#i have absolutely forgotten how to blur text

[v3nusxsky]

Darling 18+

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*A/n~ I’ve never written smut before and this is my first fic I’m posting here so any pointers would be appreciated*

Prompt~ reader is teasing Larissa until she snaps giving into her own wants. Smut fic.

Tw~ NSFW (finger!ng) (sub reader/dominant Larissa) (mommy k!nk) (spank!ng) (swear!ng) (eating out) (thigh r!d!ng) (strap)

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Fingers tugged at your hair absentmindedly throwing it up In a bun on top of your head. Pieces of your fringe fell to cup your cheeks as you sighed. Today had been nothing short of stressful. You love your job, of course you did but that didn't mean it didn't come with its own challenges. You'd been teaching outcast history at Nevermore now for 3 years, so of course you knew certain points in the semester was hell. The teaching itself is wonderful, you love passing on your knowledge to your students. You can't help but find it fascinating to talk about of the different kinds of outcasts, the challenges they face, how they came to be and the relations between Outcast and Normies. But the paperwork? Now that was tiresome and quite frankly boring as hell. But still you did try your best to stay caught up on it so it didn't take all the joy from your days. However the past few months really you'd neglected your paperwork in favour for something else. Or rather someone else.

A certain stunningly tall principle offered a great distraction these days. In fact she's the reason you had paperwork overflowing from your desk. Over your years here you watched as a tentative friendship blossomed between you and Larissa. Often most weekends you'd go to her office to drink wine and relax by the fire. It's one reason why you have grown to long for the weekends. Recently those evenings had included some harmless flirting between the pair of you. It was no secret you had eyes for the fairer sex however when you found out Larissa was the same you honestly choked on the wine you had swigged. You hadn't expected her to be interested in women or well rather anyone. If anything she seemed married to her job. She loved Nevermore and it's students more than anything else. It was endearing to see the determination and care she put in every day to be the best principal Nevermore had ever seen.

You made your way to the desk and decided to start from the bottom. This way you knew no matter how much you managed to complete tonight before you passed out from exhaustion, you wouldn't miss any deadlines. You're classroom was peacefully silent apart from the gentle scratching of pen against paper. You couldn't help but allow your mind to wonder to your boss. After all you were completing these with the upmost care making sure everything was legible, aiming to reduce the stress she would have. You'd spent many night's listening as she would whine about messy plans submitted from teachers. Your mind wandered to the previous night. The flirting had an affect on you, you were starting to think Larissa knew that. Secretly enjoyed flustering you. You couldn't help the small smile that overtook your lips as you recalled one of your favourite moments. You were sitting in a comfortable silence watching the flickering flames dance together. Only when you'd taken a big swig of your wine did Larissa lean over and whisper in your ear "you look absolutely ravishing love" causing you to cough and splutter on the wine as a bright red blush adorned your cheeks. Larissa couldn't help blur chuckle are the response you gave. It pleased her to no end knowing she had this effect on you.

As if the women on your mind knew you were thinking of her, your phone lit up with a text from her.

"Y/n can you come to my office? I'm feeling quite stressed and I would benefit from your help." You know what they say curiosity killed the cat, that's why you found yourself walking the familiar route to her office. Paperwork forgotten. Once you reached her doors that clearly stated "principle L. Weems" on a thick golden plate, you didn't even know you just pushed the doors open slightly, just enough for you slip through the gap before shutting the doors. Turning around you could see that the women had her shoulders tensed up, eyes fixed on the paper as she concentrated and her left hand balled into a fist as her right carefully scribbled down on her own work.

"Larissa?" You whispered only wishing to alert her to your presence and not spook her when she was clearly concentrating.

"Ah y/n! Please do come here darling." You couldn't help but freeze and blush at the pet name. Larissa seemed to be in a strange mood this evening as when you didn't move she barked at you in a stricter voice that was normally used with her students "now y/n!"

You couldn't help but quickly scurry to stand in front of her bowing your head in a form of an apology. "Uh sorry Larissa, what did you need?"

"Darling, I've had a stressful day" there was that name again, and you knew this fact already. I'm fact you'd had to send two of your students to her office for their behaviour today. "Now I'm sure you noticed we have a special kind of relationship and you can tell me if I'm wrong here but I think it could extend to more than friends and more than boss and employee wouldn't you agree dear?"

Eyes blinking rapidly you processed what she'd just admitted. She wanted to be more than friends? Excitement rose through you as you nodded in your agreement. "Darling, words please" she whispered holding your gaze. "I um I agree Rissa" you diverted your gaze to find your shoes not being able to contain the flush spreading over your cheeks. You had to be dreaming? Right? "Perfect! So love why don't you come and help relieve this stress?" The thickness in her voice and the glint In her eyes showing you just how badly she wanted you. God this had to be a dream. But no way would you turn this down, even if you'd wake up in an extremely frustrating state.

"Wha-what um what can I do to help Rissa?" Eggar to please the women you would only go as far as she wanted. You stood, head still tilted down waiting for instructions. Suddenly the tilting of your head wasn't to hide your blushing, no it was that of submission. Unknown to you this pleased Larissa to no end. You almost dropped to your knees at her command. And the commanding tone? God you are a goner. "Come sit on my lap pet" moving to straddle her lap you rested your face in the crook of her neck. Her scent was that of floral and honey mixed together. You went limp allowing her to readjust you as she deemed fit. A little shaken breath escaped you your aching centre rested against her toned thigh.

"Now little one, I have to finish some work and your going to be a good little one and rut against my thigh hmm? I know you need me y/n. I can practically smell you as you drip onto my thigh. Before any of that I need to know you want this. If you don't this can stop now and we can just talk." The last part of her words sounded slightly unsure like she was expecting rejection. But that wouldn't come. You wanted her. Needed her. And most importantly you wanted to help her destress. If this was what she wanted the hell you'd happily allow it for as long as she was willing. You managed to whisper out a please which caused the women to smile and tap your hips, silently giving you permission to follow the order you'd been given. Your hips slowly rocked against her thigh, teasing yourself not that you needed to but If this was a dream then you wanted it to last forever. Soon enough whines of need and pleasure we tumbling from your lips and into her neck. Breath ticking the little hairs there. You could feel how you were soaking her strong thigh, you picked your pace up subconsciously as you grew closer to your peak. Movements become more desperate and needy as she brought a hand to your waist, fingers finding purchase there hoping to slow your movements. She was almost done and although she could let you fall over the edge now, she didn't want to. She wanted to see you as pleasure took over your every thought.

Pen now thrown down against the desk, you had her full attention as you mewled against her neck "fuck mmm Rissa I need"

"Oh darling I know what you need. But you have to earn it. Don't you want to be my good girl?" She husked out placing a gentle kiss to your head as she brought her over hand up to fully still your hips. Fuck you could cum just by that statement. You stood up on shaky legs allowing your breathing to attempt to steady itself.

"Little one, kneel" and you did just that. It was embarrassing how quickly you followed her commands. You knew you seemed like a pathetic slut but truthfully for Larissa you are just that. Normally you wouldn't submit so willingly.

Kneeling in front of her chair, face to face with her panty clad sex you couldn't help but wonder what she'd taste like. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth at the thought. Unknowing that Larissa was watching every action closely. She shifted her hips and removed her own panties as you went wide eyed. Your pupils dilated as you were now looking at her dripping pussy. You were taken there and then. The unbearable urge to just dive in between her gorgeously toned thighs. You looked up at her through your eyelids silently begging for permission to do just that.

You looked so desperate there fully clothed, hair messy and eyes clouded with desire. She couldn't help but being her hands to find purchase in your hair, giving you all the permission you needed. Larissa took a sharp breath as you gingerly licked around her soaked pussy, teasing her and just getting a taste. She was your new favourite flavour. Nothing you'd ever tasted compared to this. You'd happily eat her for the rest of your life. As you continued to explore with your tongue you were able to gage what was having the best effect. The kitten like licks lavished her clit had her gripping tighter in your hair pulling you closer in a silently plea for more.

"Fuck y/n please stop teasing me" she whimpered out between breaths. Taking this as your cue you finally allowed your tongue to explore inside her lips. The taste so much stronger caused you to moan and clench your thighs together. Wanting to be good for her you tried to ignore your own desire. Suddenly confidence overwhelmed you and you plunged two fingers into her sopping pussy, causing her to cry out a strangled moan. You were pumping your fingers in and out at a brutal pace, the primal need to make her cum driving you. Her breathing was irregular moans tumbling from her lips as you felt her thighs start to shake, tale tale signs to keep going despite the burning in your arm. You brought you mouth to her bundle of nerves and sucked. Hard. Which was what helped Larissa let go and cum hard all over your fingers that were still buried in her sex. You could feel her walls fluttering around your fingers as you helped her down from her high. Tugging on your hair was pulling you away from her, causing you to whine in protest. “Tsk, darling you are going to pay for that I thought you were going to be good for me hmm? “

"I'm sorry I just I wanted you to feel good i-"

She cut you off "I don't wish to here excuses. Y/n come lay over my lap... now!" The commanding tone once again had you falling over your own feet in an attempt to comply as quickly as possible.

You felt your dress being lifted up to your hips and your panties striped from you. The cold air hitting your pussy causing a small gasp.

"Count little one, I want you to be a good girl for me okay ?"

You nodded and waited for the blow that you knew was coming. Surely enough a firm well placed smack to your right ass cheek as you gasping out "fuck o one"

"Ow two"

"Th three"

"Oh fuck me four" your voice was quivering now as tears strolled down your face, dripping onto the floor.

"You're doing so well darling just one more okay such a good girl for me"

"F five fuck me mommy!" You all be screamed out your word's echoing off her official walls. The women underneath you froze hearing your last word. However your sluggish brain still hadn't quite caught up on what you'd said. No all you could think about was the stringing of red flesh and your own needy dripping pussy. Larissa brought her hand to rub firm gentle circles on your back as you collected your breathing. God this women would be the death of you. She'd not even touched you properly yet and yet here you were minutes away from begging her like a desperate whore.

Larissa brought you so she was able to see your face. Her thumbs wiped the stray tears that had fallen as she was overcome with the desire to kiss you. A needy breathless kiss that made you week at the knees. The kisses trailed off to your cheeks, your neck and your ear before she whispered what was quite possibly your new favourite sentence. "Can I fuck you love?" You nodded embarrassingly quick as you watched her move around. Seemingly finding what she wanted she went and locked the office door, just in case. You blushed knowing it hadn't been locked. You were lucky it was out of school hours, so no students would be around. You were captivated as Larissa stripped down slowly before slipping on the harness. A dark red colour sporting a red dildo. You were relieved to see it was roughly average size and girth. Knowing how sensitive you'd be anything bigger would've destroyed you. You didn't realise you were starring until fingers clicked in front of you. "Thought I lost you there little one, now strip. I want to fuck you" it should've been a world record for how fast you rid yourself of your bra and dress. Larissa chuckled at your eagerness and helped you up to sit on her desk. You watched with a desperate interest as she lined the toy up with your centre. Thrusting in once causing your eyes to roll back your head and your back to arch as you adjusted to her size. She was busy peppering kisses up and down the tall of your neck and over your collar bones. She knew you needed more when your hips jerked forward desperately seeking more. Only then did she pull out of you almost all the way before slamming back into you. Settling a delicious but ruthless pace. You're moans were uncontrollable by now. Loud and mumbled becoming in coherent as you began the climb to your own climax.

“Little one, if you wish to come beg me" Larissa husked at you breathing irregular due to the labour of her harsh movements.

"P pl easeee Larissa I need to cum let me cum." You all but cried out

"You're so pretty when you beg my love but same my name."

"Risaaaaaa fuck me please oh god I can't"

"No little one say. My. Name." She all but growled out at you making sure to keep you teetering on the edge of your own climax that your body desperately desired.

"Oh fuck me mommy please mommy please I need you" and with that Larissa brought a hand to your clit causing your body to throw you over the edge. Moaning desperately as you rode out your orgasm. Sweat covered your body as she pulled out of you gently causing you to whine and collapse back against the desk. Concern flashed through her eyes. Had she been too rough?

"Darling are you okay?" The concern Evident in her voice.

"Mhmmmmmmm I mm " you managed to mumble out fighting your exhausted body. Larissa had fucked you so well your body and brain couldn't keep up.

Sensing that she'd done a good job Larissa chuckled and pulled you into her arms carrying you to her quarters next door.

"Oh look at my little one, mommy fucked you well mmm?" There was a hint of pride in her tone which caused a sleepy hmm of agreement from you. You were curled up against the principle desperately wishing hoping you weren't going to wake up and this only be a dream. Exhaustion was seeping through your bones as your stubbornly tried to fight it, just in case this was a dream you didn't want it to end.

"Sleep now little one, I'll still be here when you awake darling" the soothing words and tone was all it took for you to allow sleep to take you.

Word count~ 2983

*A/n ~ never wrote smut before all that was definitely an experience such a long chapter I hope it's not too terrible for you guys*

#larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems smut #fanfic #principle weems #weems #gwendoline christie

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 365: That was Then, This is Now, p17

“Do we really have to do this?” I asked. At her insistence I was buckling myself in to the passenger seat of her BMW that Monday afternoon. We’d just finished work. 

“Yes, we do,” Melissa replied, checking to make sure her seat was back as far as it could go. It was. And she’d already adjusted mine, upwards. “Sheryl was nice enough to not throw away the extra clothes of yours she found,”

“They’re not going to fit me anyway…”

“Regardless,” she continued, starting the ignition and scooting herself down as much as she could; her head still brushed the ceiling, “she texted me. I told her I’d come by and pick them up.”

“And she’s home?” I asked, the discomfort of the idea of seeing my ex-wife like creeping spiders over my skin, “tonight?”

“Yep.” I could tell Melissa was a little annoyed at my continued complaints. She pulled out of her reserved parking space.  “We’re going to go get your clothes so I can keep some at my place-“

“They’re not going to fit…”

“…and then I’m going to make you dinner at home. Okay?”

“And then…?”

“Yes, fine,"  she sighed in an exaggeratedly exasperated voice, "I’ll take you back to your apartment. The locksmiths should be done by then, and Lakshmi was going to clean for you.” She was looking both ways, to pull out into traffic. 

“Okay, thank you.” I knew I was being annoying, but I’d had a tough - uh - day I suppose. There’d been the near-assault by Morgan thing, the video-chat stuff with Gianna, and the shock of the virtual walk-through of the new offices. Then, of course, finding my apartment had been broken into by some unknown assailant. God, I didn't even want to think about that, not to mention the bizarre dream-thing I’d had when I passed out from all the stress I’d been under. And, that was just today!  All before lunch! 

I didn’t even know where to begin with the blur of humiliation that was this past weekend, not like I could remember most of it. The whole weekend was shrouded in this weird pink fog when I tried to recall it, and I could only bring up bits and pieces of it. Honestly I’m not sure I even wanted to remember.

It was all too much. These recent elections, losing a full foot in height, and being so anxious, tired, and constantly, unbearably horny. What was happening to me? Would it ever stop? And, the scariest thought, one that I didn’t even like to consider myself was: did I even want it to stop?

I glanced at Melissa, who was peering down the road to her left, waiting for her chance to pull out. My eyes settled on the profile of her big right tit, which was stretching the top of her white dress thin. I could just make out the outline of her blue bra below it, and it really made me appreciate how big she’d become. I bit my lip, shifted my thin hips in my seat.

I took a deep breath.

Looking at her always made me feel better. My god my girlfriend was gorgeous. Even without the massiveness of the marvels that were her breasts, her waist was tiny, arms athletically strong, legs outrageously long and thick with shapely muscle. They were all perfect, she was absolutely, utterly physically perfect. Her skin was flawless, neck long and elegant, her waves of dark hair thick and luscious, made for a shampoo commercial. It was all…perfect. 

I tore my eyes away just as she turned back. I’d, unconsciously, nearly started stroking myself, through my scrubs. No time for that. Focus, buddy.

Finally, she drove the car out of the lot, and started heading for the highway. “Now, remind me, Jay sweetie, how do we get there again?”

“I’m, uh, it’s North on 82…” I began, suddenly feeling strangely disoriented, “…I think.” I blinked, three times, and tried to remember…

Twenty minutes later we were finally in the right neighborhood. I’d told her the wrong exit, having strangely forgotten it myself, and now I’d, um…gotten us lost. How could I forget the way back to my own (former) home?? I’d driven that route nearly every day for the better part of a decade! I tried, I really did, to direct us, to recognize landmarks, take the right turns onto the right streets, but it was like it’d been erased from my brain! I blamed it on stress. I mean what else could it be? Thankfully she’d been patient with me, actually laughing a bit, amused by my confusion and consternation with myself. You actually like this, don’t you? That my life before you is disappearing?

It was really upsetting to me, but she was getting a kick out of it. Finally, though, she pulled over and plugged everything into her car’s GPS and allowed its confident female voice to direct us to my-…I mean to Sheryl’s house. 

And so that’s how I found myself hunkered down in my seat as we pulled in the front of the house, parking on the street. I didn’t want my old neighbors or, even worse, Sheryl to see me in this diminished, pathetic state with this enormous, bosomy girl.

To my left Melissa rose up out of the car and, standing, asked me one last time if I wanted to come with. I shook my head in an emphatic “no” and scooted even further down in my seat. She gave me a look, a wry little smile, and closed her door. I watched her come around the front of the car, to the curb, and head up the front walk. Seeing her Amazonic figure - fluidly striding, hips swinging in her taut sheath of a white dress -  in my ex-front yard was unnerving, strange. It brought back memories of early on: her bike-ride visit, when we barely knew one another. How long ago was that? I’d been out raking, right? Tending to my yard. My house. Where I’d lived. 

I stopped to remind myself: That was then, buddy, this is now. Something told me it was important that I accept that. 

I scooted down further still when, after Melissa had rang the bell, the front door began to open. Sheryl! I could just barely make her out in the doorframe, her lithe figure appearing to greet Melissa leaving both women silhouetted by the light from inside the house. It was already late afternoon, early evening really, and the sun was half-set. Sheryl had a box behind her - likely my clothes - and the two women were chatting away. Despite their complicated relationship - my ex-wife was technically the employer of my new, statuesquely bosomy, too-young girlfriend - their body language was easy, relaxed. They’d even hugged in greeting and were laughing now about something.

It was then that I saw Sheryl - shorter than Melissa by over a foot - look around her to glance out towards the car, towards me. 

Agh! I scooted down even further, sliding deep into my seat, absolutely mortified. I did not want to be seen, especially by her. My face washed hot, my heart racing, and I could feel my anxiety overtake me. 

I-I’ll just sit here. I won't move. I’ll just stare straight, and wait it out. They can’t talk TOO long, can they? What would they have to talk about?? I’ll just wait until Melissa comes back and-

<rap rap rap!>

My heart leapt, I looked up. Sheryl!! Tapping on my window!!

Sheepishly, I looked up at her from the passenger's seat. I was so short - less than five feet tall, now - and felt even smaller still in my ignominy, scrunched down like I was. I remained very still. Maybe if I didn’t move she would go-

<tap tap tap!>

From the other side of the window she tapped the glass again as she  waved down at me, lit up by a smile which beamed an atypical warmth. She always had a big, big smile but holy crap what’s happened to her chest?!? She was dressed casually, in jeans and an old red college tee I recognized, but I’d never seen the white V-A-S-S-A-R across the chest stretched like that across her chest. She’d had implants, modest ones, all throughout our marriage. They’d originally been a commiserative nod to my, uh, proclivities. But…had she had them recently replaced? Now she had knockers! And they were, well, not nearly in league with my new girlfriend’s but - really big!

Paralyzed by my abject embarrassment, I waved up at her and managed a mortified little smile. What was I supposed to do?? Open the door? Say hi? Oh my god I couldn’t let her see me like this! Well, my decision was made for me when the window, under its own power, began to come down. 

“Hi down there!” Sheryl immediately beamed. It incited me to sit up a bit and I now saw Melissa, box of clothes in her arms, playing with her key-fob and heading towards the trunk. She’d obviously lowered the window for Sheryl, so we could chat. Great. 

“H-hi, Sheryl,” I stammered. Jesus lord fuck this was weird, but I was going to do my best. I sat up straighter still, but not all the way; with the window now fully down that would have put my face right at the underside of my ex-wife’s new breasts. So, I stayed half-scrunched for modesty, but I did manage a smile. And, goddammit, the beginnings of a new erection.

“How’ve you been?” she asked, as I heard the car’s trunk pop behind us. She was peering down, and now leaned forward to rest her hands in the frame, so she could better see me - and I could better see her tits. 

My gut roiled, knowing how small and pathetic I must look to her, squirming here in the passenger seat of my Office Manager’s luxury car, shrunken and pale and weak. Humiliated by the events, the divorce, the election results, I knew my ex-wife was looking down at a man whose life had crumbled and was now being run entirely by the women around him. I don’t know how much satisfaction she was getting out of it, but in comparison to her new life of growing wealth, power and influence mine had become a small, piteous thing, still sinking and shriveling by the day. I’d wronged her, and now I was paying for it. Somehow, though, I managed a brave answer. 

“I’m okay,” I said. I glanced past her hips. She was wearing an old pair of faded jeans, the ones she’d usually use for housework. They looked especially nice on her today. “The yard looks good.”

<slam> The trunk closed behind me. 

“Yeah without you around I’ve had to hire someone for the gardens. Fall clean-up and all,” she answered, turning back to look over her shoulder at the front yard for a moment, but then back down towards me. “So, how’s the apartment working out?” 

Again, the coils of humiliation tightened in my gut. Despite her easy smile, Sheryl was reminding me that I was still dependent on her, living on her property for free, still working at her company by her good graces. I was her parasite, clinging to its powerful ex-wife for life. She knew it, and she wanted to see that I knew it, too. 

The driver’s side door opened again and Melissa got back in. Suddenly I was trapped between two most powerful women in my life. My erection, under Sheryl’s presence, had grown only harder but now it surged up, nearly making me double over as it obviously wanted the attention of them both.

“Omigosh Sheryl! I didn't tell you, he got broken into! Here, Jay sweetie, sit up,” Melissa answered for me as she sat me back up and refastened my seatbelt, which had come undone with all my wriggling. If she noticed my boner down the left thigh of my thin pants (how could she not, especially with her chest squashing into my shoulder and causing it to absolutely heave) she made no reaction. “Over the weekend! They broke right in!”

“Oh that’s terrible!” Sheryl exclaimed, sounding honestly sympathetic but speaking now directly to Melissa, right over me, “Do you know who did it?”

“No, not yet,” she answered, “I have the girls looking into it.”

“Are you alright?” Sheryl said, her attention now back on me as she placed her hand onto my right shoulder. She was looking down at me, head cocked, nothing but sincere concern in her voice. “Were you hurt?”

“No, he was with me,” Melissa answered candidly, her right hand coming to rest on my left shoulder, her left hand on my left knee, “So he’s fine. Some of his furniture was broken, plates and things too. The door was broken, a few cabinets too. But they really didn’t take much.”

From what I heard, they just took my pillow, and my toothbrush…and all of my, uh, underwear.

“Well, we’ll get the repairs done right away, right?” Sheryl assured, and then softened her voice for me. “Do you need money?” she asked, pulling in closer. I recognized the scent of her shampoo. .

My face flushed. Yes, I was broke. Yes, without the help of others I would have trouble recovering from what had happened to my apartment. But the thought of taking money from Sheryl was-

“No, thank you that’s so kind but he’s fine,” Melissa answered, squeezing my knee possessively, “I give him an allowance.” 

Oh jesus. I was too chastened, too humiliated to even argue. And goddamnit my cock - the sick fuck - loved it, surging again, loved having a six-foot-seven sugar-mama.

“Oh, well that’s good,” Sheryl conceded, “but please please please reach out to me if he needs anything, okay Melissa?”

Sheryl, my ex-wife, was a trained attorney, a skilled negotiator and could - for as long as I’d known her -  remove herself emotionally from whatever it was when it served her purpose. I had, to be truthful, wronged her all throughout our nearly thirteen years of marriage with various affairs. So, despite the sympathetic tone in her voice I couldn’t help but think: you love this don’t you? Though I may have actually heard a little honest sincerity in her voice.

The girls bonded as they chatted for a bit, specifics of my ‘care’. It was frankly emasculating as they talked right over me, each moment becoming more humbling than the last.  Melissa assured Sheryl that I was, in fact, eating, that I was sleeping okay, and that I was drinking enough water. All things I could easily tell her myself.

Sheryl, for her part, somehow seemed to know quite a bit about what I’d been up to. The Halloween party, my fall in the pool, our last few dates. Maybe she was stalking us all on social media? That didn’t seem quite like her. But…

“So, I saw the videos from this weekend of you online,” she said, now deigning to speak directly to me. Her question pulled me from my irritation. “You’re famous now, huh?”

Wait what?

“Wait what?” I asked. What did she mean? “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Oh, haha, yes!” Melissa laughed, shaking my leg again by the knee, “He’s broken his phone, and maybe hasn’t seen all that…”

What the hell is she talking about?

“wh-what the hell are you talking about??” I stammered, now actually getting nervous.

“...but it’s pretty funny…” Melissa continued, moving her hand to squeeze my thigh and - nnnnngh! - my erection at the same time.

Stars danced in front of my eyes.

“...I’ll show you later, hun,” she concluded, now sitting back straight up and - “ow haha!” -- bumping her head on the car’s ceiling.

I’d started to roll up the window, but Sheryl’s hand came to it to stop it, about a third of the way up. 

“Omigosh haha Melissa this car’s too small for you!” Sheryl exclaimed, stating the obvious. She saw how my girlfriend’s legs were long, her torso barely folding into this little 2-series coupe. “You should just buy another,” she added, “Go ahead and use the company card.”

Ugh, crap, whhhuttt…?

“Oh! WOw! Thank You!!” Melissa laughed, turning back toward her, pinning my cock once again to my thigh with her hand in the process. Nngh!! Her pretty mouth was agape at my ex-wife’s cunning generosity. “Are you sure??”

Yes, I’d said Sheryl was maybe showing her sympathetic side today, but apparently she could still be an asshole. “Haha yes of course no problem, you deserve it, I know how hard you’ve been working,” she continued, her smile gleaming white now in the sunset’s developing dusk, “plus it’s you, I guess, that partly I have to thank for these new boobs.” 

At that, Sheryl straightened up, standing just enough so that her big breasts squished into the partly-raised car window. “V-A-S-S-A-R” spread across the glass.

urk! 

I felt my cock nearly burst through my scrub pants, In Melissa’s hand.

The two girls started laughing sharing a moment together as they said their goodbyes over my new mortification. Melissa mercifully lifted her hand off my erection as I thanked the gods that she turned the car on and after a few more niceties we were on our way. 

I squirmed in my seat, even as we pulled off down my old street. That whole scene had been a bit much for me. 

Melissa saw I was uncomfortable, and pulled over near a group of old pines. “Omigod Sheryl’s so nice, isn’t she?” she asked, unclipping her seat belt and turning back towards me. Immediately her hands went down and started untying my scrub bottoms.

“Uh- M-Melissa?”

