#of course there's flat ones (one of my favorite patterns is made like entirely out of double crochet + a few chains. it lays completely fla | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

No Fun

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Everyone knows there’s no fun in friends without benefits. (Inspired by the song Friends Without Benefits by Chloe Collins) Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, drinking, oral sex (fem receiving), mention of male receiving oral sex, penetrative/unprotected sex, creampie Word Count: 3.4k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello! Sorry my scheduling has been all over the place lately, as I’m sure you’re probably tired of hearing about at this point 😅 But, No Fun is finally out!! (It was also a very good way for me to ease myself back into writing after recovering from my cold alsdjflsdkjf) Also, if you don’t follow Chloe on TikTok (or any social, really) you should! She’s super sweet and writes all her songs about Criminal Minds. This one’s my favorite, though! It’s such a vibe, I hope you’ll all give it a listen! 😊❤

***

Her eyes opened of their own accord. No alarm, no ring of the cellphone, no hand on her shoulder accompanied by the voice of one of her co-workers saying they'd finally landed... She liked it that way. Not only because it meant she had that rare peace and quiet first thing in the morning—though that was definitely a perk. It also meant that she was most likely at Spencer's apartment.

In his bed.

In his shirt.

As her eyes adjusted to the golden warmth that beamed through the curtains, she stretched out her arms and legs, knowing full well that he was in the kitchen; He was always in the kitchen, ever the early bird.

Speaking of, the smell of coffee started to permeate into the bedroom, and it comforted her further as she rose into a seated position. In a matter of minutes, the coffee would be ready, and Spencer would be waiting patiently, sipping from his own cup while hers sat untouched at the spot across from him.

Normally, she would get dressed and meet him out there, but upon remembering all the delicious things that happened in that kitchen the night before, she was feeling a little devious.

So she got out of bed and removed her underwear, leaving her in just his shirt, which barely covered her ass. She was going to leave them in the bedroom, but after a split second decision, she ended up striding out into the kitchen with the garment dangling from her fingers.

"Good morning," she sang, standing in front of the kitchen counter. It covered her lower half, so the only indication of her indecent exposure took form of the fabric in her hand.

Spencer was reading something, not bothering to look up as he spoke. "Good morning. Your coffee's how you like it. I thought we could stop at the gas station on the way in to get something to eat."

"Yeah, that's fine," she responded, setting the underwear on the counter and picking up her coffee. "But I was hoping you would eat me instead."

She nonchalantly lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip as he finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes glanced down at the counter as if to say, Look...

And he did.

The seductive sparkle in his eye at the sight in front of him sent a drip of excitement into her bloodstream that rippled throughout her whole body. It always had.

That's initially what drew her to him in the first place. Yeah, it was common knowledge to anyone that Spencer was intelligent, endearing, and handsome, but it was his flirty side that really got Y/N going. It didn't come out often, if at all— unless he was drunk or with the person of his affections.

Y/N found this out when the team threw him an impromptu birthday party last year. After discovering that he hadn't reminded anyone of his thirtieth birthday, Emily immediately called Penelope back home to start planning, and she looped everyone in before they landed later that night. Y/N herself was kind of disappointed with herself for even fathoming the idea of forgetting her friend's birthday, especially since she'd known him for years and celebrated his birthday with him and their friends before.

So before the party that night, she decided to go out and get him something. Only, she couldn't find anything, and it was on her way back when everyone was wondering where she was that Y/N started to question whether or not she really deserved to be considered his friend.

It didn't stop her from putting on a happy face and celebrating his birthday to the fullest, though— She showed up and hugged him immediately, holding onto him perhaps a little too long before offering to give him anything he wanted as compensation for forgetting his birthday, and his thirtieth at that. Of course, he insisted that she didn't really have to do anything for him, but she knew that was just him being himself.

Nonetheless, the party moved along, and with pretty much everyone out of his apartment after a long night of drinking and cake and celebration, Spencer and Y/N were the only two left, buzzed and sitting a little too close.

