. But he could do this.

Vyera Waters smiled. A waning moon in comparison to the usual exuberance.

Want to be tagged? Comment down below "AYE"

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#got #hotd #house targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #house of the dragon #pre asoiaf #aegon targaryen x reader #daeron targaryen x reader #dance of the dragons #various x reader #reverse harem

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soffpisces · 4 months

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enhypen’s reaction to your new piercing!!

enhypen hyung!line x gf!reader

warnings: needles, piercings duh, suggestive for jake’s and hoon’s, kissing, ungodly amount of pet names, uhh touching?, mdni

masterlist

heeseung- lip piercing

“okay baby, close your eyes,” you say to his sitting form on the bed whilst peaking from behind his door. you had called him before arriving at the dorm saying you had a surprise for him, and now here you two were.

he closes his eyes and gives a nervous laugh. “should I be scared right now?”

“maybe!” you tease, giggling while you make your way into the room. “okay. now pucker your lips…”

he makes an unsure face but does it anyway, knowing you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

you slowly bring your face closer to his and softly kiss his lips. the ring hugging your lip feels cold as it presses between the two of you.

he audibly gasps at the feeling of something that’s not usually there when he kisses you. pulling away, he takes your jaw and pulls you back so he can get a good look at your piercing.

“baby! is this real?!” you weren’t sure how he would react, but he didn’t seem like he disliked it, at least.

running your tongue over it, you giggle, “yes, silly! it’s not a prank.”

"did it hurt, baby doll?" he's instantly concerned as he thoroughly inspects your bottom lip, lightly pressing on it as he does.

"nah, not really," you mumble whilst he curiously brushes over the ring. "do you think it's cool?"

"oh baby, you're the coolest," he tells you with stars in his eyes and a gentle kiss on your lips.

jake-belly button

to put it lightly, jake was probably more excited than you for your piercing appointment. when you first told him you were planning to get your belly button pierced, he almost bounced off the walls with excitement.

"what do you think about me getting my belly pierced?" you ask him randomly one day, just chilling in his room. he instantly perks up at this, looking up from his phone and looking at you excitedly. you swear you could see his tail wagging behind him.

"baby. i would probably come in my pants." you have never seen him this serious about something... ever.

so, this is how you're here at the piercer/tattoo shop. clenching jake's fist in a death grip, as you lie down on the table.

"i feel so vulnerable right now," you say looking up at him, giggling nervously.

"it's okay, i'm here doll." needless to say, he's not very happy that the piercer is a guy and touchin' on his girl's navel (albeit professionally), but he only glares a few times before focusing on you.

“okay deep breath. 1, 2, 3- and you’re done!” the piercer is already expertly securing the jewelry in place when you realize it’s over.

“oh ouchie- you okay baby girl?” you see Jake’s worried face and notice it’s drained of color. he helps you sit up, and your breath hitches at the subtle pain as your torso moves and the sight of the pretty jewelry in the mirror.

“wow, i love it! i didn’t even feel it!” you say excitedly, admiring your new piercing in the mirror.

the grip jake had on your hand slowly loosens, and you look back to see him almost collapsing onto the piercing bench, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“holy shit, babe. you look so hot”- he says faintly, taking a shaky breath, “but i shouldn’t have watched.”

jay-conch

as jay’s girlfriend, of course you had to get the iconic conch piercing. he was actually the one that wanted you to get it first, though. you had immediately agreed because- what a cute couple activity!

“should i be expecting to pass out from the pain?” you ask him in the car as he drives to the location. your hands fiddled with a random straw wrapper, trying to keep yourself from being too nervous.

“stop looking at pain levels on reddit,” he jokingly scolds you. “you’re just gonna freak yourself out, doll.”

“what if i pee myself or like throw up on the piercer??” you knew you wouldn’t actually, but thinking of the worst case scenarios always takes the edge off.

he laughs at you and pats your leg gently. “if you do, i’m getting it on video.”

for the rest of the ride he placates your whines of worry with loud singing to “highway to hell” by ac/dc… quickly, you regret coming.

the piercer turned out to be a really cool-looking 20-something girl who smelled like weed and strawberries (you digged it). safe to say, you were in good hands, and your nerves calmed down as you all joked with each other.

“alright so, it could bleed a little so i’m just gonna put this cloth over your shirt,” she starts getting the equipment ready, “remember deep breaths and 1,2,3!”

it took every bit of two seconds to get the needle through since the cartilage is so thick, and the whole time you’re squeezing the life out of jay’s hand.

“that’s my tough girl! hurts real good right?” and goddamn, it hurt worse than you thought.

��fuck jay, why’d you put me through that,” you joke to him, letting out your breath.

the mirror is handed to you as she finishes putting the back on, and your eyes light up at the new addition. it looks actually so cute.

“yea, hurts like a bitch,” she starts, “you want me to snap a picture for you two?”

you both nod eagerly and thank her for the piercing and the picture of your two ears side-by-side. the matching jewelry was a perfect idea.