“Shhh its okay…let me do this for you…”

I shuddered, as she pulled me out. We could easily get caught by a passerby, an ex-neighbor, but despite that I closed my eyes and let the moment take me. Just like she wanted. Times like this, usually, my mind would fade to blank, and my anxieties would start to fade, but one thought stuck with me…

What did Sheryl mean? I mused silently, even as Melissa leaned down across the center console, her huge head of hair slowly engulfing my lap, ‘I have you to thank for these new boobs...?

==============================================

thanks oodles to @societytopographic for helping me with the Sheryl image, and of course my editor-in-residence and co-conspirator ResistanceIsFutile on the copy

#growing into the job

[power-rings]

Hogs and Suds

26. A bubbly bath together

Sonic totally forgot again, didn't he? She didn't receive any chocolate, flowers, or any other special treatment from him. Amy didn't really expect too much from him, unless it was their wedding anniversary, or even her birthday. Valentine's Day was overlooked almost every year by the blue blur. So, once more she wasn't too disappointed. Most of the day, Sonic was away anyway. During his absence, Amy just watched romantic movies. Ordered take-out, and cleaned up the house.

Not exactly what she had planned for the holiday. But, she didn't complain. Once Sonic finally came home, their nightly routine was pretty much the same as any other day. They talked about their day, and watched a movie together like they usually would on a Friday. Sonic couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, though. After all the years they've known each other, Sonic was slowly starting to pick up on small things. Any strange body language from Amy, he would be concerned that he done something stupid; and she'll text him in the morning "we need to talk". Of course, when he would ask her... the pink hedgehog just responded that she was just tired. When they settled in for bed, Amy sat up to read a book, like most nights. It wasn't long before Sonic hit the pillow, he would be out like a light. Amy was probably up until midnight, or longer because the book had gotten so interesting. Sonic finally told her to get some shut-eye around 2:30am. Stating that would explain why she was so tired.

Amy shut her book, and rolled her eyes. She gave him a peck on the cheek, and then finally settled in with a sad sigh.

He had said he would do better about keeping track with important dates. Yet, again... failing to do so. It was just a stupid overhyped holiday, Amy started telling herself. His failing to show appreciation, and love towards her would never change how she feels for him. But, the effort would have been nice, though, right? She wasn't wrong for wanting him to show some effort, was she?

-

Unbeknownst to Amy, Sonic finally had realized what day it was when he woke up around 5am for his daily run. He cursed himself repeatedly. He had to make it up to her. He cut his run shorter than normal, and started hitting random shops. Now it was the day after Valentine's Day, a lot of shops were low in stock in various items he had wanted to get her. Flowers, or cards weren't enough and he knew that. She deserved more. Throughout the morning, and into the mid-afternoon he ordered her favorite flowers, chocolate, and he even purchased a huge stuffed animal that she had showed interest in. He reserved a table at the fanciest restaurant in the city. He wanted to get a spot for her to get a spa today but they were booked out, and closing early due to the weekend. He will just get that reserved for her on the next week.

Sonic stopped by Vanilla's cafe, to find Amy was helping her during the busiest shift of the day. He hung behind until the crowd started to clear out. Amy hardly acknowledged his presence, not even seeing him among the crowd of costumers. When he approached the counter, she instantly saw the apologetic smile spreading on his face.

"Can you get out early, Ames?" He ran a hand down his quills, feeling so bad that he had forgotten about yesterday. "I was thinkin' we could check out that Italian restaurant in Station Square. What ya' think?" His emerald eyes looking hopeful. She raised her brow at him, scanning over his features.

Before she could respond, Vanilla butted in. "Absolutely, m'dear! I can have her leaving by 4, will that work?" Of course the older Mobian knew that Sonic had forgotten about Valentine's Day; Amy tells her about everything. Sonic gave a eager nod, and smiled back at his wife. Before more costumers came rolling in, Sonic quickly apologized for yesterday, and the two shared a kiss.

When he was long gone, Amy approached Vanilla in the back of the cafe to help her sort through some inventory. "Is it so hard for him to remember stuff like this?"

"Amy dear, you've known him for many years. You think that would change automatically when you two became married? You'll one day overlook celebrating Valentine's Day, and just appreciate the small things... how he shows his love for you." The rabbit handed her a box of items, and went back to the front of the building to take orders.

Following her, Amy opened her mouth to argue. "But, I do appreciate the small things he does ... I... just.." Amy trailed off, lost in her thoughts. Honestly, she didn't know what to say from this point on. Perhaps, Vanilla was right.

As expected, Amy was clocked out at 4pm that day. She hated to leave the cafe, because the costumers kept flooding in, and it felt like they weren't able to catch up. They were running out of items that was their specials for the day. To make things even more difficult, one of their coffee machines ended up breaking on them, so they were short on equipment, and that meant the costumers would be waiting longer. Cream had came in shortly, and a couple other employees that were scheduled for a later shift. Vanilla eventually pushed Amy out from behind the counter, and removed her apron. "Go on. Spend time with your husband."

When she came home, she found the various items that Sonic had found for her. Thinking about what Vanilla had said earlier, she appreciated every single item that he picked. He actually did a good job for as forgetful as he was. After admiring the items, and sneaking a bite of candy, she started to get ready for the date. He told her the reservation will be at 6pm, so she had plenty of time to go through her wardrobe, and get some makeup on.

It didn't take her too long to find a sparkly-red dress, that was cut off near her hip. It showed off her figure very well, now that she was pleased with her outfit. Infront of her vanity, she looked herself over, and started working on applying some mascara, eyeshadow, blush, and scarlet red lipstick. She sprayed some of her favorite perfume, and one of the fragrances that Sonic actually could tolerate; which was hard to come by, because he typically stick his nose up at most of her fragrances she had bought.

--

When she arrived at the restaurant, he had told her earlier that afternoon he'd meet her there, so for about a minute or two in line, she waited, until the host got her attention. He addressed that because of the busy hours, it would be a 30 minute wait, until she would be seated. "It should be under... hedgehog. Or maybe Sonic?" Amy scanned around the city, looking for any sights of her husband.

"Ah, yes! Right here. Great timing. Did you want to wait until he arrives? Then I can seat the two of you."

It was clear that she was disappointed, half hoping perhaps he was waiting for her inside the restaurant. She knew they were packed tonight, so she just said she'll wait for him at their table. Not long after that, a waiter came forward with a wine bottle. It looked expensive. "Wine for the beautiful lady?" It wasn't common for her to drink wine, but it was for a special occasion so she accepted the offer, and he poured a generous amount into the glass at the end of the table.

Amy probably waited about 5 more minutes, before long she was drinking a second glass of red wine. Finally, the waiter came back to ask if she was ready to order her food. With a sigh, she scanned through the menu. "A side salad with fettucine alfredo as the entree', please?" After he left her table to put in her order, Amy started to really admire the atmosphere of the restaurant. The owners really did not spare no expense, that was for sure. While waiting, she scanned through her phone. Hoping to see a message from her husband, at least. Only a message she hadn't opened, it was from Cream, and that was 4 hours ago. She gobbled up her salad once it arrived. She was far more hungry than she had thought. She ate half of some complimentary bread that was sat before in a basket. Finally, about 15 minutes later they brought the main course.

"Are you expecting anyone?" The waiter finally asked, picking up the menu that sat across from Amy. In disappointment, she shook her head. Then asked for another glass of wine before he left to take care of another table.

Tables and tables started to be cleared, only to be replaced with more guests being seated shortly after. Amy was long done with her meal by now, and decided she should not probably get another glass of wine. She felt if she had one more glass, she would be tipsy for sure. When the waiter came back to her table with a to-go box, and her receipt he was apologetic to her concerning her date not showing up.

Amy had became accustomed to it over the years. She thanked him, and complimented the food. She left her money in the sleeve with the receipt, and a generous tip. When she left the restaurant she wiped at her eyes, stubbornly refusing to let herself shred these tears. It didn't take her too long before she arrived back home. Anger filled her form, replacing the sadness that she felt. Quickly, she pulled dress over her head, letting it fall to the floor, and stomped to the bedroom with a box full of chocolate treats in hand.

Kicking her shoes off, and slipping out of her undergarments, she ventured into the master bathroom. After the disappointing day she had, she knew it was due time for a bubble bath. Either playing some music, or even a movie while she bathes... would probably suffice as well. While the tub was filling with water, and the bubbles started to come alive in the huge tub, she could have sworn she had heard something outside, but paid it no attention. She fixed the tray that was positioned over the tub, and placed the box of chocolates ontop. She carefully slid into the tub, giving a sigh of satisfaction seconds after getting into the water. Soothing away any aches, and for even just a moment making her forget the audacity of Sonic The Hedgehog abandoning her again.

Devouring the candy, and listening to some relaxing music, Amy was almost too relaxed, until the bathroom door abruptly swung open. She shrieked, and covered her chest to no avail.

"Ames- Oh... thank Chaos. You are home!" Amy frowned at the messy-looking husband of hers, as he stepped into their bathroom. He gave a sigh, and sat on the lonely stool near her vanity. He looked at her, noticing the familiar look he had received many times after he wasn't a no-show on their date night, "I can explain, babe. Listen... Eggman started screwing around-"

"Just say you forgot. Again." She was clearly hurt, and Sonic couldn't blame her. She turned away from him.

"I didn't forget, not this time! I swear..." Sonic stepped closer to the side of the tub, he couldn't help but admire her body.. although hardly visible with all the bubbles. "I'm trying my best to remember our date nights, Ames. I really am. This is why I don't plan anything... ya' never know when Eggman will be up to no good. " Honestly, she couldn't really too upset with him, Sonic had a lot on his shoulders as the well-known hero of the world. Quite frankly, it seems as if Eggman was starting to keep them apart more often than before they became husband and wife.

"I... was just hoping to spend more time with you, that is all." Amy gave a deep sigh, and reached for his hand. "We've been caught up with work.. and Egghead... it seems like we never find the time anymore."

He gave her hand a squeeze, and then left the bathroom to kick off his socks and shoes, leaving them near his side of the bed. He returned and nervously glanced at the water in the tub.

"Babe?" Amy eyebrows furrowed in confusion, watching the conflicted blue hedgehog.

Slowly, he stepped into the tub, gripping the sides tightly as he lowered his body further. Nervously smiling back at Amy, this earned a giggle from her. "You wanted to spend more time together... so.. " Sonic inched closer to his now blushing bride, his strong arms wrapping around her naked form, he went to kiss her and then playfully pulled away, "unless you're still pissed at me, of course?" He grinned from ear to ear. "But, I always did enjoy make up sex...so, shall we make up?" Quickly, he was shoved away, before Amy climbed ontop of him, and pulled into a passionate kiss.

#sonamy #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #oneshot writing #fanfiction #writing prompts #sonic fanfiction

[leftoverenvy]

Tastes Like Sugar (ch. 3)

Summary: India Mae, or Indi, is a music major, struggling to pay bills, tuition, work, and make good grades.  Emily Prentiss is a BAU profiler, as well as a DC socialite thanks to her huge family fortune.  The two enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement: Emily will pay for Indi's school if Indi accompanies Emily to her social functions for a few months, posing as her girlfriend.  As weeks go by, the lines between their arrangement and their true feelings start to blur.  But money can't buy love, right?

Pairing: India Mae Banks x Emily Prentiss; OC x Emily Prentiss

Warnings: eventual smut; sugar baby relationships; age gap (16 years - but all over 18); very slow burn

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on Wattpad | Ao3 | Previous Chapters

Taglist: @ssa-sapphic 🧸; @5raysofsunshine 🌮; @reidselle 🦭; @milfprotector 🐝💚; @gaelic-symphony 🎻 ; @scargarcia-magshotchner 💜; @sadgirlml🌻💌 ; @hotchs-bitch ; @multiverse-mxdness ; @spencersendgame

Chapter 3 - Butterflies

Even though I had a huge financial obligation hanging over my head, I woke up feeling lighter than I had in months.  I was beginning to feel truly excited about this.  It didn't hurt that I woke up to a sweet text from Emily: "Good morning, India. I hope you have a wonderful day."  Knowing that I was on Emily's mind first thing in the morning would ensure I had a wonderful day.

Phone in hand, I burst through my door and banged on Penelope's.  She opened it – cheerful as always, dressed brightly – and said, "Good morning, Indi.  I have to say I'm a bit surprised you want to talk to me this morning."

"Why?"

"Uh, well I feel bad about last night..."

"Don't!" I dismissed, last night already forgotten.  "Guess what!"  I was bursting with excitement.

"What...?"

"Don't gloat," I prefaced.  "But I took your advice and I-"  I was interrupted by Penelope's unholy, shrill shriek, and then she started jumping up and down.

"Oh em gee!  Indi!  Are you serious??"

"I haven't even told you what I did, Penelope," I pointed out dryly.

She inhaled largely, a sign she was holding in another shriek.  She raised her eyebrows at me, apparently dissatisfied by how long I was taking to share my news.

"I got on that sugar baby website."

"And?" she asked with restraint.

"And I maybe matched with someone," I continued.

"And??" she asked with increased volume, looking like she was about to burst.

"And we maybe talked last night and she maybe sent me this this morning," I said turning my phone around so she could read Emily's good morning message.

Penelope's loud "EEP!" and clicking high heels as she hopped up and down rang around my ears.

"Jeez, Pen!" I said covering my ears, "A little warning next time."

"Oh, you should know better by now, India Mae.  This is SO exciting.  Can I see her profile?  Can I see a picture?"

"I don't know, Pen..." I hedged.  I didn't know if I was ready to share her like that yet.  It was completely ridiculous – she wasn't even mine.

My phone vibrated in my hand, and Penelope – somehow – pried it from my grasp before I could stop her.  She gasped loudly.  "Indi!"

"What?!" I asked in a panic.

"Look at her," she said breathlessly.  I tugged her arm, angling my phone towards me.  I nearly fell over.  Surely this couldn't be real.  Emily had sent another photo and she was absolutely stunning wearing a white button up and precious, clear glasses.  I couldn't stop staring.

I had always been attracted to older women, and now the most beautiful woman on the planet was interested in me?  I couldn't fit the pieces together in my head.  She was divinely beautiful, unbelievably wealthy, and went to Yale for Christ's sake.  It made no sense.

"I'm being catfished!" I blurted.  It was the only way it made sense.  She had to be a fat, balding man still living in his mother's basement with five hundred dollars to his name.  I sighed at the realization that that was five hundred more dollars than I had.

"What are you talking about?" Penelope asked.

"Come on, Penelope.  Look at me," I said dejectedly.  "What in the world would someone like her," I said reverently, "want to do with me?"

"India Banks!  I will not stand for that.  You are a catch, and she would be lucky to have you in her life.  Don't blow this up before it even begins.  Now," she tugged on her dress, "I have to get to work.  I'll see you tonight and I will be expecting a major update about this."  She pushed past me.  I was incredibly jealous Penelope had a grown up job.  Two years my senior, Penelope was already graduated and working for a tech company.  No matter how many times I asked her what she did, I could never understand.  She was too smart and clever with a computer.

And then the thought struck me.  "Wait!!" I called after her before she could walk out the door.

"Yes?"

"Can you be a little late today?  Pretty please??"

"Why?  What's wrong?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

"I just need your help with something.  I really am worried I'm being catfished.  Can you just help me figure out if she's real?  Then I'll throw myself 100% into it, I swear!" I begged.

"Yesssss," she said, immediately walking to our table.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," I breathed out, "You're a life saver."

"What are we working with?"  She pulled her computer out.

"Well," I racked my brain for all the info I had about her so far.  "I have this picture-"

"Absolutely gorgeous.  Let's hope you aren't getting catfished."

"Thanks," I said caustically.  "Here's her phone number," I flashed her my phone screen with her contact info.  "And I think she works in the FBI."

"Ooooh, GI Jane.  I like it," she teased.  "Let me start with a reverse image search.  Send that to me," she demanded, nodding to my phone.  I sent it to her as fast as possible, recognizing that she would be late to work just for me.  After scrolling for a bit and adjusting something or other with the search settings, she hummed and said, "This could be promising."

Impatiently, I asked, "What?"  She turned her computer to face me.

"Think that could be her?"  She pointed to a photo of Emily, holding a champagne flute, in a black formal dress with nude lace cutouts at the top.

Mouth suddenly dry, I swallowed thickly.  I had never in my life seen something so beautiful.  She was angelic; her smile was radiant.  Though it wasn't as genuine as the one in her profile picture, it was no less beautiful.  "Yeah," I whispered hoarsely, "That's her."  I didn't even dare blink; I needed to soak up as much of her as I could.

"Holy crap on a cracker!" Penelope interrupted my daze.  She pointed to a headline which read, "D.C.'s most eligible bachelorette arrives alone, once again, for Children's National Hospital charity ball."

"Click on it," I urged Penelope.  "No wait!"  I put my hand up.  "What does THAT say?" I asked pointing to the article two below it.

______________________________

DC's Most Sought-After Date Dateless Once Again Daily Star December 2021

DC's richest and most famous heiress, Emily Prentiss, was photographed alone last night at Senator Kane's birthday party.  Daughter of an ambassador, Ms. Prentiss – and FBI agent – has amassed quite a fortune.  Never seen photographed with a date, we here at the Daily Sun are left wondering if Ms. Prentiss is a reclusive shrew, or if she's merely protecting her fortune at all costs.  Regardless, Ms. Prentiss remains DC's most eligible, though unattainable, bachelorette.

______________________________

Penelope was as dumbstruck as I was. "Ho-ly-"

"Shit," I finished for her.  An heiress??  I felt inadequate all over again.  Now she was really out of my league.  But at least knowing she was real made me feel marginally better about talking to her. 

I read the short article twice more before Penelope said, "Okay, lovie!" snapping her computer shut, and with it, me out of this trance. 

"Hey!" I nearly yelled.

"Fear not, my besotted, young one.  I emailed you all that."

"Okay," I responded, still slightly dazed.  "Thanks," I said as an afterthought.

"See you later," she chuckled.

As soon as the front door closed behind her, I ran to my room for my own computer.  I furiously refreshed my email three times until I saw Penelope's email.  Dear lord she was so beautiful.  There was no way I was going to be able to see her in person; surely, I'd forget how to breathe.  I had been staring at her photo for about ten minutes when I realized I had never texted her back.

Indi: Good morning, Emily. I hope you slept well 😌 Thank you for the picture. I may or may not have looked at it for quite a while this morning...

As soon as I hit send, I wished I could take it back.  You're supposed to be playing it cool, Indi.  She's a fucking heiress for god's sake – she isn't looking for some silly, over-obsessed girl.

Emily: I may or may not have looked at your pictures for quite a while this morning, too ;) 

My heart stuttered in my chest.  I was dreaming – I had to be.  I pinched myself, but nothing changed.  I turned my phone off and back on again.  But when my slow, cheap, GoPhone finally booted up, Emily's message was still there.  Just as cute and smile-inducing as I remembered.  I decided since this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I'd go for it.  I had promised Penelope I'd put 100% of myself into this, after all.

Indi: When do I get to see you in real life?

Emily: In a few days if you'd like. I'm sorry it can't be sooner; I got called away for a case and I am currently flying to Idaho. I'd love to take you out as soon as possible. I'm sure you have suitors lined out the door for the chance to take you out.

Indi: If you're flying, don't let me keep you! I know you need to turn your phone off. Whenever you get back, I'd love to go out. Because contrary to your belief, I do not have suitors lined out the door

Emily: My unit has its own jet. I don't have to turn my phone off. Not sure I believe you about the suitors...

Indi: Wow! Your own jet! Why's that?

Emily: We are often called on a case at a moment's notice. We don't have time to wait for commercial flights.

Indi: I take it this is what you meant about a demanding work schedule, then? What do you do about clothes? If you don't have time for commercial flights, do you have time to pack a bag?

Emily: Yes, this is what I meant about a demanding work schedule. We're often called to a case even when we're "off." As for clothes, it's simple: I just always have a bag packed and ready to go.  I call it my "go-bag."

Indi: A real life superhero, really. Always jetting off to save the world 🛫 

Emily: Can I ask something potentially embarrassing?

I didn't know what she had to be embarrassed about.  She held all the power here: she had the beauty, the brains, the money – everything.

Indi: Should I be scared?

Emily: Very... Emily: How do you use those cute little pictures in your texts?

I laughed out loud. She was so cute.

Indi: Emojis? These things? 😌☺️🙊🛫 

Emily: YES

Indi: There's a button to the left of your space bar with a little face or globe on it. If you click on that, it should pull up lists of emojis. They're organized in categories: faces/people, animals, food, sports, locations, and then a bunch of miscellaneous stuff.

Emily: 😀😃😄😁😆😇🙂🙃😉😜😚😘 Emily: Did I do it?

Indi: Yes! Go you 😜

I couldn't stop smiling.  She was so cute and she wasn't even trying.  And even though I knew she was moving through the first few emojis, her ending with a kissy face made me blush.  I was absolutely giddy chatting with her before I had to head out to class.  There was absolutely no reason for me to be so excited to talk to someone this early on.  Call it a gut-feeling, or call it loneliness, but I hadn't been this hopeful about anything in many months.  And I certainly hadn't been this optimistic about a person ever.

I thought back to all the times I had tried to date before.  Dating people my own age had never worked out.  And my only serious relationship obviously hadn't either.  She was immature – focused on the wrong things.  She even tried to pull me away from my studies, saying "music is just a hobby anyway."  It devastated me at the time, but maybe I just needed someone a little more mature.  Emily certainly seemed invested in my education and future career already.

______________________________

Emily and I continued to text over the next two days.  I quickly learned that, because Emily had a real job, it was best for me to get as much work done during the day so I would have nights free to talk to her.  The time zone difference wasn't helping either.  I pushed sleep off, just to hear back from her once more.  I was already addicted to learning about her.  Not usually one to be on my phone constantly, I now found myself waiting all day for her responses.

On the fourth day of her being away, she texted me first thing in the morning, as was usual for her.  But the conversation wasn't only focused on getting to know each other.

Emily: Good morning sweet girl ☺️ Emily: Indi, I'm really enjoying talking to you...

The ellipsis threw me off.  My stomach plummeted fearing the worst.  At least it had been a good week of imagining I could be good enough for her.

Emily: I was wondering if you are interested in pursuing an arrangement? I certainly am. I'd like to go over some terms if you're up for it.

My heart re-started; my breathing desperately tried to regulate itself again.

Indi: I'm very interested in pursuing an arrangement with you, Emily. What did you have in mind?

Emily: I know this is a bit unconventional, but first and foremost, I'm looking for someone to be my date to a few upcoming social events. Obviously, I would pay for all dresses and jewelry needs for such events. Ideally, you would live in my house (your own room and bathroom), keep the house tidy, and cook when I'm home. And keep me company when I am home. In exchange, I would pay you a monthly allowance of $3,000 and your tuition and school expenses for the duration of the arrangement. The monthly allowance is up for negotiation. It would be up to your discretion to spend however you'd like – no questions asked.

My eyes widened.  No fucking way.  No fucking way.  "Up for negotiation?"  As if anyone would actually say no to that obscene amount of money?  Just one month of this arrangement would pay my bursar bill.  I really wouldn't have to work this summer; I could focus solely on composing.  And all I would have to do would be to keep her company and cook her dinner?  I noticed she didn't mention anything physical.  Maybe she wanted to save that for an in-person conversation.

I felt horrible about the arrangement.  I couldn't accept this; it was way too much money for so little required on my end.

Indi: Emily, I'm not sure this is a fair deal...

Emily: Should we increase your allowance? This is new to me, I apologize. I'm not sure what a fair monthly allowance is.

Indi: NO! I don't want MORE money. Emily, you're asking for so little. Paying my tuition is more than enough

Emily: I disagree. You would be providing me numerous services (cooking, cleaning, company, not to mention the invaluable service of accompanying me to dreadfully boring social functions).

I thought back to the articles I read about her the other day calling her a hag and a shrew, unlovable and unattainable.  The press really was awful to single women.  But surely that wasn't worth $3,000 a month.  I looked at the clock and cursed.  I needed to leave for class in twenty minutes and I hadn't started getting ready yet.

Indi: I'm not saying no. I'd very much like to be your baby (is this the proper term?) I just think we should talk about the actual terms in detail. Can I call you later tonight? I need to head to class soon...

Emily: Ha I'm not sure what the proper term is either – I told you I was new to this! But I can do you one better than a call. I'm on my way to DC in a few hours. We wrapped up the case early. May I have the honor of taking you out tonight, Miss Banks?

Panic arose in me immediately.  She wanted to meet tonight??  I didn't have a dress or a plan.  What would I say?  Texting was one thing.  But over dinner, I wouldn't have time to think of something witty to say.  Hell, I wouldn't even have time to stop the stupid things from tumbling out of my mouth.  Well, India, I hope you had fun because you're surely going to ruin it all tonight.

There was no way I would be able to appropriately get myself ready for tonight.  I needed to call in reinforcements.  I texted Penelope immediately.

Indi💛👭: Pen! Emergency! Emily is back in town tonight and wants to meet up. Can you PLEASE come home early and help me get ready??Please 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Penny💞💖: AHHH!!!!! Say no more 🤚🏻 Of COURSE I will help. What are you wearing? How early are we talkin? Do we need to shop? You have to look your absolute best

Indi💛👭: That's the problem, Pen! 😩 I only have that one dress...

Penny💞💖: NO

Indi💛👭: I think it will be fine for tonight...

Penny💞💖: Take the afternoon off. We're going shopping. You are NOT wearing that dress

Indi💛👭: Thank you 😙😙 I owe you big time

Penny💞💖: HUGE 😉

I was ashamed, but I called into work "sick" and emailed my afternoon professors that I was sick and unable to come to class.  I would have to make up the studio time for my concert piano class, but this was well worth it.

Emily: Should I take your silence as not being interested in going out this evening?

Indi: No! I'm sorry! I definitely want to meet up tonight. Here's my address: 2730 Wisconsin Ave. Apt. 12.

Emily: See you at 7:00.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach.  I was going to see Emily Prentiss – in person – for the first time in less than twelve hours.

______________________________

My nerves didn't ease up all day.  In fact, the butterflies in my stomach grew more insistent the closer it got to 7:00.

"Stop fighting, Indi," Penelope grumbled as she tried to put eyeliner on my fluttering eyelids.

"I'm sorry.  I'm just so nervous.  What if she hates me?  What if I mess it all up?"  I looked down.

"Good.  Get it all out now.  That way you won't be stupid when Emily gets here."

"Penelope!" I objected.

"You've been talking for a week now, Indi.  She's obviously into you!  You have nothing to worry about.  Just be yourself and she'll be a goner.  Trust me."  She finished swiping eyeliner and handed me mascara.  "I trust you can do this one yourself?"

I nodded, unscrewing the makeup.  I quickly applied it and then stepped back to look at myself.  "Wow," I gasped, "Penelope.  You have truly outdone yourself.  I look hot."

"Well, I had a lot of good material to work with."  She nudged my shoulder with her own. 