“my little mini-me looks so cute,” he coos, kissing your cheek as you both leave the shop.

sunghoon- back dermals

you honestly felt like hot shit getting these piercings and couldn’t wait to show hoon. although, you weren’t the type to boast about things like this, so you decided to nonchalantly soft-launch your new piercings hoping to get a surprised reaction from him.

for your outfit, you landed on low-waisted fold-over leggings and a slightly cropped shirt. this way, you could be comfortable just going to his dorm but also feel confident he would pay extra attention to your figure.

“so i was thinking we could just play smash bros and whoever loses has to make ramen or we could up the stakes”- there’s an audible pause in his explanation as you both walk to his room. he’s catching you by your hips before you’ve even made it through the door.

“wait- what are these?” his thumbs start caressing the skin around the jewels as he inspects your lower back.

“oh, those? i got them the other day,” you giggle, “you like them?”

“baby. you’re so”- he cuts himself off before he embarrasses himself. does he like them? what a fucking question. he’s going to ruin you!

“you don’t like them?” you pretend to pout at him. of course you knew he was actually popping a boner right now.

“if you don’t get in this room right now, i am going to take you right here, in this hallway.” pfft. does he like them. what a stupid question.

ermmm slowly becoming a hyung!line writer sorry:3 lmk if there’s any warnings i missed!!!

status: geeked and hoping u like this post❤️‍🔥

#enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen suggestive #enhypen masterlist #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fic #enhypen #enha #enhypen reactions #enha fluff #enhypen sunghoon #jake sim #park jongseong #park sunghoon #lee heeseung

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iamadequate1717 · 6 months

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Stede in Season 1

After seeing some rather awful bad faith takes flying around after 2x7, I'm throwing out a beginning defense of Stede Bonnet (loml). It seems insulting Ed's fish is the worst thing that anyone has ever seen, and it really seems to be a continuation of anti-Stede sentiments within the fandom and viewing him as a prop for Ed (and sometimes Izzy) rather than his own character. Fanon Stede is ever patient, ever kind, ever devoted to his partner, and I'm seeing a lot of shock that Stede is a flawed, imperfect person with his own needs, that he says things in the heat of the moment, that people are seeing a less interesting character than what DJenks and friends have created. Stede's a fucking lunatic and I like it.

I'm going to break this into a few posts as I ramble on to the end of 2x7. I have big thoughts on the ending, but I need to lead up to it! I am going to try to be as brief as I can up to the lead up, but I'm not happy with certain parts of the fandom right now (it's just a spat, love you all).

(If you haven't seen the "I hate Stede!" and "I'm so mad at Stede!" posts after 2x7, I am so, so jealous of how you have curated your social media experience.)

Part 1: Season 1

I'm going to note first that this is really a more rambly companion piece of this:

In time budgeting, most of Stede's character introduction and motivations are built into 1x1 through 1x3, but you all know it is a common refrain of these episodes: "Just wait for episode 4!" (OK for newbies, but huge side eye from me with people who have watched multiple times.) Episode 4 is when Act 2 of 3 of Season 1 begins. The foundations of the story have been laid, the cast has been fully assembled, and we enter the rising action (i.e., the meat) of the story in 1x4. It is not that Blackbeard alone improved everything: it was the story structure itself that shifted.

Preferring Act 2 (ep 4 to mid ep 8) and saying Act 1 was bad and "boring" is a disservice to the story and really robs yourself of the payoff action in Act 3 of Season 1 (and now Season 2), in particular with regards to Stede's character. It's a TV show, so you don't have to like all parts or watch it equally, but if you're going to criticize Stede and what he does, you can't ignore the part of the story that tells you the why of everything.

For example, we see people saying Prince Ricky is "exactly how Stede used to be!". Episode 3 disagrees.

Ricky is some Evil Star Trek Mirror Universe version of Stede, and they have fundamental differences in their view of piracy, which feeds into the action of the tail end of Season 2: Stede wants to be part of the piracy world, but Ricky thinks he's above it. The few hours in 2x7 that Stede spends enjoying being cool in the Republic of Pirates is overall sweet (sliding past the murder, lol), not a relationship red flag or Stede being a dick. If you tried to join a group and they finally embraced you, how would you initially act? Being excited for a few hours does not mean Stede has made a forever commitment to piracy and not Ed.

But, I digress. To me, Episode 2 (along with 6, 9, and 10) is far and away the peak of Season 1. We see the crew bonding (and those unique interactions are missing in Season 2's truncated runtime), and we get a deeper look into Stede's head: his initial naivety toward violence, his insecurities, his unique captaincy style and problem solving. If I look at just his insecurities, Badminton's Ghost is Stede talking to himself (like Hornigold was vocalizing Ed's feelings in 2x3). Stede is harsh with himself about his abilities and maturity, and we even see that he took Badminton's petty body shaming in 1x1 to heart.