I couldn't stop staring at my sultry, smoky eyes and pouty, red lips.  I hoped Emily would be appreciative of the look.  My eyes trailed down, inspecting the curves outlined by my tight, short, black dress.  Though it had a high neckline, it had a slit up the thigh from just above my knee to mid-thigh.  "I can't believe you found such a perfect dress," I whispered.

"I can!" Penelope gloated.  "I'm queen of shopping."  I chuckled.  This was absolutely true.  Penelope never went home without exactly what she had in mind.

I put my lipstick and my phone in my purse, strapped my shoes on, and gave myself one last once over.

"You look amazing!" Penelope reassured me.

"I know," I smirked, "You did my makeup."

And before she could respond, a loud, assured knock echoed through our small apartment.

– – –

Continue to the next chapter

#🌬 fics #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x oc #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds au #wlw writing #tastes like sugar

[aniverous]

Idk how to make submissions so here it is.

——

Screaming outside is the first thing he’s heard in hours.

For the past several days, Galen has been even busier than that first break in so many years ago. It’s a blur. Talking to people, checking over patients, scheduling things, trying to find new ways to banish Thad’s coma.

Zion and Maria insisted to no end that he take a break. He’s been making no progress, and has nearly passed out a few times. It takes a lot to break him, but here he is. Practically cornered in his office, tracing a finger across the raised text of a book he’s read enough times to quote from memory.

Helpless. Deprived. Claustrophobic. Claustrophobic. Fearful. Claustrophobic.

And then panicked voices emerge.

It’s nothing new. Many, many times, the crew (he’s attempted to suggest better names to no avail) has returned with something horrifying. Be it scathing injuries, suspicious friends, parasites or stowaways, it was never something that wasn’t eventually dealt with. He usually stays in the wards to wait out the chaos.

But now seemed like a perfect excuse to leave the room to investigate.

He grips his walker, familiar signal vibrations bringing back a comfort he’s nearly forgotten in that short time. He’s been around here so many times, for so many years, that there’s no need to use it. But when the crew returns, you never know what you might bump into.

Exiting the office leads to room 1A, a large room with workbenches lined a long way, all separated by curtains. This is the room reserved for the worst cases, one he’s stationed near so as to always have swift access. Thad lies on the bench second closest to the office.

Muffled shouting just barely shakes the ground Galen stands on. He makes a beeline toward Thad, brushing aside the curtain-

The cane vibrates just a little too late. He can’t stop it from bumping into a leg that seems too thin for comfort.

Galen doesn’t have time for this. “Who are–”

The unwanted guest steps back. Galen almost feels those joints creaking in his own body. “Ah. Thought I’d gotten rid of all of them. Croucher, are you? I’ve been told about you. Stubborn, rigid, prissy…that’s you, right?”

Galen holds icy still. He can hear a permanent smile edging this creature’s voice. “Where are my cohorts?”

“Oh, those things. They were annoying me, so they’re all outside for a bit. I didn’t touch them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Why am I any different?”

With a snap of the guest’s fingers, the buzz of something teleporting into existence can be heard. “Well, for one, you aren’t screeching like a little girl about how creepy I look.”

“I’m tempted to,” the worker deadpans, finally daring to inch forward. “You sound like you just escaped a grinder. Could I help you with something?”

A pause. “No one’s asked me that before.”

“Why not? Is no one scared for you when they hear your limbs creak that way?”

Something tiny swings open, and then a brief rustle. “People are scared OF me, little buddy.” A low woosh, and then a tiny burst that could only belong to a flame.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” he sputters in a tone bordering on shouting.

Rivic simply cackles. “Gave into that temptation, didja?”

Galen breathes in slow. He’s not about to be teleported away from his most devastated patient. He doesn’t feel any significant heat, anyway. Must be a match of some sort.

What kind of planet is this thing from?

Galen sighs as quietly as he can manage. “So. What do you do?”

Rivic tenses a bit. “Hmm?”

“Tell me about yourself. What you do, what you like. If you’re up for it, that is.”

Rivic snorts. “You’ll never have any need for my services, so I won’t bother talking about that.”

“I see…”

Silence for a bit, except for the tiniest twitching from Thad. Galen continues holding himself back.

Claustrophobic.

“So…are you a medic as well?”

Another chortle. “Absolutely not! You while away doing things with no benefit for yourself. Your kind are always just barely standing. They spend themselves out. I always do things for a price. And this man’s services are very valuable to me.”

“…So that’s what this is. You’re keeping him alive…for servitude?”

“Do you not understand balance? He’s not perpetually serving me. He gets plenty of time to travel and socialize and whatever else you workers are interested in. You give yourself no free time. You give yourself no reprieve, and never demand anything in return. You’re walking shells.”

Galen’s trembling now. “Perhaps my payment is helping in and of itself.”

More movement from the bench.

“Spare me, Croucher. We all know that—”

“My payment is witnessing the slow recovery of the less fortunate. My payment is the gratification of being responsible for their lives slowly returning to them, knowing that you kept them from dying.”

More twitches, both the twittering of Thad’s and the creaking of Rivic’s. The latter has been fairly still until now.

“Haven’t you ever seen someone slowly recover their body? Be it an injury or an illness, isn’t it a beautiful thing to see them grow out of an ailment better than before? Isn’t it enough that they haven’t died? I’ve mourned so many people. I still blame myself for what’s been lost.”

The creaking is growing louder.

“So…just being successful at all. Being able to save someone, for once. It’s a feeling of relief I’ll never get tired of.”

An eerie quiet follows. Thad and Rivic’s movements keep total silence at bay. And yet, Rivic’s quiet stammering is enough for any individual to mortally yearn for said silence.

Galen’s teleported out of the room.

Welp, this is among the best things I have ever received.

You absolutely nailed Rivic, from the dialog to the mannerisms. If I didn't know better I'd say you read my mind to make him sound that good.

I love how you captured the sickly and wrong Rivic's body is. It's like how humans would see a walking corpse; one look-or listen-is all a Drone needs to know that there is something deeply, deeply fucked up with that body. Which makes total sense; eons of magic abuse will make anyone messed up, plus Rivic does all his own repairs and...yeah he's not a mechanic.

And yeah, Rivic knew he lost that argument. When the only reason you're living is because you're scared to die, you don't have a lot of ground to stand on when debating on life's purpose.

#murder drones #rivic #galen #oc #fanfic #good fanfic

[withyook]

what i love here:

1. sungjae realising he’s not that great at games and is actually ON PAR with changsub and eunkwang lol

2. eunkwang laughing at the joke and changsub just nods because HE AGREES 

#btob #sungjae #eunkwang #changsub #i have absolutely forgotten how to blur text #it's amazing i still know how to gif! muscle memory

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

[shoutogepi]

Worth the Wait

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 9.2k

[ ☁︎, ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw 18+) ] (v lowkey angst//fluff)

themes : virgin!Shouto, experienced!reader (well, more than Sho anyway lol), praise kink?, lil baby couples quarrel, make up sex, and also he’s kinda hung lmfao idk if that’s relevant 💀

bio : You can’t help but notice that every time things start to heat up with your Pro-Hero boyfriend, he shuts you down. After politely ignoring his initial rejections, your frustrations build up, and you decide to confront him.

author’s note : so this fic was inspired by a conversation with the lovely astrid ( @todoscript​ ), who is becoming my cherished shouto confidante! we didn’t talk about it for very long, and it was awhile ago... but my brain would not move on so… this happened. i figured if i’m going to type so much about him i may as well write a fic. thanks for listening to my constant yelling, hope you enjoiii <3

side note : both shouto and reader are meant to be young adults in this fic!! i was thinking somewhere around 25-30 (i didn’t specify the age in the fic) but i thought i would make note of this as that’s considered “old” to still have your v-card, by American society at least (hence why sho kept that info from reader)

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃he first time it happened, you tried to play it off as if you hadn’t made a move.

The last few of your friends had finally departed from the Saturday game night you had thrown, leaving just you, Shouto, and the slow, hot tango of your tongues. You hadn’t seen each other all week— with him being busy with his hero work, and you being busy with your comparatively-mundane job, you didn’t get to spend as much time together as you would have liked. Although it was an obstacle for your relationship, you were both young adults as well as devoted professionals, which allowed the two of you to remain on the same page most of the time. It was typical for you to text and call one another for a few hours after work (granted you both had the time to spare) before passing out mid-conversation, your phone screen still lit up and gentle snores exchanged through the speakers. But like any sane girlfriend, having him in person, right in front of you, was always your favorite.

What had started as a peck had quickly evolved into a full on make-out session— Shouto had pulled you halfway onto his lap when you tried to move back from your initially-stealthy kiss, an appreciative hum rumbling through him as his large hands cupped around your face. You didn’t fight him as he brought your lips back to his, and you failed to stop him when those very same hands began to glide down your back, parking just above your ass. His fingers had gradually started to fiddle with the tops of your jeans, thumb running over the denim and dipping down to graze against your skin through your thin blouse.

Yet when your hands slipped underneath the bottom of his shirt, he pulled back from you, heterochromatic eyes guarded as he removed your hands. You had immediately picked up on his reluctance, and threw yourself off of him onto the other side of the couch, embarrassment scorching the back of your neck. Shouto left not long after that, for you had made up some lousy excuse that you were tired and would like to go to sleep, when sleep was really the opposite of your innermost desires.

This would have been all fine and good— because consent was consent after all, and you had no intentions of pushing him to do something he was uncomfortable with— had the same thing not happened just two weeks later. There you were thinking it would be a cute, coupley evening of watching movies and tossing popcorn at each other, resting your head against his shoulder and being content with just that— when then all of the sudden he was pinning you onto the sheets and kissing you til you couldn’t breathe. His hands, once again, wandered all over your clothed torso, palms mapping out each dip and curve as his tongue entertained yours in your mouth.

You were hesitant to kiss him at first, recalling how you had horrifically killed the mood last time, but as his advances became more passionate, you slowly allowed your defenses to slip back, excitement building inside of you. It was only when your legs tightened around his waist, your core brushing up along his thigh and causing you to let out the softest moan did he pull back. That same calm, cool expression was on his face, though his eyes were a bit wider than usual. There was also the tiniest hint of pink dusting his pale cheeks, his lips parted as he gathered himself. It was rather awkward after that— neither of you really knew what to say— so you crawled back to your spot and sat in silence for the rest of the movie, your hands eventually wandering out to hold onto each other. After sharing a soft kiss and exchanging “goodnight”s, you returned to your place, ready for an extra long appointment with your vibrator.

Unfortunately for you, this became a common occurrence. It wasn’t that you hated the steamy make-out sessions with your as-hot-as-they-come boyfriend, no— you thoroughly enjoyed them. The part that you absolutely loathed was returning to your place with your panties soaked all the way through, your sexual frustration meter only climbing higher and higher.

You loved your boyfriend! And of course you respected his wishes. You would wait for however long he wanted, because you wanted your first time together to be special. But fuck, did he have to heat you up just to leave you hanging every time? If he wanted to wait, then fine! But, God, what had you done to deserve this torture? You couldn’t get past first base— you’d never even rubbed your body erotically against his except for that time on his bed, and that was by accident!

And that was what you told the ladies during your Thursday night all-girl conference call, finally needing to vent and get this selfish feeling off your chest. It had been a long time coming, quietly brewing over the many instances of him stunting your advances that you came to a realization.

Enough was enough! You were going to ask him why he wouldn’t go any further with you, and whatever his answer may be, at least you would know what he was thinking! You felt like a weight had been lifted off of you, the girls cheering you on and wishing you luck as you said goodbye, ready to confront him.

— - — - — - — - —

Now that you’re standing here in front of his door, it seems like a foolish plan you’ve made. Your heart is beating out of your chest, thumping frantically against your ribcage as your fist is frozen in the air, knuckle about to connect with the door. Your stomach feels tight and low, throat dry with apprehension as your brain runs through every possible outcome. What would he say once you ask him your question?

Perhaps your breath stinks and it turns him off? Or maybe he doesn’t like the perfume you wear— or is it the way you dress that he doesn’t like? What if the reason he always stops you… is because he’s not sexually attracted to you?

Now that you think about it, you’ve never seen him pop a boner during your tongue wrestling matches, and the realization nearly causes your soul to leave your body. Even though the thought horrifies you, you try your best to reassure yourself that’s not the case. You had caught Shouto checking you out on multiple occasions, his eyes igniting a delicious heat on your skin. Whatever the case, you’re in this too deep to chicken out now. So with that, you let your knuckles rap on the door, steeling your nerves.

There’s a moment of quiet shuffling before your boyfriend opens the door, a pleasantly surprised smile on his face. His hair is wet and freshly washed, shining droplets collecting at the ends and making him appear even more handsome than usual. The gray tee thrown over his broad shoulders has damp spots from the runoff, and you take a second to admire the way his chest looks in the clingy material. “Hey, love,” he says, his voice alone causing goosebumps to rise along your forearms.

You allow him to guide you into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him quietly. “Hi Sho,” you greet back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning up to kiss him.

Shouto chuckles against your eager lips, long arms gathering you into his chest. When he pulls away, he tucks your head underneath his chin, placing another kiss on your crown. “I missed you.”

Your heart throbs, happiness surging through you and butterflies bursting into your stomach. “I missed you more,” you reply playfully, burying your face between his broad pecs and inhaling his warm, wintery scent. The smell of fresh detergent lingers on the fabric, mixing with his clean aroma and making your tummy flip in circles.

“Impossible,” Shouto quips back, holding your waist tight as he dips you backwards just enough for your feet to leave the ground before he presses his lips to yours again, rendering you breathless. He pulls you back upright after a moment, a cheeky smirk on his face as you try to remember what you were talking about before. “Come in, sit down. I was just finishing up some work, I’ll get you something to drink.”

Following his instruction, you move further into his apartment, gravitating toward the couch and inspecting the files laid out on the coffee table before you. The words blur together for you, the foreign hero work forms long and in what might as well be another language. You lean back onto the cushions as Shouto returns, a glass of water in his hand. Frost forms on the glass as he hands it to you, taking a seat beside you with his knee brushing against yours. You smile at his consideration, taking a small sip even though you’re not really thirsty.

“Was there something you came over here for specifically, love? Forgive me if I’ve forgotten, but I don’t believe we had plans?” He’s looking directly at you, eyes locked with yours as his hand comes to land on the top of your knee. Even just an innocent movement like that has you on alert, your breath catching in your throat as he gives a gentle squeeze.

“Uh… no reason,” you answer lamely, crumbling under the pressure of his watchful eyes. “Just wanted to see you.”

Shouto’s gaze lingers on you carefully, and for a second you feel like you’ve been caught in a trap. But he lets it go, his lips forming a soft smile as he lays his arm around your shoulders. “Well, I’m glad to see you too,” he replies honestly. His fingers caress your arm as his hand falls down to your waist, and he leans in to press another kiss to your cheek. You lean into his affection, mouth curving in content. “So, what would you like to do?” Shouto asks as he shuffles the files away into their manilla envelopes, creating a neat pile in the far corner of the table. He leans back into the cushions, fingers fondly stroking at your side. “We could go out to eat? We could try this new bar afterwards, too, it’s across from my agency. If you’re alright to go out.”

You can’t focus on his words, really— you’re too lost in your own thoughts. Why does he have to touch you like this every time, when if you act on it, he’ll only push you away? You’ve been together for a long while now, and still, he doesn’t take initiative to further your relationship. Every bone you’ve thrown his way has been perfectly deflected, with no sign of weariness from him. If he doesn’t want you, is it because he’s not into you anymore?

An ugly thought rears its head in the midst of your anxiety’s dark clouds.

Maybe he never was.

Taking your silence as an answer, Shouto continues on, looking towards the kitchen over his shoulder. “Or we could buy groceries and make dinner. I think I have bok choy in the fridge, but we’ll have to buy some meat. And noodles, if you want those instead of rice. I’m sure I have that sesame sauce you like, I—” He pauses as you grab his hand, your fingers looping tight around his warm palm, sliding them to rest on your thigh.

With the summer just fading into fall, you were wearing something to showcase the smooth expanse of your thighs, and as you guide his hand to touch your soft skin, a delicate blush blooms across Shouto’s cheeks. The flustered expression on his face only goads you on, and you lean in to capture his lips.

A muffled noise escapes him, your hand coming up to touch his jaw and rub your thumb against his chin. It only takes him a moment to recalibrate before his free hand rises and copies your actions, gliding down the back of your neck before pulling your face closer to his.

You run your tongue against the seam of his mouth, and he swiftly grants you access as his lips move to follow yours. He tastes like mint and sweet herbs, the tea he was entertaining before you came lingering on his tongue. His hand slips out of yours to curl around your waist, grabbing onto your hip and squeezing. As your kisses start getting heavier and slower, your once-occupied hand moves to land on his chest, your thumb pushing into the tender muscle located there. His flesh jumps beneath your touch, but he allows you to continue groping at him through his shirt, his own hands beginning to knead at you. Before you know it, your knee swings over his thighs and you’re hovering on top of his lap, not sitting down on him just yet as you realize the position you’ve put yourself in.

You can notice the change— you’ve faced this exact scenario many times before. Shouto’s hands freeze up, locking into their current position, and he only returns your passionate kisses, not allowing his body much more movement than that. You try to just keep kissing him, but all the doubts and fears quickly pile up inside of you, and you pull away from him. You can’t even look at him. You’re too scared to speak, and too reluctant to get off of him, only leaning back to create a divide between his face and yours. Trying to hide your face before he can see your defeated expression, you dive into his chest, arms folding tight around his neck.

Shouto’s still frozen in place, but he seems to sense your distress. His arms slowly circle around your waist, fingers moving to trace up and down your spine. He softly exhales against your hair, letting out the breath he was holding in ever since you swung onto his lap. “Y/N? Are you alright?” he asks quietly after a brief pause, his voice soft and low, soothing to your wary ears. “You haven’t been acting like yourself today…”

After a long pause, you sigh, trying your best not to get emotional. “It’s just…” I’m so fucking attracted to you but you won’t let me touch you, you want to say, but you’re too terrified to say it aloud. What can you even say to him that would be better than that?

Shouto’s arms around you squeeze gently, indicating his patience in awaiting your answer. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his lips grazing over your ear and placing a discreet kiss there. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

You let out a soft sniffle and Shouto pulls you tighter into his chest, his heart cracking at your sound of sadness. But his words bring a surprising amount of comfort to you, and you clear your throat before you lean back again, looking into his two-toned irises. His gaze is sympathetic, his eyes holding a visible amount of affection and support. “Well, I…”

He nods slightly, leaning forward to show his encouragement. “Go ahead, love…”

“Are… Are you attracted to me?”

It comes out more high-pitched than you would’ve liked, but at least it’s out— and he definitely heard you, judging from the wide-eyed shock painted across his face.

“Am I— What?” He stutters, his head tilting automatically in confusion. “I— of course I’m attracted to you, I’m… you’re my girlfriend.” Shouto looks at you incredulously, his arms falling to his side so that only his hands remain on your hips. “You’re the most attractive person I know, love. You’re gorgeous, inside and out,” he elaborates. “The whole package.”

His compliments butter you up, a small smile forming on your lips as you shyly look to your hands folded in your lap. “Not the whole package…” you mumble, squirming slightly as his hands come to hold either side of your face.

“Yes, the whole package,” he insists, nuzzling your nose against his. “Beautiful,” he declares as he kisses your cheek.

“Kind.” A smooch to the other cheek.

Your heart beats excitedly in your chest, thumping loudly against your ribs with each compliment.

“Courageous.” A kiss to the chin.

“Witty.” A peck to the forehead.

“Sexy?” you blurt it out just as he swoops in to press his lips to yours.

Shouto falters, pulling back just a hair as he looks at you in shock. “S-Sexy?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but by the way his cheeks and ears are tinged a bright pink, it’s clear your suggestion was a bit too much for him.

The way he stutters out the adjective in confusion has your heart tearing in two. “Y-You don’t…?”

You’re staring directly at him, his wide eyes locked with yours and his body frozen to the couch. His lips are slightly parted, but no words come out of him.

Silence.

This is not how you want this conversation to go— you aren’t prepared for it to go like this. The tears you had successfully fought off before come back with vengeance.

Only once Shouto sees you hang your head in embarrassment, your eyes getting glassier by the second, he springs into action. “Hey, no, that’s not…” he starts to speak, sounding more worried by the second. His hand goes to cup your face, the warmth of his quirk evident in his touch as his finger dries over a fresh track of tears on your cheek. “I… of course I think you’re sexy, love. I’m sorry, you just caught me by surprise… You don’t think I know how sexy you are?”

You can only reply with a lame shrug, unwilling to let his eyes meet yours as you hide your face behind your curtain of hair. You try to slide off his lap, ready to retreat to the bathroom and wipe away your pathetic tears, but Shouto doesn’t let you move away from him, his arms locking tight around your waist and forcing you to lean against his chest.

“Talk to me, baby,” he pleads, nuzzling into the side of your face. His voice is more gentle than you’ve ever heard before, and you hate to admit your stomach is doing cartwheels at how sweet he’s being. “I love you no matter what, and I hate to see you so upset. I’m not good at figuring these things out on my own, just tell me what’s wrong, love. Please?”

He gives you a few moments to gather yourself, his fingers massaging your stiff muscles as you cling onto him. Once you’re confident enough to speak, your words come out barely loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just that… whenever I think we’re about to take it to the next level, you pull away. I want to respect your boundaries, Sho, but I can’t help but feel like it’s because you don’t… want me.” The hands on your body still at that, your boyfriend taking in a sharp breath as you pause, then decide to continue. “I’m just… so attracted to you, Shouto… I want to be mindful of your limits, but I can’t help but want to touch you all the time. I’m— I’m sorry if that sounds indecent.”

Shouto murmurs your name lowly against your ear, his large palm once again rubbing over your spine in an effort to comfort you as he tries to piece together the correct words. “This is…  a terrible miscommunication, and it’s all my fault...” he sighs, his voice dropping lower and becoming quieter, his insecurities leaking into his voice. “I’m so sorry to have made you feel like this… I promise that’s not the case.”

His words are enough to numb your worries, and you lean back so you’re able to look him in the eye as you wait for him to continue. He takes a deep breath before he sighs again, knowing he has to tell you the truth now, but worrying that he’s about to ruin everything the two of you have built over these past months.

“The reason that I push you away every time is… well, I—” he gulps nervously, and it’s your turn to look at him with encouragement. You take one of his hands in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles as he tries to find the best way to explain his reasoning. “It’s not because you’re unattractive, it’s— I mean, if anything, you’re too… too attractive, and I get…” he trails off, his cheeks now a bright shade of pink that you’ve never really seen before. It’s the first time you’ve seen the usually collected man so flustered, and a part of you feels guilty for causing him such discomfort. Just as you’re about to cut in and tell him he doesn’t have to continue, he does. “I… I’ve never been with anyone… like that before.”

You blink at him in confusion.

Shouto just seems to get even pinker, and he quickly starts explaining himself as he takes in your dazed expression. “I know you probably thought I had all this experience because I’ve been a top Hero for some time now, but I just— I never met anyone before that cared about me like this and I just never wanted to do— well, to do that with a stranger.”

“You’re… a virgin?”

Shouto’s red at this point, his hot side nearly catching fire as he buries his face behind his hand, too embarrassed to face you at this point. “Yes, I’m sorry to disappoint you, love. I just… I’ve never felt like this about anyone before and I— I wanted to impress you so badly, Y/N. I… I should’ve told you this from the start, I’m so sorry to have caused you such doubt.”

His voice is just above a whisper now, his fingers clutching onto the fabric of your shirt as if he’s afraid you’ll get off his lap and walk straight out the front door at his confession. “Shouto…” You can’t stop the smile that begins to curl the corners of your mouth. This is the reason he wouldn’t go any further with you? Not because he didn’t find you attractive? Your heart feels heavy thumping against your ribcage, giddiness flooding your bloodstream.

Your boyfriend gapes at your smile, brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you’re not… disappointed?” At the instant shake of your head, his discomfort eases significantly. “R-Really? But everyone thinks I’m, well… kind of a womanizer I guess, I thought you’d at least expect—”

You click your tongue at him, shaking your head as you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “When have I ever given a shit about others’ expectations of you, Shouto? I love you for you, Sho… you make me so happy just as you are.”

Shouto melts at your words, a sigh of relief escaping his lungs as he crushes you to his chest. Your sweet scent fills his nose as he kisses the top of your head, and you bask in his touch as you hug him back. “You’re right, love, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… I hate that you felt unwanted because of me. I promise, you’re the only one I’ve ever felt this way about, I— I’m so attracted to you as well. I love you so much.”

Your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, all the hurt and doubts that built over the last few months dissolving into the shadows. Only the light, warm feeling of your love is left behind, glowing brighter than ever before.

Shouto’s fingers crawl up the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lips before you allow him entrance. Your fingers push into his silky hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp and he groans at the action, letting your tongue take control and invade his mouth instead. Your breaths starting to become ragged, you both pull away for a moment to breathe. As you look into each others’ eyes, you both begin to laugh softly, the pair of you equally content with how your heart-to-heart had gone.

“So, you do think I’m sexy, then?” You smirk, pleased with this new knowledge.

Shouto chuckles, nudging your face to the side so he can place a trail of kisses down the column of your throat. “Is that all you got from that?” He teases, nipping at your skin playfully.

You close your eyes, enjoying how his love bites feel on your quickly-heating flesh. “One of a few things…” Your breathing becomes deeper as his lips begin to gently suck on the faded marks he’d just made. “Mmm, Sho~”

He hums as your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, tongue caressing the skin he’s sucked into his mouth. Your thighs twitch on either side of his lap when he pulls away, cold breath cooling the wet, darkened patch of skin on your throat. He swears under his breath as his hands trail down your waist to your hips, thumbs resting on the top of your bottoms.

“Would you, um… want to try something new, then?” You offer, sitting back to look him in the eye, ready to catch any amount of uncertainty in his two-toned gaze. But you find none, for he captures your lips again and nibbles on your bottom lip, another hum or approval vibrating against your mouth.

From there he hands the reins to you, opting to lean back into the cushions of the sofa as your tongue guides his in a slow embrace. Your palms both land on his chest, fingertips starting to massage the thick muscles underneath his t-shirt. Shouto sighs as your hands slide down his torso, and just as they dip underneath he sits up slightly, tearing the flimsy material over his head in one quick sweep. With the fabric out of your way, you try to keep yourself calm, your eyes now feasting on his broad, sculpted chest and abs. Saliva begins to pool in your mouth at the wonderful sight, your tongue poking out to wet your lips as you scan over his physique again and again.

Just as he’s about to make fun of your lustful stare, you move in to place a few light kisses to his jaw and neck, the action making him tense up and flex his gorgeous torso for you. Careful not to leave any marks on his throat, you make your way down his chest, taking a moment to leave a ring of wet smooches around his nipple. The muscles jump again for you, his body sensitive to your foreign touch as you slowly take the bud into your mouth, sucking just enough for him to squirm.

“That kind of… ahh, tickles,” Shouto mumbles as your tongue traces over his skin, his bottom lip between his teeth as you move to the other side of his chest and repeat the action. He sighs as you pull away, welcoming the kiss you place on his lips afterwards. His abs become rigid underneath the slow trail of your fingernails that move south, his eyes opening mid-way through the kiss as your hand grows closer and closer to his pelvis.

Just as he’s about to pull away, you move back from his mouth, your shirt flying over your head and onto the floor behind you. Shouto can barely breathe as he looks at your bare skin, the smooth expanse of your shoulders to your hips on display for him, save for the bra covering your chest. He’s fixated on the tops of your breasts, the round, smooth flesh mesmerizing him completely. Sure, he’s seen your cleavage before, but in comparison to this, that’s nothing.

“W-Wow…” he falters, struggling to tear his gaze off of them. There’s a little bow in the middle of the cloth contraption, and he can’t help but compare the sight before him to a present. Oh, how he wants to unwrap it…

You giggle at his awe-struck expression, your self-esteem soaring higher than it has in months. Just as you’re about to instruct him, he moves a hand to cup one side of your bra, his thumb running over your skin. A whimper escapes you when he squeezes you, his face moving closer so that the tip of his nose runs across your collarbone, his lips ghosting kisses across your chest. You wonder if he can feel your heart racing beneath his lips as they trace the cusp of your bra— how it races when he presses his face between your tits, inhaling the warm, clean smell of you that lingers there. “M-Mphhh, Sho…” you sigh as he sucks a hickey into your skin, his mouth pulling your flesh out from under the fabric cup.

Your hands fumble as they move behind your back to undo the clasp, but Shouto doesn’t have time for that, it seems. Instead, he opts to push the straps from your shoulders, tugging the bottom of the material down your ribs and completely exposing your chest to him without ever moving his mouth from your skin. You still manage to unclasp the confining material, letting it fall to the ground without a care. When he does finally let go of you, he moves back to examine your naked chest, his lower lip disappearing between his straight, white teeth. His eyes are half-lidded, and he dives straight back into your chest, circling around your areola with swift kisses and teasing licks, repeating the same process you had done to him. His warm mouth enveloping your nipple makes you let out a stifled cry, your hips jerking against his lap on their own accord.

Shouto moans at the movement, his hand gently squeezing your other breast as he sucks on the pert bud in his mouth, tongue swirling around it with ease. You reposition so your legs are on either side of one of his, placing your clothed core against the rough material of his jeans and beginning to move your hips in slow, wide movements. It only urges Shouto on, for he switches his attention to the other side of his chest and repeats the same ministrations there, one hand coming to cup your ass and move in tune with your slow gyrations.

At this point you can feel yourself leaking onto your panties, your excitement only multiplying as he allows you to grind against him. You’d never imagined he’d be so eager to touch you, after so much time of him rejecting your advances. But you couldn’t care about that now, with your pussy brushing all over his muscular thigh and his mouth attacking your bare chest. The thrill only increases further when you readjust your hips, moving closer to him and feeling the hardness of his erect cock tucked into the front of his pants. You can feel your cunt twitching around nothing, drooling even more for him as you rub yourself against his front, your head falling back as you start to pant.

Shouto whines at the friction, his face falling into the corner of your neck as he tries to gather himself. Was this what he had been missing out on all this time? He sighs as he wonders what you look like completely naked— how you would look with your legs spread for him, wrapped around his skull, or better yet— his waist. The knowledge that you want him is too tempting— he can’t get enough of you, can’t stop himself from shoving his thumbs under the hem of your bottoms. And then you’re standing, letting your clothing hit the floor and leaving yourself exposed for his eyes, save for your panties which have another little bow at the front. His eyes travel up and down your legs— a part of you that has always attracted him, perhaps a bit too much. They look delicious presented like this before him, bare and inviting all along your calves and thighs, then leading to the panties that barely cover your hips. His cock twitches in his jeans as he inspects the marks he’d just made all across your chest, a possessive conscience inside of him murmuring its satisfaction.

“Is this okay?” You ask as you sink to your knees in front of the couch, looking up at him with cautious, yet lust-ridden eyes. The recognition of your desire makes his own appetite spike, and he nods his affirmation to you.

You smirk up at him, moving closer to him and sliding between his legs. He holds his breath as you start to kiss up his thigh, starting from the inside of his knee and moving your way toward your destination. Your hand reaches up to soothe down his chest, your other hand cupping the underside of his thigh and moving in sync with your mouth. Your fingers finally meet the button on his jeans, and he lets out the breath he was holding as you undo the metal zipper. He helps you peel the denim off his thighs, leaving the material bunched at his knees as you inspect his hard member through his tight, black boxer-briefs. You take a moment to thank whatever God there is for blessing you with such a nice cock; you can tell even through his underwear that he’s long, and thick.

The very tip pokes out of the band at the top, him having tucked it up at some point when the pair of you were initially making out. What you can see is dark pink and glazed with a pearlescent sheen of pre-cum, the material at the top of his briefs slightly damp. The legs on either side of you keep tensing and fidgeting, and as you reach a hand for his shaft his hips shift backwards, away from your touch.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, stroking his thigh as you look up at him. His expression is guarded, but you can see the uncertainty that shines through his gaze, the mask that successfully keeps others out futile to you. “Are you sure you want to continue? It’s okay if we stop here, baby.” You push yourself to sit taller using the tops of his knees, placing a long kiss to his cheek and giving him a nuzzle of understanding.

Shouto frowns, leaning into you and taking a deep breath. “No, I want to… I just, I guess I’m a little nervous? I’m not quite sure what to do…” he explains, unsure of himself.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you reply, kissing his cheek again as you continue. “Just sit back and relax, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, gonna make you feel so good. Let me know if you want to stop at any time, alright?”

He smiles at your understanding, nodding and verbalizing an “Alright” before you capture his lips with yours. You kiss him with all the passion you can muster, and it distracts him enough to relax into the couch cushions, your hand coming up to cup his sharp jawline. Your tongues are busy tangling together when your hand lands on his abs, which jump under your touch but eventually they, too, relax after a few minutes.

When your fingers wrap around his cock through his briefs, he tenses underneath you again, his hips pushing toward you as your hand starts to move up and down. Shouto makes a muffled noise as your hand finds a steady, torturously slow rhythm, your hand squeezing around his thick shaft through the dark, cotton material. His hand comes up to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of your neck and pulling slightly. You move your hand in accordance with the muffled sounds that escape him through your kiss, his hushed moans adding fuel to the inferno in your stomach.

After a few minutes of your slow, over-the-briefs handjob, you move back from his searing kiss, a string of saliva extending between your mouths. Your eyes lock with his, intensity sizzling as you both move the briefs off his legs, his cock springing upright in the bottom field of your vision. His length jumps when your fingers brush against the tip, gathering the silvery slickness of his pre-cum and using it to coast your fist down around his shaft, squeezing just enough to create a pleasant tightness around him.

Shouto swears as you start to jerk your fist around his thickness, your smaller hand creating a different sensation and much more appealing visual than the sight of his own fingers wrapped around himself. He moans when your hand glides over the head of his cock, his grip tightening on your hair as his eyelids flutter closed. You kiss his cheek again, catching his attention as he turns to you and allows your tongue to enter his mouth. You take all the whimpers pouring from his lips and greedily swallow them, your lips dancing with his in tune with your strokes.

Slowly you move away from his face, his lips following yours until you gently push him back to rest against the back of the sofa again. He allows you to move him backwards, heaving for air as your hot and heavy kisses leave him breathless. Once you lower your face to his lap, he tenses up, although his hips shuffle forward eagerly. You make sure to lock eyes with him as you move your mouth towards the flushed head of his cock, and you keep his gaze steady as your lips wrap around the very tip of him.

“S-Shit Y/N,” he gasps, watching as his member gradually disappears into your mouth. You glide your lips down his thick length slowly, trying not to overwhelm him as you start to suck on the tip, your hand beginning to jerk his shaft at the same time. When your lips move down, so does your hand, and as Shouto becomes accustomed to the wet, tight heat of your mouth, you slowly take more and more of him into your mouth, until the head of his cock brushes the back of your throat. Shouto throws his head back onto the top of the cushions, a hand pushing his hair off his forehead and backwards as he loudly voices his pleasure in a cacophony of moans.

The noises that slither out of the man underneath you are delicious, and you can’t seem to get enough as your pace begins to pick up. Your hand is still wrapped around the base of his length, his cock too big to fit all the way in your throat, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to take him anyways. Pulling back just long enough to take in a breath of fresh air, you smile at his wrecked expression above you, tongue tracing over your lips. “Mmm, does that feel good, baby? Do you like when I suck your cock like this?”

“Ahhaaaa, fuck— y-yeah, like that, baby… yesyesyes you feel so good,” Shouto blabbers nearly incoherently as your throat glides around his aching member. Given his stuttered response, you happily service him, content to finally have him at your disposal. His length is too impressive to comfortably fit in your mouth, your jaw stretching to accommodate him as you swallow around him, successfully stealing a broken gasp from him in response. You close your eyes and allow yourself to focus on keeping a steady rhythm for both your mouth and hand to follow. His moans just keep getting louder, a breathless array of oh, fuck, shit, yeah, ahh, and yeses with every bob of your head.

As you’re diligently sucking him off, Shouto is barely keeping it together underneath you. His cock is twitching and leaking pre-cum down your throat, his balls heavy with the need to release. He watches your lips move up and down his length, your hand following suit at the very base. His mind wanders as he wonders where you want him to finish; inside your mouth, on your tits, on your face? He groans as he pictures all three, imagining you covered in his sticky seed, wherever it may end up, has him feeling close much too quick. But he can’t stop himself, and he can’t bring himself to stop you, either— you feel so fucking good on his cock. You’re better than he ever could imagine, and it’s just your mouth that’s wrapped around him— he can’t even imagine how between your legs will feel. He barely manages to mumble your name in warning as he feels his climax coming, too charged for him to do anything to stop it.

Luckily you already know he’s about to finish, for his muscles tighten up and strain as ample warning for his imminent release. You move your lips down his cock, taking in as much as you can before he’s calling out your name and shooting a thick, heavy load down your throat. You choke on his release, not much room in your mouth to begin with, with how long and thick he is already. He’s still gushing cum as you pull off of him, a few ropes of white spraying across your lips and chin while his body shakes in ecstasy.

You sit back and wipe his release off your face with your wet hand, licking the excess off your skin as you watch Shouto’s soul return to his body. He’s struggling to catch his breath, eyes barely open as he looks down at you sitting between his legs. Despite the heaviness in his limbs, he still gathers your arms in his hands, pulling you up onto the sofa to hover over his lap. He sighs as he nuzzles his face into your neck, your soft skin helping to draw him back from the euphoric heaven you had just sent him to. His arms wrapping around you loosely, he starts to kiss your neck, his long eyelashes tickling your jaw as he showers your skin in affection. His attention makes butterflies flap around inside your stomach, and that scorching heat ignites again as his fingers slide down your waist to the band of your panties.

You try to draw back to look at him, but Shouto’s grip on you is too secure, and he won’t let you pull away from him as he just nuzzles deeper into your neck. You can’t help but gasp when his fingers dive underneath the sides of your panties— his palms gliding against your bare hips and digits splaying across your ass. “S-Sho,” you whine as he cups your ass cheeks, pulling your hips to slot above his, his cock already erect again. You whimper when he guides you closer to him, the very tip of his cock catching at just the right angle to brush against the wet patch on your underwear. Hell, the whole underside of your panties is soaked with your arousal, your pussy probably more saturated than ever before. You’re so turned on, you can’t think straight as your hips begin to weakly shift back and forth, rubbing his cockhead along your clothed slit.

Shouto sighs as his hand recedes from your panties, instead moving to rub your dripping slit through the drenched material. You moan at the feeling of his hand through the fabric, your slick in such quantity that when he pulls his hand away, a thick string of your arousal trails after his fingers. He groans at the sight, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to test the viscosity. He makes a mental note that this must be what’s meant when one has a “wap”, or “wet ass pussy”, as he recalls from a certain song. His heart is racing in his chest, the discovery of your cunt so ready for him only making his cock strain harder against your sopping panties.

“So wet…” Shouto mumbles as he touches you again, cupping your core through your underwear and rubbing his palm against your clit. He watches intently as your face contorts in pleasure, and he rolls his palm against your front again experimentally, making a mental note of your increased sensitivity there.

Before he moves any further though, he presses his lips to yours in an intense kiss, successfully distracting you as he slides your underwear to the side. He can feel your pussy twitch and contract against his hand when he lines the tips of two fingers up with the hole that your slick is pouring out of. And he can definitely feel you spasm around him as he slides the digits inside with ease, remembering to curl the tips of them just as the countless guides and videos he had watched in preparation for such activities suggested.

“Y-Yes, ahh my God, Sho—” you gasp at the intrusion, your walls fluttering around the fingers.

His long digits slowly move in and out of you, the tips curling into your spongy walls as they sheath inside you completely. You moan at the sensation of his fingers inside of you, moving a hand to your front to rub your clit. It’s not long before you’re humping his hand, your arousal leaking onto his palm as you seat your hips back and forth on his fingers. Your mouth is hanging open, intense pleasure emanating from his fingertips rubbing that gummy spot located just deep enough for your fingers to be too short to reach. You can feel your orgasm building with each roll of the hips, a slow and steady escalation toward certain ecstasy.

Shouto moans along with you, watching the look of bliss on your face each time you sit back onto his fingers, and committing it to memory. You look absolutely captivating getting off on his hand, but the urge to feel you wrapped around his cock is too strong to ignore. He pulls his hand out of your cunt, watching as the syrupy slick trails after his fingers before severing, the warm, slimy wetness returning to your spread pussy. The sight is too enticing to just look at— he grabs his cock and jerks himself a few times, watching your slick spread across his length. It feels unlike any other lubricant he’s used— spit, lotion, shampoo all nothing in comparison to the sweet nectar your body produces just for him— simply divine. 

If he thinks that’s divine, pressing his cock into you is as if the gates of heaven have been exploded open with dynamite, drowning him in a pool of ethereal ambrosia that he never wants to escape. Your walls stretch around his girth and hug him like never before; it’s wetter, tighter, and hotter than anything he’s ever imagined, and if he hadn’t already cum from your mouth just minutes before, he’s sure he would’ve cum right here and now.

You’re just about there, only a third of his cock managing to push into you before your walls start to clamp, that tension in your abdomen intensifying at an alarming rate. You throw your head back and moan unabashedly as his cock glides into you entirely in one movement, your cunt wringing snug around him as you cum. You’d be ashamed if it were with anyone else, but Shouto’s so thick and long that you just let yourself ride out your orgasm, your cunt pulsing and squeezing him tight. It feels like a religious experience cumming on his cock— he’s by far the biggest you’ve ever taken, and it’s been so long since you’ve had sex in the first place that you’re too turned on to care. A fresh wave of slick begins to leak from deep inside you, the aftermath of your abrupt orgasm coming in handy as you finally come-to enough to move your hips.

Shouto’s holding onto you for dear life at this point, knuckles white as his fingers dig bruises into your hips. He’s never been squeezed so tight before— never felt anything like your pussy, like you cumming on his cock. And even though he’s overwhelmed with the mesmerizing feeling, he still manages to keep his cool somehow, now evening his breath as he begins to thrust up into you. He decides he loves your moans— every noise you make from being impaled by his huge cock is music to his ears, a symphony he never wants to end.

“A-Ahaa ha, Shoutooo~” you cry, fireworks bursting across your nerves. “You’re so big, ah— it— it feels so gooood.”

You can’t seem to close your mouth— it’s too hard to focus on anything besides what might as well be his third leg thrusting into you over and over. His movements are relentless; never allowing you to come down from the high you’d been catapulted into with just one stroke of his cock. He’s so big inside of you, he’s probably the largest you can take while still feeling pleasure instead of pain. You feel like you’re the one losing your virginity here, not him— because, God have you never felt so filled to the brim in your life— his cock stretches and penetrates you so deliciously that you feel like any orgasm you’ve had before this doesn’t really count. It can’t count, can’t compare to this, to him.

Shouto is on the same page as you, desperately drilling into your sloppy cunt as if his life depends on it. It feels so good to be squeezed by your tight little hole, to have your fingernails dig crescent-moons into the skin on his shoulder blades, and hear your desperate cries for him. “Fuck, you— you feel so good, baby,” he pants, letting your pussy fall onto his lap and swallow his cock inside of you. “You’re so fucking sexy, y-yeah… so wet for me, so good for me.”

His praise causes a wave of goosebumps to rise across your skin, a burst of energy surging through you as you start to move your hips in sync with his thrusts. Shouto’s pace weakens as he lets you take control, sitting back and absorbing the pleasure that flows through his entire body at the quick snap of your hips. He feels like he’s in a trance as your hands move to grip the tops of his shoulders, leveraging yourself so your hips swing in a perfect arc that allows his cock to glide in and out of you completely. He watches as your hips swing back, the head of his cock slipping out of you halfway, only to be slurped back inside your tight heat all the way to the base.

Sweat is starting to accumulate and drip down your bodies, but neither of you are paying attention to that— Shouto reaches out and gropes your chest, fingers trapping your nipple and rolling it gently. You mewl at the sensation, your hips working even faster now, the dull ache of another climax forming in the pit of your stomach. You furiously hump his lap, your thrusts becoming off-beat and sloppy as your muscles scream with exertion. Frustration blooms in your heart— your stamina must have reduced in the past few months of abstinence.

“Sho, I’m… gonna cum again, fuck I’m so close,” you whine, pushing your ass onto his lap and stirring your guts with his cock as you swivel your hips.

Shouto hums at your confession, an arm winding around your hips and his hand landing on the plush underside of your thigh. His fingers dig into your flesh as he supports your body with his arm, his hips rutting up into yours with force. Each thrust has stars dancing along the borders of your vision, the power behind his hips much stronger than your desperate humping from before.

“I wanna feel you cum on my cock again, Y/N,” Shouto moans, tongue poking out to flick against your nipple, your tits in his face due to the change of position. “Want you to squeeze me and milk everything out of me, y-yeah…”

You nearly scream when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves with vigor as those two-toned eyes bore into yours. The surprise quickly morphs into bliss, your cunt wringing around his length as you feel yourself hurtle toward your orgasm for the second time. It’s not long before you’re there, ecstasy rushing through your entirety as you clutch onto him tightly, your toes curling and body shaking from the rush.

“Fuck,” he swears, both hands moving to grab your hips and pound his cock into your quivering cunt, delivering another level of pleasure to your orgasm. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes darting between your face and your wet pussy that keeps swallowing him whole. “Ahaah— c-cumming—”

Shouto lets out a loud groan as he pulls out of you, hot, white ribbons of cum spurting across your stomach as he climaxes. Your hand reaches down to jerk him off and he continues to paint your skin with his seed, his body shaking as his orgasm ripples through him. His throbbing length is slick with your love juices, making it easy for your fingers to slide around him.

His head hits the back of the couch as he releases the last of his load, chest heaving while he tries to collect himself. The devastating pleasure of your climax leaves your body feeling weightless and your brain loopy, and all you can do is lean against his athletic physique and catch your breath.

“I love you,” Shouto whispers seriously in your ear, fingers deftly playing with the ends of your hair. He means it; he feels like his heart is so full of happiness, and he’s so comfortable basking in the afterglow of his orgasm with your naked skin on his.

You stifle the laugh that bubbles up in your throat, a small smile playing on your lips. “So sweet~” you tease, cuddling your face into his neck as his hands rub the length of your back. “I love you too, Shouto.”

Shouto hums in content, arms hugging you tight against him for a brief moment before he relaxes again. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he confesses softly, nudging the side of your face with his nose. He can feel your lips turn into a grin against his chest, and he smiles at your content.

“You’re being so sappy right now,” you point out, unable to stop smiling as you turn to look at him. “I really like this side of you, I’m happy to see you like this.”

“I’m happy, too,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against yours in a sweet and short kiss. “I kind of wish we did this sooner though…”

You laugh at that, and his soft smile turns into a grin that he doesn’t bother to conceal. “Mmm, I think it was worth the wait,” you disagree, snuggling closer to him and rubbing your skin against his affectionately.

Shouto looks down at you resting against his chest, examining your blissful smile and eyes closed in content. Yes, he thinks.

You were worth the wait.

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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wow that ended so soft pls excuse me im on my period and so emotional at the moment lmfaoooo... okokokok but post coitus snuggly sho is KILLING M E ... anywAYY lol let me know if you enjoyed!! this was kinda different from the usual smut i write so! i’d love any feedback i could get :) 

as always, thanks for reading! 💗

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#todoroki shouto smut #todoroki shoto smut #todoroki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my fics

[justauthoring]

You’re Stuck With Me Now

Prompt: He’d never leave you again.

A/N: is my return to writing (after a short break) oikawa? yes it is. honestly, i just love this boy so much and ive been rewatching haikyu and i can't... my heart.

ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY OIKAWA TOORU <3

Warnings: past implied abuse

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x F!Reader Please don’t plagiarize my work!

“Come on, Y/N-Chan, it’ll be fun.”

With a quirked brow and look of disbelief up at your boyfriend, you roll your eyes. “You know I don’t really like parties, Tooru,” you mumble, taking a bite out of your lunch just as Oikawa lets out a whine of disappointment.

He’d already spent a majority of your lunch break, which the two of you were lucky to have together, begging you to come out tonight with him to Mattsun’s party. He’d spent the entire weeks’ lunches trying to convince you to come with him, to no avail everyday, and now, the day of; he was even more desperate for a yes.

“But it won’t be any fun without you.”

And his pout is almost convincing enough, eyes droopy at the edges with a certain puppy-dog look. The corner of his lips are flipped downwards, but he looks positively adorable (as he usually does - his group of fangirls aren’t for nothing). But, you’ve held restraint all week to this point, and by now, this really isn’t anything new.

“You say that every time, babe,” you counter, pointing your chopsticks at him with a quirked brow. “And every time I come with you, you end up leaving me to mingle off with Hajime.”

His shoulders slump.

“Is Hajime coming tonight?”

“...Yes.”

“Then,” you nod, satisfied, “you won’t be alone.”

“Bu-But!” He all but whines, and before you know it he’s suddenly sidled up behind you, arms curling around your waist firmly to press you flush against his chest. You let out a squeak in response, whining yourself when your delicious lunch is suddenly before you and tauntingly not within arms reach. 

Oikawa is fast to pull your attention on him.

“He won’t be there till later!”

“So I’m just entertainment until he gets there?”

“Of course not!”

Oikawa looks positively betrayed at your assumption, and the look on his face is enough to have you giggling. Shifting in his grasp, you move so you’re facing him, brushing back a few strands of his unruly hair that no matter how hard you try is never ever neat, before meeting his eyes with a soft smile. “Honestly, Tooru,” you whisper gently, “why do you want me to go so bad? You usually don’t care this much.”

“Because,” he shrugs, “I like having you with me.”

And that, unfortunately, is the zinger.

His words all but melt your heart and with a heavy sigh, you realize there’s no possible way that you can say no when he goes ahead saying something so sweet like that.

“I’ll go.”

The way his eyes practically glow is enough to make you smile though.

“Really? Yes!”

However, now that you’re here, cramped in a house of drunk, loud teenagers, you’re suddenly wishing you’d had a bit more self restraint when it came to your boyfriend. As per usual, an hour into the party, Iwaizumi arrived and now even further convinced your boyfriend is more in love with his best friend then you -- you’re completely alone.

“’I’ll be right back’ my ass,” you mutter to yourself, taking a drink from the cup in your hands, instantly regretting it at the bitter taste that goes down your throat.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have any friends, you just weren’t entirely comfortable in social situations. It’s a wonder how you got along with Oikawa so well, but the two of you seemed to just mesh really well together. And of course, he’d been there for you in a time no one else had, and had helped fix you from the person who made you so nervous and skittish around others in the first place. It’s because of him that you’re even able to stand in a room so crowded, even if you’re not really socializing. 

It would’ve been nice to have him to talk with, though. Iwaizumi too.

Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Oikawa, hoping that he’ll see it and at least drag you along for whatever Iwaizumi and him got up to in parties like these. It’s because of this that you don’t notice the shadow that falls next to you, not until a hand swipes your phone right out of your own and a voice you’d hoped you’d never hear again speaks;

“Oikawa Tooru, huh?”

Your heart practically drops.

“Figures you’d find someone in volleyball again, you did always love it.”

“H-Haru...”

He smirks down at you, and your lips part when he pockets your phone without a care in the world, his grip moving to your wrist where he tugs you towards himself. “Never thought I’d be able to find you again, Y/N, after you so abruptly moved schools. In your third year no less.”

You pull back on the grip he has on you, trying, to no avail, to get away. “What are you even doing here?”

“I play volleyball, remember?” He quirks a brow, speaking to you like you’re a child. “I know some of the boys here.”

How unlucky can I get...

Digging the heels of your feet down, you use all your strength to fight back the pull Haru tugs on your wrist. It’s clear he’s trying to get you to go somewhere with him, maybe even leave and that's the absolute last thing you can let happen. Haru still has such a pull over you, as much as you hate to admit it, and if you’re alone with him, there’s no telling what would happen.

And you’re terrified to find out.

“Let me go,” you hiss, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“It seems you’ve forgotten your place, Y/N,” he growls down at you, grip turning bruising as you let out a cry in response, unable to stop yourself. “I’ll give you credit, it was brave of you to think you could get away from me, and finding you was hard. But now that I have you, I plan to remind you just exactly why you’re with me.”

Eyes widening, it suddenly feels like you can’t breathe.

“I mean, after all,” and his eyes gleam, turning dark, “you can’t live without me, remember?”

Your frozen state allows him to gain the control. Before you know it, you’re being dragged through the familiar halls of Mattsun’s house that feel like a blur and unfamiliar in your panic. You don’t even notice where you are, and barely hear when Haru suddenly announces “this’ll do” and then you’re being shoved into a room and the door is slammed behind you.

You fall to the ground with a loud cry, Haru shoving you.

When you turn to face him, staring up at him, he’s blocking the door, staring down at you expectedly. 

“What are you waiting for?” He huffs, “take off your shirt.”

Hands shaking, you push yourself up into a sitting position with shaky muscles, not trusting yourself to stand in that moment as you stare up at him. Everything had moved so fast, and your heart feels as if it’ll break when you realize despite how much better you thought you’d been getting -- none of it meant a damn thing when faced with Haru himself.

You were scared, terrified, and it felt like back then all again. You had no control. You had no strength.

A harsh kick in the stomach has you doubling over, and clutching your sides, Haru crouches down before. “No one’s coming to save you, Y/N. Not even your boyfriend,” he taunts, smirking at you. “I’m pretty sure I saw the infamous Captain shoving his tongue down another girls throat.”

Eyes widening, you stare at your lap. “No,” you mumble, voice breathless, croaky. “Tooru wouldn’t--”

“It’s true. He’s not here, is he?”

Swallowing thickly, you meet Haru’s gaze.

“So, see, at the end of it all, all you have is me, right?”

And you hate the way his hand against your cheek feels like comfort compared to all the pain.

Shaky fingers reach for the hem of your shirt, just as the door slams open.