(Oh, I have thoughts on Stede finally being told he's pretty and then instantly dumped!)

But he continues to degrade himself.

"You're a child with a toy" Stede says to himself. Compare this to Ned Low calling him a "bumbling amateur" in 2x6. Real people voicing these thoughts (like Chauncey in 1x9) messes Stede up.

The local therapist clearly lays out the motivation behind 1x9&10, and Stede still continues with the negative self talk.

And then we get the best mantra!

Yes, baby! You can only be as good as you can be, and you deserve the world.

Stede does not banish his guilt that is haunting him, but Ed comes in at Episode 4, and any more serious feelings is all about Ed.

(Second GIF is a joke. I know it's important to Ed's character. Plz, don't be mad.)

Ed is the deuteragonist, and the story now needs to spend time establishing Ed's character and motivations. This doesn't make Stede's go away, but if you only watch Episode 4 and on, that's what it looks like. There are brief moments of Stede's vulnerability and guilt from then, but not much.

(Side note from a Midwesterner: I've spent too much time finding out if "grain tower" is colloquial for "grain silo" somewhere, and I still don't know.)

Ed and Stede just met here. Ed isn't absorbing much of Stede's comments (Stede also feels trapped, Stede has family guilt, etc), but it goes the other way, too, doesn't it? Stede is recovering from his gut-stab, they're still in a life-or-death situation, and Stede is still feeling his guilt (and just saw more guilt ghost hallucinations). Registering and internalizing what Ed is saying doesn't take priority.

And they enter their cute early relationship phase: They have fun together! They can easily talk to one another! Stede easily forgives Ed wanting to kill him!

Again: in between all the cute and fun, all the heavy stuff is about Ed. Stede deals with the aristocrats who mocks Ed. Stede is gentle with Ed's red fabric. Stede listens to Ed's past without judgment. Stede openly accepts Ed as a friend. We don't see Ed engaging with Stede in a reciprocal manner.

(I was so delighted when Stede called some of this out in 2x4.)

Stede is a few steps behind in their relationship: He doesn't know it's a romance. He doesn't know he was flirting with Ed. He's not immediately understanding what the Act of Grace was to Ed (hubby commitment!) as he's having his Nigel guilt, family guilt, and being seconds away from death swamping him all at once.

In the academy, Ed isn't even listening to Stede. He's moved onto his domestic marriage role while Stede is dealing with his demons.

With 2x7, I see people saying, "Ed was very clear in wanting to leave piracy!" If he was speaking to someone fully engaged with him, I would agree. (That also doesn't make Stede having a few hours' fun the worst thing ever.)

(Aside of what I see below: In Season 2, I see overwhelming praise of Ed and Izzy's performances and very little on Stede. This is not to disparage TW or CO, but Ed and Izzy are more in-your-face and obvious with what is going on internally in their scenes and they are nailing the drama scenes. However, Stede becomes quieter, shutting down into himself, when having high feelings, and RD's acting is very subtle and very beautiful in these moments.)

In The (First) Kiss scene, Ed is clear! He just wants to be Ed, and Ed is happy just being with Stede.

But look what Ed walked in on:

Ed is saying things, but Stede is trying to process big feelings of his own at the same time. Stede is there self soothing, still thinking about what Ed ignored him about in the bunks. "How are you handling things so well?" means Stede isn't handling it well. Ed is excited, but he (and apparently some of the audience!) is brushing off all of what Stede is saying while expecting Stede to take to heart everything that Ed is saying. (I mean, the beginning of S2 shows why Ed is so excited for this life change, but it is frustrating!)

If you only feel bad for Ed at the end of 1x9, please try to imagine Stede's perspective: suppose you have low self worth and are consumed with guilt about people you've hurt and then are seconds away from death twice, are you going to be thinking clearly and prioritizing (and recognizing) the feelings of a guy you've known for a few weeks and didn't know you were dating?

Stede has drawn inward this whole conversation. His answers turn monosyllabic, and his body language turns more and more panicy as the heavy reality of everything sets in.

Stede enjoyed The Kiss, but was this the appropriate time for him? (Like Ed enjoyed The Sex, but was that the appropriate time for him?) They aren't in sync yet, but that doesn't make one party's feelings more valid than the other's or one party evil for being a bit ahead.

With 2x7, I don't know why people thought Stede should be a mind reader and be able to quickly piece together a few statements Ed made while Stede was mentally drowning.

I think it should be noted that as of the end of 2x7, Stede is the only crew member who hasn't had mental reflection and/or therapy in Season 2. He realized Mary, Alma, and Louis didn't need him and he was in love with Ed in 1x10, but the voice calling him a child with a toy, an idiot, weak, and ugly is still there.

Continued in Part 2! (Still to come...)

#stede bonnet #stede did nothing wrong #our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd 2x07 #ofmd s2e7 #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers #rhys darby #Baby's first attempt at GIFs #ofmd meta

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