It’s Iwaizumi.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, flickering to Haru before focusing back on you. “Oikawa!” He calls, voice booming, tone dark, and it’s then you see how angry he looks. “I found her!”

In the next second, Oikawa is bursting pass Iwaizumi. He stills at the sight of you, tear-stricken, face pale, eyes wide with fear, and then Haru, crouched before you, look positively smug about the entire situation. And there’s a moment of pause where nothing happens, and Haru moves to stand, lips parting; “sorry, but it looks like Y/N--”

But he never gets to finish before Oikawa’s punching him straight across the cheek so hard he falls to the ground with a loud thud. 

In the next second, he’s in front of you.

“Shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” and you don’t miss the way your name lacks ‘chan’, meaning Oikawa’s serious. “I didn’t mean to leave that long. Fuck. Are you okay? Where did he hurt you? Show me, and I’ll--”

But your hand is grabbing his own frantic ones and when Oikawa meets your gaze, he’s shocked at the soft smile on your lips.

“Y/N-Chan?”

“You came,” you whisper, voice soft with astonishment and adoration. “You came for me.”

And, shoulders easing, Oikawa nods. 

“Of course I did.”

Squeezing his hand, to the point Oikawa is blinking in response, lips parting in worry. You stare into his eyes, imploring; “please don’t leave me like that again.”

And guilt settles deep within his chest, hating himself for what happened, blaming himself for it as well. But he knows that’s not what you mean, nor what you think; you just want a guarantee he’s there for you. And if there’s one thing Oikawa can promise, it’s that.

“You’re stuck with me now, yeah?” 

He grins, trying to make you smile, make you laugh and everything ease when he succeeds, that giggle of yours he loves filling the silence of the room.

“I’m good with that.”

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu imagine #Haikyuu x reader #Haikyu #Haikyu imagine #Oikawa Tooru #Oikawa Tooru imagine #Oikawa Tooru x reader #Oikawa Tooru angst #Oikawa imagine #Oikawa x reader #imagine #imagines #my fics

[chaseadrian]

I can't stop thinking about the idea of you being in Adrian's old D&D group and having a huge crush on him. And one day he just stops showing up so you assume he's found better people until one day you get attacked and he comes to save you but you can't really say anything bc there's a big hero in front of you so you just blabber about d&d and he just realizes how he hardly paid attention to you. So he goes out of his way to see you as Vigilante and slowly falls in love with you -🖍

FJFJFJ WHAT A CONCEPT CRAYON OMG

like y’all get along well enough during your sessions. he has your back in fights and banters with the entire group. you always try to sit next to him but he’s pretty bouncy and excited, grabbing snacks until the very last minute

so you kinda have to mill around until he sits down and then oh wow what a coincidence the only open seat is right next to him guess you’ll just sit there (and the entire party knows you have a thing for him so they’re always leaving that seat open duh)

but then a campaign ends and at the start of the next one adrian is just suddenly missing. the DM says he’s been busy and so the party is down a member and you’re down a crush. you’d never even gotten his number so you just kinda had to move on.

and one night you’re headed back to your car after dinner with the party (celebrating the end of another campaign.) you had to park a bit away, and someone you’d noticed at dinner is now following you, flanked by two of their friends. they corner you on the sidewalk, yanking at your bag, flicking your hair.

you shove them away, yelling at them to fuck off only to be struck on the cheek with hard knuckles. and then one of them yells, and you see a knife sticking out of the arm of the man who hit you. the rest is a blur, you brace yourself for an attack from whoever threw the knife. seeing bodies flying and hearing deafening screams, flashes of teal barely visible in the dark in the midst of it all

before you can even register that you’re uninjured, the men are on the floor and there’s a stranger in front of you. “are you okay?” his hands are on either side of you, keeping your focus on him and NOT on the very dead men on the ground. he runs his thumb over your cheek, “does it hurt?”

you’re not sure if it’s just the shock or if the strike was genuinely weak as fuck, but you’re shaking your head and staring at the masked man. you’d heard of him before, seen his mug on the news. it’s Vigilante, the…superhero (????) who’s been popping up around the city. he’s here and he saved you.

“can you um—can you drive home with me? i just uh, I don’t—” “yeah! i can, absolutely.” and he offers an arm for you to take, walking you to your car. the drive is tense and silent, and your phone buzzes with a text from your DM asking if you got home safe. he sees it, and asks if all is okay.

“yeah that’s just my friend. we…well, it’s a little stupid but we were celebrating a dnd campaign ending. i always text her when i get home.” he nods and asks you about the campaign, he sounds excited??

so you launch into a spiel on the latest campaign. it doesn’t even matter that you made it home part way through your retelling, he sits there, turned towards you, listening attentively until you’re done. he asks tons of questions, punctuating your big reveals with an amazed “wow!” or “woah!” and you’ve almost forgotten about the men from earlier and the stinging bruise on your cheek

these become regular visits, after you tell him about the next planned campaign. he’ll pop up outside your window, leaning on the sill while you recount the session. you always ask if he wants to come in, but he insists this is professional business.

and then one day it isn’t anymore.

#crayon anon #hcs #answered* #anonymous #adrian chase

[shyvioletcat]

Yeah... I'm the worst...

*Redid the tags, got told some weren’t working. Sorry*

~ Masterlist ~

~~~~~

There was an ugly silence in the room, no one quite knowing how to break it. A small sob had Rowan looking back at Lyria, her hand cradling her stomach. The gesture caused a pain so sharp in Rowan’s chest that he choked on it because of the lies that rested beneath her hand. He had no real sense of reality as he stood there looking between his wife and the man she had been unfaithful to him with. His brain was still processing what he had overheard.

“You never gave me a chance.”

“Have you told him that the baby may not even be his?”

Rowan’s knees went weak and he thought he may start vomiting. This was a joke. Some sick cruel joke his friends had decided to play on him, Aelin always liked to pull a good prank. But the longer he looked at Lyria and from the look on her face the way she was trembling… this was no joke.

“Rowan. We–”

“No,” Rowan said, not bothering to look at the other man in the room. “This is not coming from you.”

Rowan’s brain was finally catching up with him and he had so many questions. The first and foremost was how exactly Sam rutting Cortland got to be standing in his kitchen as a possible father of the baby his wife was carrying.

“I want you to leave,” Rowan said to Sam. “I’m leaving this room and I want you gone.”

He didn’t bother to address Lyria as he left the kitchen and started down the hallway. She had two options here, she could come and find once showing her guest out or she could leave. Rowan hoped that for the sake of his sanity she chose the former. A dilemma struck Rowan as he stood in the hallway, only overhearing hushed sounds of conversation through his home. Where was he going to go? He didn’t want to have this conversation in the bedroom, it felt too intimate as the ravine between him and Lyria was gaping wider by the second. He wasn’t going to go back out to any of the rooms beyond the hallway and risk running into Sam again. That really only left him one option.

Rowan turned the door handle of the baby’s room and stepped inside.

The walls were painted a soft yellow, bits and pieces of baby paraphernalia were stacked in piles around the room that they hadn’t got around to sorting through. Seems they had a few more things they needed to sort through.

The fact that Sam was possibly the father of the baby had him reeling. Aelin and Sam had been broken up for a while now. Rowan had liked the guy, but he could tell that the two of them weren't meant to be. Sam and him were close to friends by the time the relationship fell apart, not enough that once Aelin had let him go Rowan had kept in contact. There's was a lot of missing information between then and now. Gods, had Aelin known and not told him? Is that why she had been getting progressively more distant over these past months?

Rowan waited, the feeling of wanting to empty the contents of his stomach returning in full force. His ears were straining for any indication that Lyria was still house. The front door closed and then he heard soft footsteps. She went to the bedroom first, saying his name softly–her voice wavering. She obviously didn’t find him there so she finally came to him. The door squeaked as she pushed it open and Rowan made a mental note to fix that before the baby came, he didn’t want them waking up because of the noise. That thought had him closing his eyes and leaning on the box that held the pieces of the cot, not even knowing where his future was heading.

Lyria was silent, waiting for Rowan to say something. So he did.

“Why?” he asked simply.

“I don’t know,” Lyria said quietly.

“Yes you do,” Rowan said coldly. “Stop trying to spare my feelings. Just tell me.”

Lyria walked over to the rocking chair in the corner, the only real piece of furniture in the room and eased herself down. At any other time Rowan would be over there, helping and hovering. But right now he was rooted to the spot.

“It was just after we had that big fight, the one about my car,” Lyria explained. That had been well over a year ago, this wasn’t the cause of the current problem. “I went out and I randomly ran into Sam. We got talking, he’d just had that messy breakup with Aelin so we were commiserating together. We exchanged numbers.”

“And then what? Swapping numbers doesn’t get you pregnant,” Rowan said as he finally turned around.

He saw Lyria in the chair, head tipped back as tears ran down her cheeks. “It was another fight, over something stupid I can’t remember now, and I told Sam and we went out and we got drunk. We’d been texting for a while, we had become friends and talking almost every day. Then suddenly that line blurred and we were more than that and that night he asked me to come back to his place, you’d headed out of town so I said yes. We had sex back at his place, and it was the worst mistake of my life.”

Rowan remembered that, he had the same blip in his memory over what exactly the fight was over, but he remembered leaving town overnight for work. He had tried to call Lyria so many times but eventually giving her the space he interpreted her silence to be asking for. And the truth of it was worse than he could have ever imagined.

“He loves you,” Rowan said, even though they broke his own heart.

“Yes.” Lyria’s reply came out with a sob.

“And do you love him?” At this point Rowan felt as though he was digging his own grave, each question and answer taking him deeper.

Another sob tore from Lyria and Rowan’s heart betrayed him, forgetting about his own pain and anger. All he wanted to do was hold his wife, kiss her and dry her tears, tell her none of it mattered. But still, he held back. He wanted to hear the answer first.

“No,” Lyria said but it lacked conviction. “I don’t know. But I know that I love you more.”

“That’s no consolation prize there, Ria,” Rowan said bitterly.

Lyria didn’t say anything, she just continued to cry and now was rubbing her stomach. Rowan had done that countless times, he had felt that baby move, talked to them, assured them that no matter what as their father he would always be there. But now…

That final question loomed in front of him, ready to drag him over the precipice of no return. Despite it all, Rowan couldn’t explain how the smile appeared on his face as he readied to say the words that could potentially haunt him for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t ask directly, he couldn't. Instead he’d delay the swing of the axe.

“Do you know?” He was a coward for delaying. “Do you know who the father is?”

Lyria nodded tears cascading over her cheeks, he watched them fall one after the other as she nodded, and he could tell her lies had reached their end. Hoping, more than believing that she was resolute in giving him an answer.

Rowan’s voice was so hollow he barely recognised it in his own ears as he said, “Tell me.”

~~~~~

There was a sturdy knock at the door and Aelin pushed Fleetfoot off her lap as she went to answer it. The food had arrived much quicker than she thought, she was always far too impatient to watch the actual delivery process on her phone. She tended to just get angry at the route her driver made or yelled when the wait time would randomly fluctuate. So instead she would place her order and just wait for the text. Aelin smiled at the prospect at take-out arriving, though on her way she realised that she hadn’t actually received the text indicating it was in fact here. Shrugging to herself as she swung the door open, assuming that the delivery guy had just forgotten. However, that smile fell when she saw who stood in her doorway.

It was Rowan.

~~~~~

Yeah, I'm definitely the worst. This one seems short but I promise the next one will make up for it. 

Tags: @fucking-winchester-trash​ // @literary-licorice​ // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine​ // @highqueenofelfhame​ // @3am-reading​ // @soup-that-is-too-hawt​ // @aelinfire-bringer​ // @nalgenewhore​ // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca​ // @sleep-and-books​ // @alifletcher2012​ // @westofmoon​ // @sleeping-and-books​ // @ttakeitbacknoww​ // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses​ // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen​ // @velarian-trash​ // @queenofxhearts​ // @heroesofterrasen​ // @highladyofstoriesandmusic​ // @empire-of-wildfire​ // @camerooonchiu​ // @crackedship​ // @lowhangingtreebranches​ // @over300books​ // @yourwhisperingshadows​ // @thesirenwashere​ // @tswaney17​ // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper​ // @cat5313​ // @judelovescardan​ // @flowerspringsea​ // @chaoticskyy​ // @the-regal-warrior​ // @fanfictrash3000​ // @blueeyes425​ // @starseternalnighttriumphant​ // @bamchickawowow​ // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda​ // @flora-and-fae​ // @thereaderandfangirl​ // @illyrian-bookworm​ // @chemicha​ // @meltalgel-ig​ // @gay-book-nerd // @that-odd-puzzle-piece​ // @i-love-all-books // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​ // @girl-who-reads-the-books​ // @hizqueen4life​ // @the-third-me​ // @queen-of-glass​ // @bestmelle​ // @cursebreaker29​ // @b00kworm​ // @superspiritfestival​ // @aesthetics-11​ // @maastrash​ // @mynewdreamwasyou​ // @the-last-apprentice​ // @charincharge​ // @firestarsandseneschals​ // @scarznstars​ // @absolute-dissapointment // @thesurielships​ // @df3ndyr​ // @trinitybailey2003 // @hellasblessed​ // @booknerdproblems​ // @rowaelin-cressworth​ // @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves // @rolltide7​ // @scandinavianromantic​ // @tillyrubes10​ // @starwarsslytherin​ // @minaidss // @paytin77​ // @jesstargaryenqueen​ // @anntheintrovert​ // @starbornvalkyrie​ // @loudphantomdragon​ // @woollycat22​ // @claralady​ // @perseusannabeth​ // @fangirlprincess09​ // @maddymelv // @sierrareads​ // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @jlinez​ // @lysandra-ghost-leopard​ // @rowaelinismyotp​ // @pullnpeeltwizzlers​ // @anne-reads​ // @jadeaffliction​ // @gracie-rosee​ // @elriel4life​ // @miserablesmusings​ // @tothestarswholistentodreamers // @littleboxofthunder​ // @empress-ofbloodshed​ // @booksbqueen​ // @rowanwhitethornisbae​ // @aelin-queen-of-terrasen​ // @alyx801​ // @amandaswallowtail​ // @louiseleblancdiggory​ // @abookishfreak​ // @danibutterr​ // @thegreyj​ // @thenerdandfandoms​ // @castielspelvis​ // @swankii-art-teacher​ // @grandma-noob-lord​ // @vanzetanze​ // @lizzyfirebringer // // @endlessdaydream​ // @magnifique1807​ // @sis-it-dont-add-up​ // @thenerdfandoms​ // @post-it-notes33​ // @ae-lingalathynius​ // @whythefuckdoiexist​ // @highlady-brittney​ // @story-scribbler​ //

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

All Men Have Limits - X

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 4,100+

Previously on…

The next three days were one of the darkest periods of Dick Grayson’s life. 

He was thrown back into the past to the moments after his parents were murdered. This felt the same but somehow worse. Because he was convinced he had the power to stop it, to keep Y/N safe.

Why did everyone he love have to die?

Was he cursed?

Was he responsible for their deaths?

He hadn’t even been able to tell Y/N how he really felt. He’d been holding back all this time, terrified that his truth would just push her away and make her decide to close off from him.

Now Dick wished he could go back in time and confess everything to her. If she had pushed him away, he would found his way back to her somehow. He sees that now – now that it’s too late.

He looked at Y/N sleeping peacefully in her bed at the manor.

Is it a miracle if conjuring was used to fight back at fate?

Dick doesn’t even remember what he said when he contacted Zatanna. He must’ve sounded hysterical and utterly desperate. His vision had been blurred from the tears he couldn’t control. 

He already blacked the whole thing out.

Zatanna told them that Y/N would sleep for a few days. Even if her magic saved her life and Y/N wouldn’t even have a scar to prove she had died, her body was still exhausted from the trauma of it all.

But even with Zatanna’s reassurance, Dick hadn’t left Y/N’s side, absolutely terrified that she was still in danger, that she could still leave them forever.

When Y/N started to shift, Dick sat up straighter in the chair that he’d pulled close to her bed.

Y/N winced before her eyes fluttered open.

Dick didn’t want to overwhelm her, so he just waited for her to fully wake up.

Y/N seemed confused when she realized that she was back in her room at the manor.

Then her gaze moved to Dick.

“Bruce, is he–”

“He’s fine,” Dick cut her off before she could get herself into a panic.

Her entire body relaxed and she let out the breath she was holding in without realizing it.

“He has a concussion and he’s a little beat up. But he’s had worse,” Dick elaborated.

She raised a brow. “You tend to say that a lot.”

Dick shrugged.

But it was true: Bruce had been in much worse condition.

“You saved his life, Y/N.”

She seemed uncomfortable hearing that and didn’t meet his gaze.

“I did what anyone would’ve done,” Y/N mumbled.

“Not everyone would be that brave.”

A silence settled between them for a few moments.

“How am I here?” Y/N finally asked Dick quietly.

But they both knew she was really asking, ‘How am I alive?’

“I’m not sure you really want to know all the details…” Dick had been dreading this conversation.

“I’m assuming you called in another favor with your magic friend,” Y/N thought aloud.

“Zatanna,” Dick confirmed. “And, yes. Something like that.”

Y/N gave him a look that told him she wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

“She used a spell that reversed your injuries. She…” Dick had to pause and clear his throat and get rid of his emotions that were threatening to spill. “She used your blood to write a spell, making it far stronger than most she’s cast. It saved your life.”

Y/N watched him for a moment.

“That must’ve been scary,” she whispered, truly understanding what she had put him through.

She simply could not imagine had it been the other way around. The idea of watching Dick die was something she hoped to never live through.

“He hadn’t left your side until Alfred basically secretly drugged him and scared him to get his own bedroom.”

Y/N moved to get out of bed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dick panicked as she stood up to stop her.

“I feel…” she thought about it for a moment.

“Like you were stabbed to death?” Dick offered darkly.

“No. I feel…I feel fine.”

He could tell she was telling the truth.

“Perks of magically being healed?” She offered innocently.

“Guess so.”

She moved out of the bed and realized she was wearing cotton shorts and a baggy t-shirt that she most definitely didn’t die in.

What had happened while she was asleep? How long was she dead?

Y/N went to the window and looked out at the grounds of Wayne Manor.

“What happened when the cops showed up?” She asked quietly, almost in a daze.

“You’d have to ask Tim for details. I was preoccupied with…” Dick’s words died out.

Y/N turned away from the window to look at him.

She may have survived, but that was never going to make talking about that night any easier for him.

Luckily, she understood what Dick couldn’t put into words.

Dick took in a deep breath and crossed his arms, “We got them, Y/N.”

It almost seemed to good to be true. They’d been at this for months. It took them weeks just to plan their final blow.

Y/N didn’t realize how hard it would be to believe that it was truly over.

It didn’t help that there was no returning to her old life. Too much had changed.

“With the evidence you gave the FBI, there’s not a lawyer in the world that can save them. Even if a member’s hands aren’t dirty, the public shame will be enough to neutralize them for good,” Dick added with a bit of optimism.

But he could tell by Y/N’s face that she was having trouble accepting the truth.

He took a step toward her. 

“If there’s members of The Court that slipped out from underneath us, if any of them try to come after you, it’ll just prove to the world that The Court of Owls is still operating. And exposing that will be the last thing they’ll want.”

She tried to force a small smile and nod, but it was unconvincing.

Dick closed the space between them and grabbed her hands.

“Y/N, you did it.”

“It’s really over,” she whispered, staring into his deep blue eyes.

He gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.

Then Dick’s focus shifted. He looked her up and down. “Y/N, you should really get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N sighed. “I think I’m gonna take a shower.” She smirked, “Get all that death off me.”

Dick frowned. “Not funny.”

“Jason would think it’s funny,” Y/N teased as she walked to the bathroom.

He playfully glared at her. “I’ll give you some space. But I’ll be down in the cave if you need me.”

Dick only got a few steps before Y/N called his name as if she’d forgotten something and rushed to him.

He looked at her expectantly.

Y/N stepped forward and locked her arms around Dick and buried her face into his shoulder. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as his hands rubbed her back soothingly and he pulled her closer.

Dick wanted to tell Y/N that she didn’t have to thank him. He saved her life and he would do it again and again and again, and he would never expect gratitude for it. Because Dick knew that it was just as much for him as it was for her.

So instead he just held her in silence and felt the warmth from her body – the same body that had been ice cold and lifeless just days before.

When they finally pulled away, Dick was studying her face to make sure she was alright to be left alone.

He gave her one last look before leaving her.

Y/N took her time in the shower, making the water as hot as her skin would allow without giving it burns. There wasn’t a single bruise or cut on her. Her fingers traced over the place on her abdomen where the katana had been shoved through. 

There was nothing.

She wondered if there was a price to pay for such magic. Would she be held accountable? Or would it be Dick’s friend who faced the consequences?

Y/N didn’t know how long she’d been showering, but when she finally walked out, the bathroom was filled with too much steam.

She quickly put on sweatpants and a t-shirt when her stomach started growling. She couldn’t even remember when her last meal had been.

Y/N moved to her door after deciding that going straight to the kitchen was quite necessary.

But she stopped as she heard footsteps walking past her room in the hall.

She froze, thinking it was Bruce.

What would she say to him? Would he be angry with her? Would he not react at all to her resurrection? What would hurt her more between the two?

But it wasn’t Bruce. 

Tim and Damian were walking down the hallway.

“How much longer do you think he’ll stay?” She heard Damian ask.

“I don’t know. I heard the Titans have been bugging him to come back,” Tim answered. “I’m sure Kori misses him and has been texting.”

Damian just hummed in acknowledgment.

Y/N realized her hand was suspended over the doorknob.

And she had a realization: she was safe to leave.

But more importantly, she wasn’t the only one that could return to their “normal” life: so could Dick, so could everyone else in the family.

Soon, Tim would go back to his condo in the city. Jason would stop working so closely with the family he tried to disown and he’d probably stop coming around manor so often – if ever. And Bruce…Bruce would move on to new cases and return to the usual patrolling.  

Y/N turned and looked at the bedroom that had become her new home in the past few months. Her personality was nowhere to be found inside. It wasn't actually hers. She was just one of its many visitors. 

Y/N grabbed her duffle bag from underneath the queen-sized bed and started throwing her belongings into it.

Ten minutes later, Y/N had her jacket and shows on, and all of her belongings were packed in her bag. 

She still had to deal with all her equipment that was sitting in the cave. But that was a problem for another day. Right now, she didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with it. She needed to leave – before she changed her mind.

-

Y/N was just yards from the front door when she heard his voice.

“Y/N?” Dick asked just loud enough to catch her.

She froze in place.

While her back was still to him, she closed her eyes in grievance from the failure of being spotted.

She slowly turned around.

“You trying to sneak out of here?” Dick asked.

It was meant to sound teasing, but she heard his disappointment loud and clear.

“It’s about time I get out of your hair.” 

“We’re not exactly kicking you out…” Dick tried to joke.

“You said so yourself: it’s safe for me now.” She sighed and walked closer to him. “Look, I just…I need some time alone.”

Dick took it a bit too personally. Were they really that exhausting to be around? He thought she had started to see them as her own family. He thought things were OK.

“At least let me drive you,” he offered quietly.

“I called a cab. It’s waiting for me outside.”

Before Dick could say anything else, she quickly turned and made her escape.

Y/N knew what she was scared of. She was scared he’d tell her he was leaving Gotham now that the case had been solved. But she was even more scared that he’d tell her he was staying. 

She wasn’t ready to deal with either scenario.

So, Y/N did what she did best: she ran.

————————

Y/N stared at the wall of her safe house.

The silence that she had once grown used to long ago was now irritating.

Y/N hadn’t realized how accustomed she had become to the chaos of Wayne Manor until she had torn herself away from it. Even when it was quiet there, she could feel the presence of everyone.

Now she was left only to her thoughts.

And just she was about to escape the silence and go grab food at a nearby diner, there was a knock on the door.

Y/N knew for a fact that this safe-house hadn’t be blown yet – and that included with the Wayne family. It was exactly why she chose to come here instead of the one where Bruce first found her and dragged her to Wayne Manor for her own safety.

Which was why Y/N grabbed one of her guns and checked to make sure it was loaded and the safety was off before she tiptoed to the door.

She looked through the peep hole and her stomach twisted when she saw Bruce Wayne was on the other side.

She knew he could sense her presence on the other side, and there was no hiding. So she opened the door quickly.

Bruce eyed the gun in her hand. “This has become a habit of yours.”

Y/N ignored his comment, uncocked the gun, and carefully placed it on a table near the door.

When she was finally able to take Bruce in, she noted that his face was covered in bruises and small cuts. To be honest, Y/N expected more damage after being a witness to his near-death beating. 

“May I come in?” Bruce asked softly.

She blinked rapidly, realizing she had yet to invite him inside.

This was all reminiscent of that night.

And Y/N didn’t appreciate the memories and feelings Bruce was stirring up.

An awkward silence settled between them. The silence of her apartment was doing nothing to help.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N knew the question was sincere, but Bruce still managed to ask it without showing any ounce of emotion – as if he wasn’t personally invested in the matter. 

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly. Her eyes softened. “Are you okay?”

He simply nodded.

Silence again.

“You can never do that again,” Bruce declared.

“Do what?”

“You risked your life to save mine. The boys refused to tell me what happened, but I saw the footage. You threw yourself in front of me.”

Y/N remained calm as she said, “You did the same for me.”

Bruce shook his head. Because they both knew it wasn’t the same thing.

The truth was that Bruce woke up to find Dick crying over Y/N’s dead body. And then a few minutes he had watched as Dick begged Zatanna to help him.

And Bruce? Bruce had been unconscious when Y/N had needed him the most.

He had protected her all these months – with his own family and his own home – just to be useless in her final moment of need.

When Bruce finally woke up recovered to find out that Y/N had fled the manor, he knew he needed to go to her. He needed to make sure she never did something so stupid as risking her life to save him.

But now Bruce stood before her and he knew he needed to tell her so much more than just that.

“What are you doing here, Bruce? Did you just plan on lecturing me again?”

But Bruce wasn’t realized he couldn’t use any words tonight.

Ever so slowly, he stepped into her space, putting less and less space between their bodies. Y/N could feel the heat coming from him. And she sucked in a gasp from his proximity. She breathed in his cologne that she’d grown to love so much that it instantly relaxed her.

Her heart beat faster and faster as his eyes shifted down to her lips, hesitating in a way that was excruciating to Y/N. But it gave her time to resist, to allow her to shut this down before it could continue.

But Y/N didn’t want to do that.

Bruce brushed her hair away from her face, then his hands shifted slightly to cup her face. His touch wasn’t soft, but insistent.

He pressed his lips to Y/Ns. Brisk and determined. 

The tension finally snapped and pushed them to a passionate kiss that was long overdo.

Was this only going to cause them both more pain in the future?

Or was this what they should’ve done long ago?

Bruce pushed Y/N against a wall.

And then everything became a blur.

Bruce picked Y/N up and wrapped her legs around his waist for her, silently instructing her. 

Clothes were unzipped and unbuttoned, and thrown around the apartment without thought.

Their breathing was heavy and reactive to the way their hands raced across each other’s now naked skin. 

For never being at this particular safe house, Bruce found his way to the bed with ease.

From the movement of their bodies and obvious desire for one another, one thing became clear: they were never meant to only share one night together.

————

Y/N had tried with all her might to stay awake – even if that meant pulling an all-nighter.

She was trying to break the pattern. And even though Bruce had exhausted her body to no end, she didn’t want to wake up to find his side of the bed empty.

But she was shocked to open her eyes and find not only that Bruce was still in her bed, but that she had been sleeping on his bare chest with his arms wrapped tightly around her.

Y/N could feel that he was awake. Apparently he was much more disciplined than her.

Little did she know Bruce hadn’t slept at all, not wanting to miss the feeling of her against him. 

Y/N slowly lifted her head, “Hi.”

He smirked at the sleepiness in her voice.

“Hi."

“Didn’t expect you to be here still,” she admitted quietly.

“I can leave if you want.” And he meant it, even though it would hurt.

“No,” she scolded him in a breathy gasp.

The tension in his body released. 

Y/N shifted off of his chest

“And where do you think you’re going?” Bruce questioned.

She shifted so she was no longer resting on his chest, but laying on her side beside him so she could see his face.

“I just wanted to look at you,” she whispered innocently.

Bruce smirked at her answer.

Y/N made sure the bed sheet was successfully covering her nudity.

Bruce seemed amused with her sudden modesty, but said nothing of it.

“How did you find me here?” Y/N asked him.

It had been the first thing she’d wanted to ask when he showed up to her door last night. But Bruce hadn’t exactly given her a lot of space to speak last night.

Bruce’s jaw tightened, which was a message in its own. 

“Bruceeeee,” Y/N pushed back with irritation.

“You aren’t going to like the answer.”

She glared at him. “Did you put a fucking tracker on me, Bruce Wayne?”

“Your phone.”

“When?” She asked.

“After you tried to turn yourself in to the Talons.”

Y/N sighed, clearly annoyed by the answer.

They both knew she could easily disable it now that she knew about it. Even if he hadn’t confessed it, she would’ve figured it out on her own eventually.

“You’re upset,” Bruce observed.  

“How would you feel if I did the same to you? But it’s…you. And I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Need I remind you that we only met because you blackmailed me and threatened to expose my identity to the world?”

“You know that wasn’t the same,” she shot back as she rolled her eyes. 

“You’re right.” Bruce sighed. “I promise I will deactivate it.”

“No,” Y/N surprised him by saying. “But I will make you a deal…you can always know where I am if I can know the same for you.”

Bruce knew this was a test. Because Y/N expected him to immediately shoot down such an offer. Couldn’t such information be used against Batman?

“Deal,” he agreed.

Y/N was so shocked by his compliance that her overwhelming emotions forced her to lean into him and capture his lips in a kiss.

“Should I make us breakfast?” She whispered to him after barely pulling away from his lips. 

She lightly bumped her nose against his. 

Bruce nodded with a grin.

But before Y/N could ask what he wanted, a knock at the door interrupted them.

Her heart raced at the thought of another intrusion – and a less welcomed one.  

Bruce frowned, but remained calm.

“Stay here,” he warned before placing a light kiss on her bare shoulder.

Before she could argue, he slipped out of bed.

He put his boxer briefs on, but didn’t bother with a shirt or pants.

Even though Bruce told Y/N to stay put, she still figured a mysterious knock on the door was a sign to put clothes on.

She practically threw on her underwear, but couldn’t find a single piece of clothing she had on yesterday. Yet somehow she found Bruce’s white button down and quickly buttoned on to give herself some semblance of decency.

Bruce looked through the peephole. 

He held his breath.

Bruce would’ve rather it been an attempted attack on Y/N than…this.

“Y/N, I know you’re there,” Dick called from the other side of the door.

Bruce knew she couldn’t hear him. But he knew there was no other choice than to open the door.

Bruce looked apathetic as he faced his first protégé.

But Dick knew Bruce well enough to see that there was guilt hidden underneath.

He took in Bruce’s attire – or really, the lack there of.

Dick huffed out a laugh, “Of course. I should’ve known better.”

He shook his head and turned to leave.

Bruce slammed the door shut and rubbed his face in distress.

Before he could even think of something to say to Y/N, she rushed past him and threw the door open again.

“Dick! Wait!” Y/N called to him and caught him in the hallway.

By some miracle, Dick stopped and turned to her.

He looked her up and down, lingering far too long on the white button down she was wearing that so clearly belonged to Bruce.

“Needed some time alone, huh?” 

Throwing Y/N’s own words back at her was meant to come out harsh and cold. But it ended up sounding heartbroken and betrayed.

And, honestly, that was worse to Y/N.

She have any idea what to say to him.

What would even make him feel better?

So, Y/N just watched Dick slowly walk away.

She stepped back into the safe house with tears in her eyes.

Bruce immediately moved to her. 

“Y/N–”

But Y/N shook her head, stopping him from saying anything more.

“I should go,” Bruce told her. 

He couldn’t help himself as he reached to wipe her tears away.

“I should probably give you your shirt back,” she said between sniffles.

Had the situation been different, it would’ve sounded funny. 

But there was no humor here. 

Bruce’s innocent touch of wiping her tears away made it hard for Y/N to concentrate.

So she escaped into the bedroom and quickly changed into her own clothes.

When she walked back out, she had all of Bruce’s stuff in her arms.

Once Bruce was in his clothes again, he didn’t know what to do or say next.

It was hard for Bruce to leave Y/N when she was so visibly upset. Dick wasn’t here to make Y/N feel better this time...and that was all Bruce’s fault.

“I’m not used to saying bye to you,” Y/N finally broke the tension.

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

A sad look flashed across her face as she processed her thoughts. “Usually I wake up…and you’re gone. You don’t even give me a chance to.”

Bruce bowed his head in shame. “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he finally admitted to her.

Y/N nodded slowly, agreeing with him.

“But you did,” she whispered. 

Her voice sounded congested from all the tears she just shed. 

“And all this time, I let myself think it was OK or even that I was the one who had messed it all up.”

Bruce quickly shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N.”

Her eyes darkened. “Why did you have to make it so hard to stay away from you, Bruce?”

An he knew he deserved that. “I’ve been selfish,” he confessed.

Bruce hesitated before giving her a slow kiss on the cheek.

It was the first time Y/N had ever seen him unsure of himself.

Without saying anything more, he turned and left.

“Goodbye, Bruce.” Y/N whispered long after he could still hear her.

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

Part XI

Did I ruin your life? Let me know 😂

#all men have limits part 10 #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader x bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader x dick grayson #batboys #batfam #dick grayson reader insert #bruce wayne reader insert #nightwing x reader #batman x reader

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Coming Down (Ethan x MC)

Summary: They break up. Dassit

A/N: I’ve been tired of this imposter Ethan, and the back of forth nature of his romance route for the entirety of book 3, so I wrote this.

Warnings: None

Title Inspo

~v~

Naomi’s fingernails tap impatiently against her leg as the shrill ring of her cell phone rings at her ear. It rings 5 long times before she’s sent to voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Dr. Ethan Ramsey. I’m sorry for not answering your phone call, but leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you.”

“Ethan, it’s me...again. I haven’t heard from you in,” lifting her wrist, Naomi checks the time on her watch, “wow, in over 24 hours. I’ve been calling and calling, to no avail, and you just aren’t responding.”

The news of Ethan getting hit with a malpractice lawsuit hit her like a freight train. As soon as things started to feel good again, as soon as the diagnostics team started to find its rhythm with two new physicians, this torpedoes any chance of normalcy she could ever experience.

“If you could give me a call back and let me hear the sound of your voice, that’d be great. Bye.”

There’s a lot more that she wants to say, but she’s been given a limited window of time so Naomi hangs up.

Switching tactics, Naomi opens up her messages, and scrolls to her thread with Ethan.

Naomi: Hi

Naomi: Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while.

Naomi: Can you at least reply, telling me to leave you alone?

Naomi: At this point, I’d settle for at least knowing if you’re alive.

She waits a few minutes, and when she gets no response, she shoves her phone into the pocket of her white coat. Anxiousness and worry pools in the pit of her stomach, and the only thing she can think about is Ethan’s well being. And this situation doesn’t bode well because Naomi is still in the middle of her shift.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of quiet chatter as the door to the diagnostics team’s office opens and in walks Tobias and Harper. Their conversation is cut short once they notice the youngest member of the team.

“Hi, Naomi,” Tobias greets, an easygoing smile adorning his face. “What’s up?”

She wishes she could feel as casual as he looks, because every part of her body is twisted inside out and turned upside down.

“Have either of you talked to Ethan today?” Naomi asks, skipping the pleasantries.

“I spoke to him yesterday just to gauge how he was handling the malpractice suit,” Tobias answers. “Obviously, the conversation didn’t last long because he and I rarely interact outside of these four walls, but he seems…” he trails off when he notices Naomi’s face fall. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

Any other time, Naomi would be ecstatic to hear about Tobias extending an olive branch, and Ethan actually accepting the support, but today isn’t that day. She’s been trying to get in touch with him all day with no success, but he answers a phone call from his sworn enemy?

“I haven’t heard from Ethan today, so I’m at least glad to know he’s breathing,” Naomi says, her voice tight.

Too caught up in her own pity party, Naomi misses the way Tobias and Harper exchange worried glances. The team has been through enough the past few months, the last thing they need is romantic friction between Ethan and Naomi seeping into the office.

“Maybe he’s turned his phone off since then?” Tobias suggests. “Times like this can force you into an introspective mood, and he’s probably going technology free.”

Naomi chuckles humorlessly. She appreciates Tobias’s effort to satiate her foul mood, but she can’t think of a single excuse short of death that could justify Ethan’s behavior.

She stands, dusting off her coat and straightening it out. “Thanks. I’m going to get some lab work done on our patient, page me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Without another word, Naomi exits the office.

Working helps slightly. For an hour or so, Naomi is successful in turning off her brain and focusing diligently on work. She manages to not think about Ethan at all.

Until she hears his name brought up in conversation. She’s strolling towards the nurse's station when she sees Sarah and another nurse, Ronnie huddled in a corner.

“Sounds like Dr. Ramsey’s not as perfect as everyone thinks, huh?”

“Screwing up a standard tracheotomy that way? Frankly, I’m just surprised it took the patient this long to sue!”

Naomi slows her steps before she stops walking all together. The nurses are so engrossed in their conversation, they don’t even notice her.

“I heard from Marlene that the patient wouldn’t have even needed a trach if they hadn’t dosed her wrong in the first place,” Sarah adds in an excited whisper.

“Seriously? That’s next level…”

Her first instinct is to stop this, to tell them to stop talking, the urge to protect Ethan still as strong as it’s always been.

But she stops herself from doing that. Because why should she? Why should she put forth the effort to defend the honor and reputation of a man that doesn’t even have the decency to answer her phone calls?

And just like that, she’s plunged back into her flurry of conflicting emotions: worry, fear, annoyance, and most of all, anger. The emotions war inside her, all fighting for dominance, and she hasn’t felt like this since her intern year when he left to go to South America without any sort of goodbye or correspondence.

That wasn’t a good period in her life. Naomi can still feel the cold grip of anxiety that plagued her chest when she came into work one day and he was nowhere to be seen. She heard through a LVN that he left before confirming it with Naveen. She can still taste the saltiness of the tears she shed after leaving her 5th unanswered voicemail. Experiencing such a high of beating her ethics trial and getting picked for the diagnostic team,  and the low of him leaving in that short amount of time left her spiraling and isolated, and it took entirely too much time clawing herself out of that dark place.

Turning on her heel, Naomi speed walks in the other direction, her original plan long forgotten. The hospital passes her by in a blur as her legs move, the rest of her body and brain moving on autopilot.

She doesn’t stop moving until she’s in front of the residents’ lounge. She spots Aurora, Bryce, and Sienna sitting at a table.

“Naomi, come join us!” Sienna exclaims. “We’re going to make cappuccinos with this fancy machine.”

“I’ll have to take a raincheck on that,” Naomi says. She turns to Bryce. “Can I borrow your car keys please?”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just have a couple errands to run and I don’t feel like taking the train. I’ll bring it back with a full tank of gas and everything.”

“I’m not gonna nitpick you about gas, Omi.” Bryce’s warm gaze sweeps across Naomi’s face, studying her. If he notices anything wrong with her, which he probably does because Bryce is a lot more perceptive than he gives himself credit for, he thankfully doesn’t mention it. He reaches into the pocket of his mint green scrub pants and pulls out his keys. He tosses the keys to Naomi with a wink, and she catches them mid air.

“I keep a shovel in the trunk in case you need to bury a body.”

Whether he realizes what is going on with her, or if he just cracked a joke to lighten the mood, Naomi is grateful either way.

~v~

Naomi spends an hour driving around Boston, people watching and attempting to collect her thoughts before she ends up in Back Bay at Ethan’s apartment complex. She didn’t want to go to his house in her previous state, guns blazing and emotions all over her place.

Even on the ride on the elevator up to his unit, her stomach is in knots and her heart beats faster than normal. She hasn’t been this nervous about seeing Ethan in a long time, and it dawns on her just how fucked this entire situation is. Why should she be nervous to talk to the man who claims to want to be with her?

Steeling her nerves, Naomi issues three sharp knocks to Ethan’s front door. Approximately 45 seconds pass before the door opens.

“Naomi!” Ethan’s eyes widen when he sees her standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to let me in, or should we have this conversation in the hallway?” Naomi asks. Ethan steps aside, widening the door so Naomi can enter. “Thank you.”

The apartment is stale, like Ethan hasn’t opened the windows in a few days. He looks disheveled, the bags under his eyes are extremely pronounced like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

For lack of a better word, Ethan is a mess. And she wants nothing more than to just...wrap her arms around him and make everything better. But she doesn’t. She keeps her distance.

Ethan shuts the door before turning back to her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No.”

“Well let’s sit down.”

“No, I think I’d rather stand because I don’t plan on being here long.”

The coldness stuns Ethan. Naomi almost seems indifferent towards him, something he’s never experienced before. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she didn’t bother greeting him warmly, no hug or kiss, no excitement in her voice, nothing.

“I needed to see with my own two eyes that you were alive and well,” Naomi starts. “Because you’ve gone radio silent on me. I know you’ve seen me calling and texting. Your phone works just fine because you picked up a call from Tobias of all people.”

He averts his gaze, ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, I–”

She holds up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. Naomi doesn’t believe for one second that he’s apologizing due to actual remorse. “I have spent the entire day wracked with intense worry. I feel like I’ve been turned upside down, and I could barely focus on work. Every time I thought I could be productive, something or someone was there to remind me of you. And then I’d spend more time ruminating over you and your situation, and the fact that you’re ignoring me, and then I’d feel like absolute shit. And earlier today, as I listened to the nurses gossip about you, I realized that this feels so much like your two month sabbatical to the Amazon, and our relationship hasn’t changed at all since then.”

“That’s not true,” Ethan argues.

“It is,” Naomi insists. “One step forward doesn’t mean anything if we end up taking two steps back immediately afterwards. A year and a half later, you’re still holding me at arms length, keeping yourself closed off, ignoring my calls.”

“I don’t mean to do this, to be this way.”

“But you continue to do it, so at this point you have to see it’s a pattern. You won’t even open up and talk to me about this lawsuit that’s being waged against you.”

“I just don’t want you getting needlessly involved.”

“While it’s a noble excuse, it’s complete and utter bullshit. If you think you’re doing something to save my reputation, remember nothing you do will ever top me almost losing my medical license my intern year, and then having a resident face a malpractice lawsuit a few months later. So come on, give me another excuse.”

“I’m doing this for you!”

“How? How could this possibly be for me?”

“Everything I touch becomes tainted!” Ethan snaps. “Because there is something wrong, in which everyone arounds me leaves or dies, or everything falls apart. I don’t have control or autonomy over anything, so yes, the one precious thing in my life, I’m too scared to touch.”

“But I have been right here with you! I was right here in this exact same spot when we worked on Naveen’s case. I sat by your side while we watched over Dolores’s son. I was there when they wheeled your mother into the hospital, and when you took her to rehab. Time and time again, I’ve proven to you that my loyalty is steadfast, and not once have I ever wavered, so you don’t get to stand here and punish me for some unrealized fear. You don’t get to treat me like I’m a passenger in this relationship, if you can even call it that.”

That’s what gives him pause. “Of course this is a relationship.”

“This isn’t a relationship, I am just a woman you sleep with. Occasionally you open up to me, we share a cute moment and promises, and then you clam up and up goes the barriers, and it starts all over again. And every single time, we’re a little bit deeper into this thing we’re in. I’ve shared more, I’ve let myself be more vulnerable with you, emotionally and physically, I’ve deluded myself into thinking ‘This time it’s the real thing,’. And I’m afraid that this is going to be our reality. One day I wake up, 3 years in, tentatively living with you, trying to settle into the pieces of a life I’ve scrounged up with you, and you do this again.”

“I don’t speak on it, and I don’t like to because I try to keep it all together, but you don’t understand the toll it takes on me every time we do this back and forth. I was a train wreck when you quit. I had the trial looming over my head, Landry, a guy I considered one of my closest friends betrayed me in the worst possible way, you weren’t the only person scared of losing Naveen, and I couldn’t even verbalize any of it to you because you slammed a door in my face when I tried to bring it up, and then you left me. And then you did it again, and I spent two months worried that you might not even come home because you could contract the deadly disease you were off fighting. And then you go on national television declaring your relationship status, and you made promises to me on my deathbed that led nowhere, and then finally we make some headway in Hawaii and establish what we have going on, and then I come home to this. So while you say one thing to me, time and time again, your actions say otherwise. It’s clear I’m not a priority.” 

This conversation triggers Ethan’s fight or flight response. He doesn’t know where this conversation is headed, but he’s smart enough to know it’s nowhere good.

“Naomi, what are you saying? Spell it out to me like I’m a preschooler.”

“I think we need a break,” Naomi says in one breath, afraid she’ll break if she prolongs this any further. The six words leave a sour taste in her mouth that she has to choke back.

“No,” Ethan’s tone is gruff, and the seriousness almost startled Naomi. “No, we’re not breaking up.”

“From where I’m standing, we already have,” Naomi retorts. “I’m just confirming it.”

Ethan takes one long stride towards Naomi, but she takes a step back. “Look, I am a daft asshole to put it mildly, and I know I have a lot of work to do, but this is by no means a reason for us to break up.” He takes another step forward, and now Naomi is backed up against the door. He tugs her forward, wrapping his arms around her. “I am sorry. I know the words probably sound hollow, but trust me when I say I mean it. I’ll fix this, I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re the only person I want, the only one I’ll ever want, and I’m not losing you. Not now, not ever.”

Through this right embrace, Naomi can feel just how rapidly his heart is beating. He’s scared.

A tear slips from the corner of her eye, and she’s too drained to even wipe it away. “This is reactionary. You’re saying all of this because you’re panicked, but if you meant any of what you just said, it wouldn’t take the threat of a breakup in order to want to change things.”

“It shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize what a fool I’ve been,” Ethan says. He refuses to let go of her, his arms still wrapped so tightly around her petite frame, he almost worries about crushing her.

“I agree.” What does that even mean? She gives him nothing more than that, and Ethan is left to stew in his own doubt and worry. Naomi breaks free of his embrace and presses a palm to his chest, signaling him to give her some space. “But I still think we need some space.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

It becomes hard to breathe. When Ethan woke up this morning, the last thing he expected was Naomi to dump him. “What can I do? Tell me how to fix this. Do you want consistency? Done, I’ll talk to you every single day, multiple times a day. Transparency? Sit down right now, and I’ll explain this entire lawsuit top to bottom. You want proof that I’m never going to up and leave again, you can take my fucking passport. Naomi, I don’t care what I have to do, I will do it, but I will not accept you walking out of that door.”

Naomi inhales deeply, trying to stop a full son from bursting out of her chest. He’s saying all the right things, but at the wrong time. It’s too late now. “I’ve warred with myself all day about this decision. You’re clearly not in the right space to sustain a healthy relationship, and that’s fine. I just need to remove myself from the situation, for my own health and well-being. And I think you need to do the same.”

“So...what? This is it? It’s over?”

“Let’s be honest Ethan, you never gave us the opportunity to begin.” She wants to touch him so badly, reach out a run her hand through his hair or stroke his beard one more time. It takes everything in her to not. “You’re a great doctor, one of the best ones I know, so I really hope you beat this entire lawsuit and I get to see you back at Edenbrook. Take care of yourself, Ethan.

Ethan shakes his head in denial. He refuses to let things end like this, and for her to give him the same cool professionalism she extends to every other coworker.

“Naomi, wait–”

She’s out of his apartment before he can convince her to stay. It doesn’t register until he hears the soft click of her door shutting that she’s actually gone. And another minute passes before the gravity of the situation finally dawns on him.

For the first time in a long time, he’s truly alone.

~v~

Tags: @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest @schnitzelbutterfingers @missmiimiie @stateofgracious @mooons-isabelle @doilooklikeiknow

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #dr. ethan ramsey

[notnctu]

when the snow falls | j.jh

jung jaehyun x reader genre - angst first, fluff later details - childhood best friends!au, ghost!au, platonic relationship, genderneutral!reader, ft. boyfriend johnny warnings - grieving/mourning, mentions of death, lots of crying, explicit language (swearing) word count - 8.3k inspiration - A Christmas Carol synopsis - Jaehyun visits you every holiday season since his death to bring you out of your self isolation and hatred for the one season you both once loved.

a/n - this is for my first collab ever: a taste of winter collab hosted by @dearyongs​​​ & @pastelsicheng​​​ ! again, thank you for letting me participate and i hope this fic brings more warmth for everyone during the winter!! happy holidays everyone & i hope you can check out the rest of the fics in the collab as i will be, they’re written by such amazing writers! :)))

An iridescent frost covers the tall windows of the apartment and a bright white sky greets you this morning. The fallen sheets expose your bare shoulders to the bitter crisp cold air and goosebumps rise to remind you to wear a fucking sweater for once. However, the cold isn’t what bothers you this horrid day as you’re leaping out of bed to glance out at the world. It’s the first thing that you lay eyes on: it covers the streets, it’s falling from the blanket of grey sky, it’s others’ joy when it’s your trauma. What Mother Nature has brought upon this winter season, as she always does this time of the year, is snow. 

The first sign of snowfall marks the first day of your self isolation period until the holidays pass. It marks the anniversary of your best friend’s death and an agonizingly long winter, but in spite of that, it also means the appearance of a rather special guest. A guest that is only visible to you and though resembles much of your passed friend, does not share the same memories as you do. 

“The snow is just so comforting, isn’t it?” Though you live alone, a sudden voice erupts from behind you and has you turning rather quickly to face the truth of this season. Your greatest treasure, yet haunting demise. “Hello, y/n. How has your year been?” Jaehyun stands with a lean at your door frame, his arms crossed at his chest and hair full of fluff. 

“Hello, Jaehyun’s spirit. I happen to hate the snow, if you have forgotten.” Your hip presses against the cold glass and you’re no longer afraid of being half naked in front of what this form of imagination possesses itself to be. 

“Remind me why again.” Jaehyun casually sits on your unmade bed, looking as about your age now. There is a brief silence as you examine how he’s grown with you, you’d imagine this is how he’d look if he was still alive and well.

It would be his third year in college, same as you, possibly studying engineering due to his past fascination with the mechanics of roller coasters. With such a strong jawline and a definite lean built, girls would be running all over him. Not to mention, his dimples remain one of his charms.

Kicking off the icy window, you walk carefully and slowly up to Jaehyun. A hand reaches to caress his cheek, but it goes right through him and leaves your hand to hang in mid-air. This happens every time you see him again, wondering if you can get one last touch of his dewy complexion, and you simply can’t. Despite his ability to touch you, there is no possibility for your senses to travel through to the other side of the supernatural dimension. 

Jaehyun gently rests your hand back to your side and repeats his request, “remind me again why you hate the snow.”

“It’s how you died.” A small croak gets caught in the back of your throat and tears well up to blur your vision. “So when the snow falls, it brings me back to the dreadful memory of me losing you, of you leaving me.” 

“I died from snow? That is so lame.” Jaehyun grumbles and rolls his eyes. 

You chuckle, but the tears roll down your cheeks as if they know no happiness. “You died from a car accident in the snow. Your tires slid, you couldn’t brake … and so, you crashed. Full trauma to the head, an instant death.” 

“Where was I going?” He wasn’t this curious last winter, and so you’re unaware if it’s your mind playing sick tricks on you or if his unrest spirit is this forgetful. You wish it was the latter. 

Choking on your tears, the droplets hit the hardwood floors below you. An overwhelming feeling of melancholy overtakes your chest and you’re suffocating underneath an unknown pressure. Your throat is drier than your mother’s gingerbread cookies, but you swallow the frigid air around you. 

You’re so choked up by your sobbing that it’s too difficult to speak. Any words you say feel like thin ice, ready to crack at the lightest touch. “O-On the way to … my house. You were coming over to tell me a secret.”

“And I never got to tell you.” 

“No, Jaehyun. I’ll never know what you wanted to tell me that day.” 

when the snow falls. 

There has never been a time before Jaehyun and all that you knew, all the memories that fill your brain, every growing pain you could possibly share, was with him and all until it wasn’t. Had there been a time after Jaehyun, you would not have expected it to come as soon as it did.

For the months following his death, you were in denial of his missing presence because every. single. thing. reminded you of him. Jaehyun remained in his assigned seat in school, although it was clearly empty. He lived through others’ mourning stories, where they spoke of fond memories that they shared and things he liked. The worst of them all, you still texted him every day in hopes to see the tiny three dots pop up that he was typing. And the warped reality in your head, the first stage of grief flooding every possible corner, was that he has always just been slow at replying back.

Then, his funeral rolled around and his parents asked you to share one happy memory of him. There were so many, how could you possibly have chosen just one? And so you didn’t. The moment the frame of the church entered your view, your legs stuck to the ground and refused to enter. There was going to be a point when you entered the building filled with crying people and a gripping, horrid smell of death and you wouldn’t be able to forget it. That scary thought, not only frightened you, but angered you. 

The large attendance of people walked past you as teary eyes blinked up at the dark wooden frame of the door, but every one of them had never visited him for more than once when he was alive. His older cousins that had forgotten about him when they flew away for college, his acquaintances from piano lessons who never bothered to remember his full name, his old friends from primary school that he had lost connection with after graduation, they were all here.

And you can’t help, but fester a fueling frustration in the pit of your stomach and as it grew into your chest in the matter of seconds, you wondered the single thought that picked up your feet to run home: where were they when he was alive? 

After a year and the appearance of Jaehyun’s ghost became less of a shock during winter, you were stuck in an odd and uneasy place of what if’s. Talking to him once a year was never enough, texting his old number was never enough. It was just never enough.

Missing him grew into a dark sense of yearning, longing, bargaining. Long nights of twisting and tossing in your bed, many thoughts and endless possibilities ran through your unhealthy thoughts. The description and police report of his accident played like a reel in darkest contemplations. 

The first year of college had to be the hardest to go through without him and thus, aiding in your regrets of not cherishing him enough when he was around. A rabbit hole of universe paths drove you wild, wishing and hoping that you could turn back time and stop him from coming over in the middle of a blizzard. And the one lasting thought still haunts you to your present: if only you hadn’t encouraged him that night, he wouldn’t have died. 

The saddest part has barely been acknowledged, even by yourself. That this one tragedy tainted the one holiday you two loved the most --- Christmas. Every year since his passing, you locked yourself in your room for two weeks before the holiday and waited through it all. Truthfully, there was nothing in the universe that was going to allow you to enjoy the holiday when it wasn’t with him. Even his ghost, who very randomly popped up on a December day and cluelessly never brings much comfort as the live him did during this season.

Jolly holiday music lost their joyous sound and became awfully low tempo. The bright red and green signature colors of Christmas became dull and rather grey; the long strings of colorful lights that hang from houses and around large trees were absolutely drained of their color. The warmth of the fireplace went cold. The cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies no longer entertained and lost their spark.

The Christmas themed decorations that covered the windows of shops, the city, your own house, became an overwhelming sore sight to look at. The love from your loved ones… you couldn’t feel anything remotely close to love anymore, just meaningless affection. The one gift that the Earth blessed your region with, snow, became the one petrifying thing that it had to offer. And your favoritism for the holiday, the so-called ‘Christmas Spirit’, slowly died out, along with Jaehyun. 

Now that it’s been three years since his passing, you’re here spending your third lonely holiday season inside your apartment discussing your yearly recap with your ghostly best friend. 

“That ridiculous final exam lowered my grade and I walked out of that class retaining none of the information. When will I ever need to know about pirates in the 1800’s?” The chocolate wrapper crinkles in your fist as you finish your overly passionate recollection of the most useless class you could have taken this whole year.

Jaehyun sits by your side, facing you as he hugs his knees close to his chest. A small grin dots the dimple on his left cheek when you peer over at the huddled boy and the sad reminiscent glisten in your eye does not go unnoticed. “You used to love pirates. Dressed up like one for Halloween and went up to every house yelling,” Jaehyun clears his throat and perks up, ready to perform.

A balled fist in the air, paired with a look of utter gusto and passion, Jaehyun speaks in an attempt to horribly reenact your once embarrassing pirate impression. “Argh! You scoundrel, give me all the treasures in your possession… preferably chocolate sweets.” He holds his stomach as he bursts into a fit of his baritone laughter. His wide mouth grows into such a big, open smile that his eyelashes dance on his glowing cheeks. 

“For a ghost, you sure look like someone who’s very much alive.” Naturally, you’d swat lightly at his knee or arm whenever he would joke around. However, the pain of your hand passing right through him breaks this habit and you’re left scoffing at the way Jaehyun is consumed with laughter.

“You know, for someone who is alive… you sure look a bit … lifeless. When was the last time you were happy, y/n?” Jaehyun finally settles down and gently nudges at your elbow. 

His question hits you like a wall of bricks. Unexpected and completely straightforward, but that’s just always been the way he is. “This past weekend when I turned in my last assignment for the semester.” 

“No. The last time you were genuinely happy, not relieved. You mentioned a boyfriend, right?” 

Rolling your eyes, you grow a bit silent and annoyed at his comment. “Listen, hopeless romantic. Not every relationship is perfect sunrays and gushy unconditional love.” Perhaps, your gaze drops down to your hands and the wrinkled wrapper between your fingers has worn out from your fidgeting. 

Johnny Suh. If you could move mountains for this man, you would. It all started due to an accidental happenstance of you abruptly walking into your campus’ coffee shop to seek shelter from the rain and him, the attractive barista behind the counter, chasing after you in a stained apron and an immensely strong aroma of coffee beans. Jaehyun practically swooned over hearing how you two met, hearts in his pupils and a dreamy grin resting fondly as he attentively listened. 

Jaehyun has always wanted a relationship, though he did have many admirers in high school, he never had the opportunity to experience one true love and to play out every sappy romantic thing rom-coms taught him. Hearing about your love life is the closest thing he can get to it, unfortunate for him, but fortunate that his best friend still has some romance in them.

Nevertheless, it’s only been a few months together. Though Johnny has seen intimate parts of you, he’s never experienced a winter with you and frankly, he won’t ever experience one with you if you keep this up. 

“Johnny doesn’t make you happy, then why are you with him?” Jaehyun knows Johnny makes you feel something that is hard for you to put into words. He also knows the type of person you are, pushing your buttons to get you to defend something you love. Boldly. Loudly. Strongly. He knows how to get you to spit out words of truth, even when they’re difficult.

“My partner is the literal definition of happiness, okay?” The defensiveness drives your assertiveness further. “The last time I was happy was when…” your eyes are frantically examining the floor for any source of focus as a highlight reel of this whole year flashes through your mind.

“... On my birthday, he planned me a picnic. Bought me roses, the whole grand scheme of romance. I started to cry, out of happiness… it was the first time in a while that the reason behind my tears was something good.” There’s somewhat of an epiphany when you finish your sentence. Your voice gets lost in your train of thought as the blissful scene plays out. 

“Why were you crying?” Jaehyun snatches the distracting wrapper from your fingers, it being unrecognizable from the wear and tear. It causes you to meet Jaehyun’s round eyes: empty, but not sad. They’re lost, yet filled with purpose.

Jaehyun has always been able to open up the darkest parts of your heart. “Because it reminded me of the time when you and I walked up that steep hill over on Fifth Street… and we forgot the picnic blanket. But it didn’t matter because after the strenuous journey, all we wanted was to sit down and enjoy some fucking sandwiches, along with some hot chocolate your mom packed us.” 

“y/n, you cried over the memory of sandwiches and exercise? That’s so---”

“Before you insult me by calling me lame,” you bring your finger to stop him mid-way and narrow your eyes, “I was so happy to be able to share our same experience with someone else. Even though you’re gone, I can still have these happy moments with other people.” 

Then, Jaehyun gathers both of your hands to hold and brings them to his soft lips. Everything about him feels cold, like a harsh chill that bites at your skin. In spite of it all, his delicate kiss on your knuckles somehow feel warm and slightly comforting. Jaehyun peers up with kind eyes, “you’re almost there. I will do everything I can to get you there.” 

Blinking at him with confusion, your expression asks the questions for you. When he sets your hands in his lap, a soft pat on the back of your hand reassures you. “Can we bake Christmas cookies?” 

Rolling your eyes, you tear your hands away from him. He leaves you with unspoken words and an oddly comforting feeling, but it’s not enough to dissipate your deeply rooted dislike for this particular holiday. “You ask this every year.” Getting up, you walk towards your bedroom to get away from feeling too vulnerable.

Jaehyun watches your back intently as you’re stumbling over your feet. He whispers to himself, “and I think this year is going to be the last year I’ll ask for it.” And a hopeful smile appears joyously as he anticipates the storm before reaching still waters. 

The sound of the doorbell awakens you and Jaehyun is nowhere to be seen. He comes and goes as he wishes, however, he’d usually accompany you during the mornings. You’re particularly sluggish, finding it difficult to adjust to the blinding white sky outside as snow continues to drift upon the city. 

“Good morning, gumdrop.” Your boyfriend is rather chirpy today. Johnny engulfs your fragile body in his long arms and you’re lost in his scent of peppermint bark. 

“This was unexpected.” His shirt muffles your tiny voice and Johnny is setting down bags of groceries on your kitchen countertop. 

“I texted you last night that I was coming over to do some grocery shopping for you. Did you sleep early?” Your very helpful boyfriend starts unloading all the parcels of fresh produce and your favorite snacks. However, there is a slight tinge of annoyance and possibly it’s due to the fact you weren’t expecting to see anyone during your isolation. Johnny couldn’t have known though.

A deep sigh escapes your lips and you walk over to stop his movements. A hand holds his arm and the other intertwines with his own, but you stand under him with the sweetest smile you could wear during the holiday season. “How is it that your mom invited me to your family holiday party, but tells me that you’re not going to be there?” 

Your smile automatically falls from your lips and a hand retracts from his warmth. It’s the sudden truth that you must face, the confession of your sadness that you’ll eventually need to tell your partner. Wondering how he’s going to take the news, your mom probably gave him a brief breakdown about how you’ve been this way for the past few years now. 

Nonetheless, Johnny has always been bold with his statements and though you’ve adjusted to his abruptness, this one is hard to give a quick answer back to. So as you’re racking how to present your dark narrative, Johnny sets you down on the couch with the utmost gentleness. You don’t even feel the cushion underneath you when the million different answers streamline their way into your brain.

Johnny notices your frantic eyes and unfocused gaze, growing a bit concerned at how cold your skin feels at his touch. Taking off his sweatshirt, he carefully slips it over your shaking figure. When the softness of the polyester cotton blend brushes upon your bare arms, you’re snapped back facing a worried expression.

And you say the one thing on your mind, the only thing you can think of in your scattered brain. “Jaehyun died during this time of year, so it just makes me very emotionally unstable to… participate in any festive events. I’d rather be alone, the whole holiday season.” 

Johnny nods, but his face remains with his eyebrows together and lips pressed into a tight line. He’s well aware of who Jaehyun was and means to you. Though you don’t talk much about him, your eyes light up with a bright twinkle whenever you do. It’s like the world spins ‘round and everything feels restored. Johnny knows enough about your good friend to deduct how hard it must be for you during the winters. 

“Can I help you in any way?” Johnny peers over at you with a small smile, and you wish there is something in your decaying heart to keep it up forever. 

“I hate to say it, but please just leave me alone for the winter.” Flopping on his lap, you’re burying your face in your hands to cower away from seeing your sunshine hurt. There are no more sugar coated kind words for you to pick and choose from.

While Johnny can understand how difficult it must be for you, he still holds onto a sliver of hope that you’ll come around. “Come on, don’t be such a Grinch. No one should be alone for Christmas.” 

Groaning, you sit up and roll your eyes at the familiar references. “Listen, Cindy Lou Who. Don’t call me that.”

“It’s still a cute nickname, you don’t think?” Johnny snickers lightly, but your expression turns rather grim and serious. A faint overcast of melancholy washes over your expression as you’re staring off into your memories again.

In a faint voice, your voice is barely above a whisper, “that used to be one of Jaehyun’s favorite movies.” Your arms drop from your puffed up chest, but Johnny catches your hand and kisses your fingertips.

“What was yours?” Johnny keeps the atmosphere as light and playful while he still can. 

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.” Ironically fitting and that’s one of the sole reasons you don’t watch holiday movies anymore. There have been too many parallels with your life and the wrenched holiday. As twisted as the joke may seem, you’ve lived your own nightmare before Christmas, except you never got the happy ending to it all. It’s like a nightmare that continues and you can’t escape it. 

Having said, Johnny pulls you up to stand and draws you into the biggest hug. “I can’t leave you alone, even if I tried my very best. I still get butterflies every time you smile at me, so you think I wouldn’t be addicted to that feeling?” 

“Johnny…” This man is in love with you until the ends of this Earth, until the horizon stretches so far that it’s unimaginable to see where it stops. 

“I’ll respect your wishes as much as I can, but know that it’s not the best form of healing.” The final word causes a chill to run down your spine. It implies that you’re still hurting, although he’s not wrong, it’s rather disheartening to hear someone else speak it aloud. “I’ll come around less.” 

“If I’m grumpy, then you’ll know why. And don’t try to shove the whole Christmas spirit act on me, I don’t want to hear a single thing about it! I can’t spend a Christmas without Jaehyun.” Johnny squeezes your shoulders at your bold declaration.

“You can’t or you won’t?” A painful tick at your heart leaves you speechless at his question. 

For as long as you could remember, every Christmas was spent with Jaehyun. Picking out a tree for both of your families and getting lost together between the evergreens brought laughter and excitement. Baking cookies and drawing the ugliest faces in tacky colorful frosting always happened a few days before the holiday. Drinking hot chocolate by his family’s fireplace and watching Christmas movies were one of your favorite activities. Christmas Eve was always so special, where you and Jaehyun made it tradition to open your gifts from each other right when the clock struck midnight. 

Then everything simply stopped. And when you tried to participate in those same activities, selfishness and guilt preoccupied your heart. What do any of those things mean without Jaehyun? Jaehyun was the reason you loved Christmas as much as you did. Then, his death became the reason you hated it as much as you do.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Johnny knows he’s hit a nerve, he can see it in your glossy eyes and subtle drop in the corners of your mouth. There is no protest from the taller man when he accepts his sweatshirt without a complaint. The bitter cold air bites at your bare shoulders again and you’re practically existing in its lack of warmth. Gathering the rest of his belongings, you two bid a kiss goodbye and shut the door.

It’s almost a relief that he’s gone and the tear runs down your cheek when your back hits the door. Suddenly, Jaehyun appears across the living room leaning on the door frame to your bedroom. “He seems like a nice guy.” 

“He is.” There is a hang at the end of your sentence and Jaehyun walks toward you. A few sniffs fill the empty apartment, but you’re rubbing away any sign of sadness from your face.

“But?” 

“But, he’s so optimistic about… everything. He lives by the sun and every waking day, he just lives it to the fullest. There’s nothing in the world for this man to possibly understand how sad I feel.” It’s the heaviness in your voice that has your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach. 

Jaehyun’s freezing hands graze your chin and as he lets go, his stare doesn’t leave yours. “Learn from him.” Your best friend’s ghastly voice reminds you that he’s not real. He’s a ghost. He’s very much gone and not for a split second, should you be wanting to cave into his embrace or else, you’ll hit the floor hard. Nevertheless, you’re entirely vulnerable and the next few words that leave Jaehyun’s mouth causes your throat to close up.

“Keep him close. y/n, he is the sun.” It’s a moment you thought you’d never witness, your best friend complimenting your significant partner. Moreover, it hurts to think about how great of friends Jaehyun and Johnny could have been. “To be very honest, you need some heat this winter.”

“Then, what were you?” It’s the curiosity that nips at your tongue as it leaves no space for a pause. The thumping of your heart being so loud in the dead silence, but you know Jaehyun doesn’t have a heart to beat recklessly as yours. 

Jaehyun smirks and chuckles fondly, despite how desperate and serious you may have sounded. “I was a pain in the ass.”

Scoffing, you break the immensely intense eye contact. “You still are. This whole haunting thing is very creepy.” Gesturing his entire being in front of you, he just looks so alive and breathing. Before Jaehyun, you always thought ghosts were floating entities with a white transparency. But your best friend stands before you, well aged and all together. 

It still tosses you into shambles as to why Jaehyun exists, but you’ve given up on figuring out his purpose. He could be a form of your own imagination for all you care, perhaps you’ve grown so sad that you started to seek things. 

Companionship from the one person you wish was still alive?

Like before, you’ve always spent Christmas with Jaehyun… alive or in ghost form.

It’s another one of those long days that seem to never end. The bright white sky seems unchanging, stark with a dusty and imminent endless overcast of snow. It’s blinding and you’re regretting the moment you overlooked the curtain blinds at the department store.  

Your phone has already been lost somewhere underneath your bed and there isn’t a single desire to reach for it. Missed calls pile up, voicemails clutter your inbox, texts flood your messages, and your social media notifications fill your screen. Despite everyone’s effort to contact you, there is no sense of joyous cordial nature to even glance at them.

Jaehyun has been appearing more frequently and staying for longer periods of time. The conversations bring an empty comfort, most of the times you feel the need to remind yourself that you’re not actually talking to someone, are you?

“What’s that sad look in your eyes?” He startles you when you’re off looking vacantly out the window. Your mind has been completely distracted lately by meaningless thoughts and the sweetest reels of Jaehyun that have turned blue.

The more you wrap yourself in your white sheets, the less you can feel any source of warmth. And perhaps you haven’t realized that you no longer felt any heat the past few days, that you’re at a freezing point and it’s made you numb.

“Not sure what you mean.” Your voice remains dull and monotone, lifeless almost. Jaehyun takes a seat against the window and for the first time, you can see right through him.

“It’s not your fault, y/n.” Is he a mind reader too? The thought that always circles your mind when Christmas draws near is not only that Jaehyun is gone forever, but how you could have prevented it all. The guilt eats you up and no matter how hard you’re searching for acceptance, it slips away from you before you have a chance.

When you don’t answer, Jaehyun heads over to your bed and he’s alarmed at how cold your hands are. “It was never your fault.” Your best friend pulls you into a hug, but it can barely be felt. What kind of hug can’t be felt?

“I never said it was.”

“No, but you thought about it.” The chilly draft causes you to shiver and it’s hard for you to concentrate on anything else besides the night of his death.

“I should have stopped you from coming over.” Although you’ve confessed this many times to him before, it never gets easier to say. Jaehyun sighs and ultimately frowns at your tears slipping from your eyes again. Like the snow that drifts from the heavens, your tears know no end to their downfall. It’s become too natural for them to appear. The closer it gets to Christmas, the harder it is to stop from crying.

“It’s hard for me to speak about it since we don’t remember much of the same moments---”

“Jaehyun! I remember that night as clear as it was just yesterday that it happened.” There’s no reason to yell, but a strong sense of pain erupts from your chest.

He’s so calm at your sudden outburst, turning his head to face you with a deadpan expression. “You weren’t there, y/n. You were home, safe and sound as you should have been. I’m more than grateful that you’re the one alive.”

“I’m not!” But when the confession leaves your lips, you’re shaking and fearful. The entire room is stiff and silent. You couldn’t even believe what you had just said, wondering if that is anything close to truth. You look up at Jaehyun, who blinks at you with furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes. “I mean,” you clear your throat in the midst of the tense atmosphere. “I could have saved you.”

“You’re not a hero and I didn’t need saving when I was already gone.” He taps his temples lightly, “full trauma to the head. It was just my time to go.”

“The secret. I wanted to know so bad that I didn’t stop you from coming in a snowstorm!” Jaehyun pats your head in an attempt to soothe your aching heart.

“And I wanted to tell you just as bad that I didn’t care about the snowstorm. y/n, stop blaming yourself for something that happened to me. The universe is much more complex than that, give it some credit.”

“You’re even philosophical as a ghost? Give me a fucking break.” Groaning, you pull the sheets over your head to somehow run away from the conversation.

Jaehyun lies down next to you, smiling cheekily to himself and glancing over at the lump that you had become underneath the blankets. “Do you remember the time I taught you how to ride a bike?”

“I thought it was your dad who taught me.” You grumble, tossing away the sheets to glance over at him. It always puzzled you how Jaehyun never remembered the same memories as you do, and even if you did, one of you remembered it differently.

“He was probably there as supervision. I was the one who helped you take off your training wheels and strap on your impressively thick knee pads.” You’re lying on your elbows now, fists pressing into your cheeks and a fond attentive gaze upon Jaehyun’s resting figure. He’s staring up at the ceiling that protects you two above, yet can cave in at any moment.

Dimples dip into his round supple cheeks as his toothy smile comes into view, reliving the happy memory. “You rang your little bell so many times that day.”

“Because I was scared!” You protest, muttering something incoherent. “Didn’t we go downhill when I said I wasn’t ready?”

“We went downhill because you said you were ready.” His hair ruffles in your sheets when he turns to face you, and he just takes your breath away. It’s the stars in his dark eyes that sweep you off your feet, like the gleaming star on top of a tree. The color that oozes from his smile, like Christmas lights that line a rooftop, make it hard not to stare. Jaehyun looks just like Christmas, the most wonderful thing of the year. In someway, he resembled an angel or the soft sheet of snow ready to fall right through.

You’re encompassed by overwhelming effervescent emotions from listening and watching Jaehyun glow and gleam. “Then, what?”

Jaehyun’s low chuckle illuminates the room, dazzling the boring grey interior. “Little ol’ you, hurt yourself real bad that day, scrapes and wounds you thought you’d never heal from. You didn’t talk to me for a week, but you ended up learning how to ride a bike.”

“Is that right?”

Jaehyun rests on his side now, only an elbow supporting his body and he’s leaning in close to your face, you’re almost too sure you could feel a breath on your lips. “No matter how painful it gets, I’m always here to push you through it all.”

When your heart beats sporadically at his proximity, you didn’t realize that you are holding in a breath, being quite afraid that if you let it out, it would simply blow him away for the night. And you’re not ready for him to leave you again.

Christmas Eve;

It had to be a miracle that anyone got a hold of you this week when Johnny comes practically banging at your door. Though you are so close to ignoring his loud thumping, the sound of your boyfriend’s soft sniffles alarms you greatly.

“y/n, holy shit!” It’s deja vu when you’re in his arms again, a horribly warped version of it when the smell of peppermint bark tickles your nostrils disgustingly. “I thought something happened to you. You weren’t answering my calls or texts.”

“My one wish for Christmas was to be left alone and I meant it.” The attitude in your voice becomes jarringly evident and Johnny blinks back at you with a new found annoyance as well.

“Can you at least think of the other people around you?” He holds your shoulders lightly, but staring into his eyes seems to be harder to do lately. Jaehyun appears on the couch, lying flat on his stomach and a hand resting underneath his chin. This is no longer a private conversation, but you learned long ago that no one else can see him.

“Who are you talking about? My family? Because they’ve all given up on me.” This is the first time Johnny has seen you act so cold and distant, yet entirely vulnerable. You’re stripped of everything that you usually hide in --- oversized clothes, happy smiles, and a beaming warmth.

All Johnny ever wants is for you to be loved, not only by him, but by the world. And interestingly enough, he loved you for your vulnerability and your rawness. This is until he realizes, in this moment, that it stems from your trauma of losing Jaehyun.

“What about me, y/n? I’m still here.” Johnny is frantic, and by all means, hurt by your aloofness. Brushing off his hands from your body, you’re taking several steps away from him.

“And why are you still here when I kept telling you to leave me alone? Whenever I was upset, Jaehyun always gave me space! Haven’t ever thought about how that is something I need?” You’re saying nonsensical statements that are fueled by anger and annoyance.

He’s pushing your limits and for once, you’re pushing him away. But this isn’t new to you, in fact, you’ve pushed so many people away just like this and that’s why they’ve decided to just let you be.

Johnny is taken aback, “you know, I feel like I’m competing with Jaehyun and I’ve never even met him.”

You scoff and throw your arms in the air, visibly in disbelief at what your boyfriend is saying to you. May you lose your temper, you’re unsure about the future of this relationship. Yet, something in your cruel and painful heart no longer cared, snapping your wits and patience at your beloved.

“What are you saying?” You’re pacing back and forth, fuming with an inexplicable infuriation. Jaehyun catches your eye, and for a brief moment, you’re holding eye contact with him instead. “Jaehyun is dead,” facing Johnny now, you say words that jumble in your chest, regardless of their true meanings, “and even if he was alive, there would be no competition.”

“Because you were always going to choose him over everyone else in your life, is that right? Exactly like how you do now.” Johnny’s words sting like daggers at your skin, worse than the layer of frost that bites at you for the past two weeks.

“Please, don’t attack me for hurting.” With that, your voice breaks and cracks all over. Your tears hit the ground without you feeling them run down your cheeks.

Johnny is quick to wipe them away, not minding that his hands will now be wet from your salty droplets. He instantly regrets it all, the unwarranted questions, the fighting, the barging in unexpectedly. It pains him more to see you like this.

“I apologize. I’m sorry that I’m not saying the kindest words to you when you need to hear them the most.” Your partner is frowning, a true rare sight to see. “But, you’re still grieving and there is going to have to be a time that you move on.”

It’s one of those tip of the iceberg moments or when the ball finally hits the ground and a rush of cathartic enthusiasm washes over you. However, you’re not happy. You’re not even remotely close to happiness. You’re fucking sad, you’re aching with a pain so deeply rooted that it isolates you, that it rips apart anything that used to bring you joy.

And this causes you to scream your lungs out, sobs that choke you up. “I can’t! You don’t understand, no one understands! I just fucking can’t. He was my best friend and that night… he was going to tell me something.” Jaehyun can’t bear to hear your piercing wails, as he’s disappeared completely from the setting. When you’re panicked and searching for him, you only see Johnny staring back at you with a very concerned expression.

“And I will never know what he wanted to tell me.” Your tone grows soft and rather delicate, like a sad realization at the possibility that the secret died with Jaehyun that night.

“Some things are better left unknown. Do you really think you’ll feel better knowing?”

“Listen to him, y/n.” Jaehyun randomly appears next to Johnny’s stature. He stands a few inches shorter than him, but the sight of them together has you blinking in awe.

You’re darting between the two of them, “I don’t know what will make me feel better.”

“Come, tonight. Your whole family wants to see you for the one holiday that brings people together.” But when Johnny steps forward, you’re taking a step back.

“Please, just go.” With an assertive point to the door, your head does not lift up to watch your boyfriend leave. Despite every person you’ve done this to, Johnny’s hurts the most. His flame dies out tonight, providing no sense of security or heat. And with a toss of his arms of exasperation, he shuts your front door and leaves without a goodbye, without wishing you a merry Christmas.

Jaehyun calls your name, but you’re rushing to your bedroom and slamming the door shut. “Don’t you dare travel through the wall.”

Your apartment has grown so dark due to the shorten winter days. It’s pitch black all around you and the sky is no longer a deafening white. It’s the first time you notice the dark blue scattered clouds and the intricate snowflakes that drift carefully down to the streets. And, you’re all alone in the quietness. You truly are isolated every Christmas.

“y/n, let’s talk.” Jaehyun is beyond fed up with your behavior, that has to be the last straw. This is the first year since his death that he’s seen the evident spark in your eye, the hope that is hiding behind your depression. He sees it in the way Johnny looks at you, like you’re the greatest present he could receive in life. In your proclamation, as hard as it was to witness, is a spirit that wishes to be freed. There was a chance this year. There still is one.

“Jaehyun, you left me! You left all alone, and no matter how hard I try to stop thinking about you, it never works. In the end, no one is here for me like how you were.” Hands in your hair, you’re losing yourself at a rapid rate. It hurts to keep your eyes open, tears sting as they well up around the rims.

“Find a part of me in the people around you.” The door to your bedroom swings open and Jaehyun takes note of you by the window again. You want to leave, you want to be out there and he knows, before you can actually realize it yourself. You’re turning to face him and in the dark, he looks solid. He looks so real and whole.

“How do I do that?” It’s a genuine question that you’ve pondered before, but never feeling like you had the strength to do so. You’re always dwelling on your past with Jaehyun, indulging in the sacred memories only you two shared.

“What are things that you associate me with?” He is found leaning against your door frame again, hands are shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans.

You say the first thing on your mind, “snow.” When the words hit the air, your ceiling light flickers briefly. Jaehyun doesn’t flinch, however, still focused on your crying figure. Snow, the first sign of snowfall is when he appears for the winter.

“What else?” He encourages.

“Familiarity.” The light flashes again, for a mere second longer this time before it resumes darkness. Familiarity, for he grew up by your side for as long as you could remember.

There is an odd feeling that enters the room and you’re fearful of the unknown. But, Jaehyun’s cadence doesn’t falter, he’s not distracted by the random spurts of light. And if anything, it all could be his doing. “Keep going.”

“Comfort.” Flicker. “Warmth. Love. Excitement.” With each word, the light builds stronger and stronger. You’re speaking memories into existence now, “making snow angels until it got dark, laughing until our stomachs hurt, watching movies until the clock struck midnight, dancing until our legs gave out!”

Streams run down your face and you’re yelling until your throat feels raw, but you don’t wish to stop as the light glows brighter and brighter with each spoken word.

As you listen to every listed attribute and memory, you recognize a central theme in all of them and one thing that Jaehyun embodies, the one thing he’s always been associated with.

“Christmas.” A shaky breath exhales and a loud spark pierces your ears. The light illuminates intensely all around you, lighting up the darkest corners of your room and blinding you more than the sky has been lately.

“Jaehyun?” Closing your eyes, you can see the brightness through your eyelids and you’re beyond confused as to what is happening. When you mindlessly reach for his hand, you actually feel it and your heart is soaring due to strange unquestionable physics.

Jaehyun intertwines your hand in his own and caresses your face gently. For once, he doesn’t feel cold. He’s blazing hot, melting away the long days of isolation. “Open your eyes, y/n.”

What lies before you is an incredible, marvelous sight. Snow dusts the roof of your family’s house as green, red, yellow bulbs light the frame of it. Your parents really went all out; round snowmen sit perfectly together on your lawn. A decorative wreath hangs at the front door and a distinct chuckle catches your attention.

From the window that looks into your kitchen, your mother rolls a sheet of dough on the counter as clouds of flour erupt around her. Your father is preoccupied at the stove, with the silliest gimmicks for decorating the feast they’re about to hold. Silver tinsel line the dinner table with a festive table cloth draped upon it. The remarkable tree shines in the center of the living room, a glimmering star on top. 

“I know we probably won’t see y/n again this Christmas…” The sound of your mother’s voice rings a bell in your yearning heart and Jaehyun is gazing at you with a wondrous look in his eyes. The grip on his hand is tight, your breath enters the night in puffs of smoke, and regardless of this all being real or imaginary, you’re so immersed in this reality that he knows you’re anticipating what your family has to say.

“... but something about this year really makes me miss them.” Your mother puts the rolling pin off to the side and rests her hand on the kitchen counter, trying to hold back any form of her own tears from falling.

“May Jaehyun watch over them tonight, our little angel doesn’t deserve to be alone.”

Your dad walks over to embrace your mother in a long hug, kissing the top of her head gently. “Merry Christmas, y/n.” Your father speaks into the air, without the knowledge of you outside, he’s thinking of you.

Something in your heart shatters, but it’s entirely different from the pain you’ve felt over the years following Jaehyun’s death. It’s a warm, bubbly feeling that spreads across your chest and you’re covering your mouth out of pure shock at the sight of your parents.

Your parents, who you’ve neglected every holiday season, still think of you. You recognize the ingredients that scatter the table, they make your favorite dish every year in hopes you’ll come join them. 

Jaehyun whispers, “y/n, know that I’m always going to be here. I may physically be gone, but I live in your heart and the joyous memories we’ve shared together. I live through the many people who love you now, through Christmas. This spirit is also very much alive in the other people around you.”

When you peel your eyes from the scene of your parents, the vision suddenly disappears and you’re facing Jaehyun right back in your cold, empty, dark apartment. But you wish the moment lasted a little longer. For the first time in a long time, you wish to be with your loved ones. You wish to celebrate Christmas with the people who still care about you, the ones that are still alive and well.

“What if I’m not ready?”

“This signifies my final push down the hill. You’re all strapped up in your knee pads, y/n. You’re never truly going to be ready, but that shouldn’t stop you from trying.” Jaehyun pats your head lovingly and mimics the motions of securing a helmet on your head.

You’re letting go of his hand, running around quickly in search for the appropriate outerwear for the snow. It’s like a switch went off in your heart and a cathartic feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Every Christmas since his passing, you thought it was best to be alone. You thought it was selfish to live your favorite holiday season without your best friend, that you lost the spirit of Christmas.

However, this entire time… Jaehyun’s ghost has been a reminder that the Christmas spirit has always been alive. It’s not about the enthusiastic festive events or the cheerful themed activities or the distinct colorful decorations, it’s about the appreciation and love you have for the people who have made your year so special. You’ve associated the holiday so much with your best friend, that you’ve lost sight of it in your family, your current friends, your own boyfriend.

When you’re rushing out the door, you stop in your tracks and peer back at Jaehyun leaning against your door frame, just as he appeared a few weeks ago. He has the warmest, brightest smile on his face, “y/n, I think I finally remember the secret I wanted to tell you.” You’re afraid of the answer and the outside world, but your hand doesn’t slip from the door handle. Could it really be? The long anticipated secret that has been gnawing at your conscience since his death?

Nevertheless, he’s giggling and holding his stomach slightly from the immense amount of joyous laughter. “I wanted to tell you that I... finally learned how to shave.”  

At first, you’re stunned at the simplicity of the beheld secret. All this time, you thought it had been something so meaningful, something so mind blowing, that needing to know practically destroyed your mental state. Then, a wholehearted and genuine laugh erupts from inside of you and you’re lighting up the darkest parts of yourself. Jaehyun looks at you fondly, like a beauty that he hasn’t seen in awhile. 

“That’s fucking it? You came out in the middle of a blizzard to tell me you learned how to shave? How lame.”

Jaehyun chuckles, “when did I ever need an extremely valid reason to see you?” The laughter falls short at his confession and in the midst of all this enthusiasm, you bid him the softest smile. His purpose has been fulfilled, as the best version of you he’s always known and loved stands before him at last. 

“I guess... you’re right. What’s going to happen to you now?”

“I’ll always be here for Christmas, even when you’re old and grey surrounded by the warmth of your loved ones in front of a large, extravagant Christmas tree. When the snow falls, I’ll be here.” Jaehyun’s dimple smile is the lasting image you see, the one you’ve always hoped to remember him by.  

“Merry Christmas, Jung Jaehyun… I--”

“Love you too, y/n. Merry Christmas.” He ushers you out the door with a small kiss on your knuckles.

That is the last time you ever see him again. Now, when the snow falls, it marks the anniversary of your long awaited healing, the journey to acceptance, and the beloved memory of your best friend. May you never lose the spirit of Christmas and the warmth from your loved ones.

#nct scenarios #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #neothestars #kpopscape #nct scenario #nct #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #jung jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun scenario

[softomi]

happier

lyric prompt: then only for a minute, I want to change my mind, cause this just don’t feel right to me. 

song: Happier (Stripped) by Marshmello and Bastille 

pairings: oikawa x reader, osamu x reader

general taglist: @graykageyama

special mentions: @peachysatoru

Thank you for calling Engineering The Mind, please listen to the following options and select the option that applies to you. press one if you are inquiring our Love services, press two if you are inquiring our Mental Health services, press three if you are inquiring our Synaptic Pruning services, please stay on the line for a representative to assist you.

You’ve pressed three, please stay on the line and one of our representatives will be with you shortly.

“Good morning and thank you for choosing our Synaptic Pruning service, could I get your name and date of birth?”

“Actually, I have a question?”

“Yes?”

“If I wanted to erase someone from my memory, am I able to do that?”

“Yes! As long as there is consent from both parties.”

“But can I do it myself?”

“Unfortunately, the procedure requires both parties to consent and participate, the new law states it is considered illegal to synaptically prune another person from your memory without the other party’s consent.”

“Is there a way I can notify the person without personally contacting them?”

“Of course, as long as you know their name, date of birth, and social, then we can reach out to the other party to inform them that you have started the forms for a synaptic pruning procedure and they will have 30 days from the day of their notification to begin their forms.”

“What happens if they reject?”

“If the other party rejects, then unfortunately we cannot move forward with the procedure.”

“Okay. I’d like to start a form and have them be notified.”

“Perfect, let me just quickly get the information of the other party. What is their relationship to you?”

“Ex-husband.”

“Name of the other party?”

“Oikawa Tooru.”

His luggage drags against the airport’s floor, the sunglasses on his face protects against the amount of camera flashes. Oikawa waves to the cameras, waving to fans, momentarily stopping to take in the bustling Japan airport. Home felt so distant for him.

“Is it true you’re here for a procedure?” A reporter is walking alongside him.

Oikawa merely smiles, “No. I’m just here on vacation, I missed Japan so much, the last time I was here I wasn’t able to do many of the things I wanted to. I’d appreciate it if I am treated as any other citizen.”

“There’s rumors that you’re in Japan to possibly be scouted for one of the Japanese teams, care to explain?”

Oikawa stops, staring directly at the camera, “Like I said, I’m here on vacation and on my own dime. I’m here to attend a wedding of a very close friend and have no plans on looking into other teams, but I can assure you, I plan on playing for the Argentinian team for as long as I can.”

“Do you think your previous injury will affect your current position on the Argentinian national team?”

Another reporter manages to squeeze in, “It’s been almost a year since your injury, are you considering retiring your number if your injury doesn’t improve?”

Oikawa laughs. The television screen cuts off. He’s been in Japan for almost a week now, at least that’s all you know of since he had texted you once he had arrived. From what you can gather through social media, he wasn’t in town. He was frolicking through his childhood neighborhood, meeting friends and family who haven’t seen him since the Olympics.

It’s early morning in your home, the sheets hug you with warmth, you’ve been awake for some time and if you were honest, you didn’t think you slept at all. Ever since he’s stepped foot back into the country, you haven’t been able to sleep properly.

The head on your chest stirs and the male’s breathing falls steady back into slumber. His body is entangled with yours, body weight practically all on top of you, and his breathing brings a sense of dread in you for a moment. It feels similar to him.

You lift your arms, holding out your hands in front of you to gaze at the small diamond. It’s tucked between your pinkie and middle finger, it’s bright and beautiful just like he was promising your future with him would be.

He, your current lover; the man you absolutely loved and adored. The man who spent the last five years keeping you sane.

“Osamu.” Your fingers tugged his hair lightly, “It’s time to wake up.”

“Five more minutes.” He tightens his grip around your waist, “I just want five more minutes with you.”

Your finger drags along his spine, “You say that every morning.” You slap your palm on his back and he groans, “You have to open the restaurant soon.”

He hums, eyes blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness. It’s too early in the morning, “You’re going in for a check up today?”

Your fingers that play with his hair stops, “Yes.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

It was your decision, something Osamu had reminded you a hundred times. The decision to try and erase someone from your memory; he always found it to be a hard pill to swallow. But it was something you thought about a million times, it kept you awake at night, and even when you called a few weeks ago to start the process, it felt surreal.

Osamu lifts himself, leaning on his forearm to peer down at you, his beautiful bride to be, “I can still close the shop and come with you.”

He was an absolute sweetheart, “I told you I’ll be fine. And you can’t close the restaurant every time I go to the hospital?”

He brings his lips to meet yours, “Is that a challenge?”

You laugh against his kiss, “Go get ready or else.”

“Or else what?” He straddles your legs, pressing kisses on your neck to your chest. His fingers ride up his shirt you’ve declared yours, pressing his lips along your abdomen, “Good morning.”

“Call me if anything happens.” Osamu presses a chaste kiss to your lips at the doorway, “I like you.”

Your lips are in a grin, “and I like you too.”

The door shuts behind him and you’re left alone with your thoughts. If you were correct, you’d be seeing him again. Oikawa should be meeting you at the hospital. You’ve texted him a reminder. It’s marked as read; he doesn’t bother to respond.

The sound of a buzzer makes you jump, it draws you to the look at the video cam that views the front gates. You’re grinning thinking Osamu has forgotten something, but the smile gets wiped off when it’s him. Oikawa Tooru is standing at the gates of your home.

“What are you doing here?” You speak into the microphone.

Oikawa seems to have discovered the camera, “Can’t visit anymore? I thought we could catch up.”

What reason would there be to catch up? If everything goes smoothly, you’ll be without a thought of him in the next few days. You’re reluctant to let him in, you want to tell him to go away, but you’d have to meet him later any way. The gates buzz open and Oikawa enters the front yard of the home.

It’s exactly the same to him, after all, this was his and your home first. The Oikawa residence. He bought the house without your knowledge, saved up as much of his paychecks could get him.

“May I come in?” Oikawa smiles upon seeing you.

You’re holding the front door, still small as ever, like you were guarding the home with your life, “Yes.” Your voice is tiny, giving him room to enter the house.

Oikawa takes in the smell of the place, still the same, still has your scent and he concludes you’re probably still lighting the same scented candles he liked. He wonders if he should be flattered by the information.

“Do you want something to drink?” You inquire, pulling out a mug to pour yourself water and another mug for whatever Oikawa wanted, “Peach tea?”

It was his favorite; you can remember it as clear as day. He’d drink it breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He said it paired nicely with the milk bread and he called it sweet; just like you. You shake the memory as you pour the hot water.

There was nothing but awkwardness between the both of you. You’ve distracted yourself with your morning routine and Oikawa silently sits. If he’s going to fantasize for a second, he’s pretending you’re still his wife. Shamelessly daydreaming like you were his.

“We have to be at the hospital by noon.” You say without looking at him, your head dipping back as you slip the pills into your mouth.

“Sounds good to me.” Oikawa taps his fingers against the dining table.

It brings back memories of dinner with you, on days when he would be able to find a week off practice to see you. You’d eat with him until two in the morning, trying to squeeze in as much time with him as possible before he hopped on a plane back to Argentina, and he would pretend as if he didn’t hear you crying while washing the dishes.

“So how have you been?” Oikawa asks innocently.

You drink the rest of your water, a simple nod of your head, “Fine.” Your gaze falls briefly on his knee, “And you?”

Oikawa instinctively puts a hand over his knee as if that could hide the ache, “Fine too.”

Yet Oikawa and you know, everything was far from fine. It was the same way towards the end of the marriage, communication was blurred, there was too many missed connections, and the only news you’d get of Oikawa was from the sports channels.

“Do you still work at the public library?”

You tilt your head at him, “You mean the university library? When I was doing work study?”

“Oh.” Oikawa rubs the back of his neck, “Guess you’re not”. He’s trying to think why it feels so hard to talk to you again, “How are your parents?”

You freeze and he realizes his mistake. He remembers the arguments, the sadness of the conversations, the way your parents loathed him for proposing so early. Oikawa married you fresh out of high school, he promised you happiness and yet towards the end of the marriage, he shattered your heart.

“They’re great!” You smile, “They really love my fiancé.”

You were purposely trying to hurt him.

“What’s he like?” Oikawa was curious or was he jealous?

“What do you want Tooru?” Your voice is sharp as you set down your mug, “Why are you here?” You know him too well, he doesn’t do things just because; he always has a motive, “Are you here to try and stop me? I want to move on.”

“Then why can’t you do it yourself? Why do you feel like you need to erase me?” Oikawa, he was sad. He had never felt more crushed than when he had received the phone call; you were requesting to remove him from your mind and he’d only accepted to see you again. He wanted you to look him in the face, feel the hurt that he had, “Did you not think of my feelings?”

“No, you didn’t think of mine when you naturalized as an Argentinian citizen.”

It was always the same argument, Oikawa stares at you, it wasn’t that different from years ago. When he blinks, he’s transported to seven years ago. Your eyes red as you looked at him, the fighting was reaching two hours and the bags in Oikawa’s hands signals he’d be leaving for another few month. But this day was different, the fight was wearing you down, especially when you read news of Oikawa becoming a naturalized citizen. Oikawa blinks and he’s back to the sun lit room.

“This isn’t how you move on from a relationship?” Oikawa says, “It takes time.” Time was seven years, since the divorce seven years of broken hearts have passed. Oikawa knows deep down that you still loved him and he knows in his heart that he wants to ask you to run away with him, “You know that this is wrong.”

“But it’s my choice.”

Oikawa’s eyes begin to water, “And you’re making me choose too?” Tears fall from his cheek, “It’s your choice but you’re forcing me to choose also.” His chest becomes heavy, “Please don’t do this.” He openly sobbing in front of you, “I don’t want to stop.” His wail makes your heart clench, “I don’t want to forget what it was like to love you.”

“Tooru.”

“I don’t care.” Oikawa blubbers, “I’m not going to do it.” A pit grows in your stomach, “All I ever did was love you.”

Your eyes glossy, it was like you were going back to the worst nights of your life, “You stopped caring about me.”

“No, I didn’t!” Oikawa stands, “I never stopped. I was doing everything for you!” He was a tearful mess in front of you, “You left me! You abandoned me!”

“You can’t say that when you were halfway across the world!”

“For you!” Oikawa screams, “If you had waited one more year, I could have brought you over.”

You wipe the tears from your face, a sigh on your lips, “Why didn’t you just ask me to go with you in the first place?”

It was always the question that nipped at you. When he was confronted with the opportunity of staying in Japan or joining an Argentinian team, he never hesitated and you waited for him to ask you to go with him; but he left you behind with the house, sending money every two weeks like you were an afterthought.

“It was complicated.” Oikawa’s eyes soften, “I just, I didn’t want you to leave behind your life here. Your friends, your family. You would have had to quit school to come with me, to a place where you didn’t know the language or the place, and with me practicing, you would have no one.”

You shake your head, “No. You were worried about yourself. You made the decision to leave me behind without a second thought because you wanted to focus on volleyball and where has that gotten you; injured.”

Maybe that was why you wanted so badly to erase him from your memories, you still clung to the thoughts of him. Still stayed updated on his life, still worried about his health, still wondering on the what ifs with him. What if you had just left with him? What if you hadn’t gotten married to him? What if you weren’t so hopelessly still in love with him?

“Just let me be happy.” You whisper, “Just let me forget I was ever in love with you.”

The ride to the hospital ached. The cab silent and melancholy. It was only a consultation and yet it already felt like the end of everything. The waiting area didn’t make it any better, the air was thick with tension from other couples. Oikawa’s status had the two of you placed priority and it didn’t take long for a doctor to come into the room.

“I would like to inform you that we use the term ‘erasing memory’ loosely. Our procedure merely detaches you from the other party. You’ll still have the memories, but you won’t feel anything, and you won’t remember them as much as you might today.” The doctor hands you and Oikawa separate forms, “If you both sign the consent forms, we can schedule the procedure as soon as possible.”

The pen in Oikawa’s hands hover over the signature line, he can hear you scribbling against the paper and his heart is shattering. Sloppily, he signs his name on the line.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask.” You look at the doctor, “Is the procedure safe for pregnant women?”

Oikawa’s world crumbles.

“The procedure is set for tomorrow morning.” The receptionist is talking.

You smile, “Perfect, thank you.”

She prints out two different instructions for you and Oikawa to prepare for the procedure. You overlook the instructions, no longer sparing a glance to Oikawa as you walk away.

“Hey.” The voice makes your head snap up. Your fiancé walking towards you.

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his neck, “What are you doing here?”

Osamu presses a kiss to your temple, “I came to pick you up.” He looks over your shoulder, spotting the man he knows too well from various photos, “Hi.” He reaches out to Oikawa, “I’m Miya Osamu.”

Oikawa grips Osamu’s hand, “ Oikawa Tooru. It’s nice to meet you.” Oikawa says bitterly.

Osamu’s hand rests on your hip, in a matter of seconds, he’s leading you away and Oikawa is left to stand all alone.

The night is restless. It’s instructed that you and Oikawa get a good night’s rest, but who can rest soundly the night before a procedure. You sitt on the edge of your bed, your fiancé sleeping soundly, and you stare at the moon. You play with the ring on your finger and a tear lands on the back of your hand. You suck in a heavy breath, trying to quell the sound of sobs.

Oikawa sits knees to his chest on the couch of Iwaizumi’s who was gracious enough to let him stay at his place. The moon is bright, and it shines a spotlight on Oikawa. His eyes are tired, but he stares at the screen of his cell phone, finger swiping continuously through the photo album. Your smiles reflect in his eyes and even when Iwaizumi snags the cell phone from him; Oikawa looks up at him bawling.

Six in the morning, you’re sitting on a hospital bed, Oikawa laid next to you. The silence is deafening.  

“I hope you know.” Oikawa whispers, “I’m very happy for you.”

You look at him, taking in what might be the last time you feel love for him, “I love you.”

Oikawa smiles, “No you don’t,” He’s tricking himself, believing that you loathed him, that this was the better option for you, “but I love you too.”

They say, the longer the relationship, the longer the procedure takes. Similarly, the more you loved, the harder it was to subdue the memories. It required patients to stay awake, to go through every little detail, to talk about everything from the beginning to the end.

Your fingers were initially interlocked with his, something to help the anxiousness, or was it to cling to him for a moment.

“I met you when you came to cheer on the volleyball team in high school.” Oikawa stares at the white ceiling, he hears the machinery, the typing of a computer, “You looked so pretty.” The memory becomes hazy.

“He kissed me on the school’s rooftop.” Your lips curved in a smile, “He kept asking me if it was alright.” Your smile slowly falls to a thin line, “I suddenly can’t remember what I said back.”

“It took me a week to find the perfect ring.”

You laugh, “You got impatient, proposed with a paper ring on the school’s rooftop after we snuck into the school after dark.”

It feels empty, your heart feels a weight lifted. Your fingers slowly let go of Oikawa’s. He begins to weep.

“Why are you crying?” You ask.

He sniffles, “Was that the last time you felt happy with me?”

“No.” Your voice soft, “I was always happy when you came home.” There’s another weight off your heart, “You always came in running, always excited to see me. Sometimes, when the front door opens, I think it’s going to be you.” You’re hit with relief.

Four weeks pass in a blur. You honestly don’t remember much of the week after the procedure, but you stare at your loving fiancé. A hearty giggle on your lips as you move to straddle him on the bed. Your palms are squishing his cheeks and Osamu is chuckling. His hand resting on your small baby bump.

“We’re getting married!” You’re kissing him, excitedly jumping on him as though you weren’t knocking the wind out of him.

“Alright.” Osamu sits up, lips stealing your breath away, “by the end of the day, you’ll be Mrs. Miya.”

You laugh into the kiss, “I can’t wait.”

The wedding venue is bustling, everyone is itching to take a picture with the bride and groom. You’re grinning widely at the way Osamu bickers with his brother, the photographer taking photos despite the twins poking at each other.

“May we take a picture with the bride?”

Your smile grows; four men dressed in their best suits approach, “Is this a high school reunion?”

One man lingers briefly behind, your husband presses a hand to the small of your back before leaving. Oikawa takes over the place of your spouse.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Oikawa tilts his head with a beam.

You roll your eyes, “At my own wedding.”

His voice falls to a whisper, “Are you happy?”

Your eyes stare in the direction of your husband and you nod, “Yes.” When you look at Oikawa, there’s a small tug in your heart, it’s tiny enough that it disappears within moments, “Thank you.” 

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa #oikawa scenarios #oikawa tooru #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu angst #hq #hq scenarios #hq oikawa

[justauthoring]

When All Else Is Gone

Prompt: When no one else is, you can always count on him to be there.

A/N: Just some Bokuto fluff/angst because I couldn’t resist writing for this absolute cutie. I love him so much, omg. Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x F!Reader

“Bo... What are you doing here?”

There’s a certain hesitance to your voice that Bokuto can’t help but notice. That, and the look of deep etched hurt in your eyes that has his heart breaking at just the sight. And while usually compared to him, a giant in all respects, most would call you tiny -- you’ve never looked so small and vulnerable to Bokuto more then in that moment.

“You didn’t say goodnight.”

And at his pretty vague answer, you simply furrow your brows, possibly more confused now then you had been at his sudden appearance at your door at one in the morning. Because, in all respects, he should really be in bed, especially since he has a game tomorrow and needs all the rest he can possibly get, ignoring the fact that showing up here at one in the morning would be weird regardless.

A light flush coats the tips of Bokuto’s cheeks, one that you notice even in the dark, and he shuffles on his feet abashedly -- a sight so opposite to when he’s in game. Honestly, Bokuto only ever seems to act so abashed and shy when it comes to you, in those vulnerable moments when it’s just the two of you and no one else. 

“You usually call before going to bed,” he explains, “or at the least, text. Tonight... you, well, you didn’t.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t known it meant that much to him. “I’m sorry,” you smile gently, somewhat forced that you hope Bokuto doesn’t notice but he most definitely does. “I just forgot, I guess.”

Bashfulness forgotten, Bokuto frowns. “How long have we been together, Y/N/N?”

Your brow quirks at the tone of his voice, oddly serious for the usually loud and cheerful ace. The expression on his face is one you’re not accustomed to either, the lack of a grin, or even the twinkle in his eyes that always seems to be there. He’s completely serious, a sight even foreign to you. 

“A year,” you whisper.

“A year,” Bokuto nods, taking a step towards you. “And not once have you ever forgotten to call goodnight.” He hesitates, a moment passing, and his gaze softens, worry flooding his gaze as he crouches slightly to meet your eyes better. “What’s up?”

Maybe it’s the way he says it. Maybe it’s the absolute certainty in his voice. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, and you’ve never been good at lying to Bokuto, but your façade falls the second he finishes speaking. The exhaustion, the loneliness, and the despair of the entire day creep up on you then, hitting you like a wave as your vision blurs and all too soon a sob is wrenching past your lips and you’re all but collapsing into Bokuto’s awaiting arms.

He doesn’t say anything more. Easily picking you up into his arms, Bokuto slips into your house, noticing the quiet aura, picking up on the lack of life that exists in your usually welcoming home, taking in the fact that your parents aren’t open as he gently shuts the front door behind him.

He steps through the dark, knowing his way to your room after many times of visiting, and all too soon the both of you are in your bed, Bokuto curled around you as he holds you close.

Silence echoes for a moment, before you whisper out into the dark; “I’m sorry I forgot to call you goodnight, Bo.”

He smiles gently. “I’m not upset,” he assures, tightening his grip around your waist. “I was jus’ worried.”

“The day was long,” you whisper, voice thick from your tears before. “Mom and dad left for another business trip, and it... it just got to me.” There’s another split second of hesitance, before you add; “they were supposed to go to my art show this week.”

Oh.

Bokuto frowns. Your parents were wonderfully kind people, and not once had they ever pushed Bokuto away -- but, they were hardly in your life as well. Bokuto knew you craved their approval and attention more then anything, and he also remembers you distinctly talking about how excited you’d been that your parents were finally going to one of your art shows.

“It was last minute...”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not fair though.”

You shrug in his grasp, pressing your face further into the crook of his neck, basking in his warmth.

“I’ll go.”

“You have practice,” you sigh, shaking your head, “it’s okay.”

“Practice can wait, the guys can lose me for a day,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair. “You’re more important.”

Pulling back, you frown; “I don’t want you thinking you have to choose between--”

“I don’t,” Bokuto cuts in before you can even finish, grinning brightly down at you, the sight so familiar and warming that you can’t help but mimic his grin gently. “You come to my games all the time. It’s only fair.”

Your grip tightens on him. “You... You promise?”

“I’d never lie to you, babe.”

And that he means. Because if your parents can’t be there for you, Bokuto will make sure he always is.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #bokuto koutarou #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou imagine #bokuto imagine #bokuto x reader #bokuto scenario #bokuto angst #bokuto koutarou angst #haikyuu bokuto #imagine #imagines #my fics