After convincing him to let loose and have a little fun on his 'special day', Y/N had managed to get him to help her finish an entire bottle of wine. And he'd been making his way through a few beers as the sun set and the stars came out.

And then he started looking at her weird.

That was the only way she could have described it in her drunken state, but it was certainly true, if only for the fact that it wasn't a look she'd ever seen from him before. His eyes were wide, pupils blown to almost full dilation, and his tongue kept dancing behind his lips like he was tracing out some sort of invisible pattern.

When she confronted him about it, drunkenly giggling and asking why he was looking at her like that, he laughed back and flat-out told her, "Have I ever told you how pretty y'are?" And she didn't even get a chance to respond before he continued. "Y/N, you're really pretty... Like, you're the prettiest woman I-ever seen."

"You're pretty, too, y'know, birthday boy," she laughed, smiling incredibly wide. Her whole body was practically on fire, and it only got hotter when he leaned in and kissed her, hard and sloppy, and with purpose.

They went on that night, stumbling around every square inch of his apartment while mumbling drunken compliments and haphazardly throwing aside their clothes until they woke up the next morning in his bed, naked, hungover, and absolutely shocked by what had happened.

Things at work were significantly more awkward, as to be expected, but as the days went on, the more they started to catch little stolen glances and shared recovered memories of what really happened.

More specifically, Y/N couldn't stop replaying these few sentences in her head, on a loop in between flashes of hands in hair and tongues on skin...

"You said you'd give me anything I wanted, right? What if I want you?"

"Then go ahead... Have me."

...Have me...

They met up in the parking lot one day after work and simultaneously blurted out in their own words how they couldn't stop thinking about what happened and how much they wanted to do it again...

And they did.

That seductive sparkle in his eye was there when he kissed her that first night on his birthday, it was there just before they started making out in the parking lot just a week later, and it was there now as he looked down at her panties on the table and then flitted his gaze up to meet hers.

Y/N's body buzzed with a thrill as Spencer made his way around the kitchen counter and dropped to his knees as she sat on the barstool and spread her legs for him.

***

They were late for work that morning.

To make it inconspicuous, Y/N showed up ten minutes after Spencer did— maybe a little exaggerated, but it didn't raise any suspicions. It might have sucked when as soon as she walked in everyone was on their way out to go to the airstrip, Hotch with his phone in hand and ready to dial her number, but nobody suspected a thing.

Spencer threw a little smirk at her as he passed, and she resisted the urge to smack his ass out of spite.

She would have done it, too, but there were two specific rules they'd set once they decided to regularly sleep together, and one of them was that nothing could happen at work or around their friends. And regardless of how badly they wanted to steal kisses or touches at work, their arrangement meant too much to compromise. Once either rule was broken, their little friends with benefits excursion would be immediately void.

Unfortunately, after a flight that was absolutely laced with their sexual tension and once they'd landed in Minnesota for this latest case, they both shared a look that practically set in stone the undeniable, inevitable truth.

They were obsessed.

The whole ordeal was incredibly exhilarating, already an inevitable outcome when it came to regularly sleeping with a co-worker, but what they weren't counting on was just how thrilling it was. Almost a year into their extracurricular activities and they were spending just about every free moment attached by mouths and hands and limbs. And as time progressed it became increasingly more difficult to keep to themselves, needing to be in proximity to one another constantly.

That's not to say they weren't excellent at handling it, though.

Sure, the burning in their veins at the sight of one another after knowing what it was like to be intimate was excruciating, and being paired together on cases knowing that they couldn't break any rules had them feeling like they were going to drown... But the pay-off after a long period of time with no physical contact was absolutely worth it.

All the secrecy and the holding back made it that much explosive when they finally got a decent moment alone.

Right now they were on their way back from a week-long case in Georgia.

And maybe it was fucked up, but once the team realized it was going to be rather grueling, the first thing Y/N thought was how better her stress relief was going to be when they finally finished. The second she thought it, she briefly glanced over at Spencer and saw that he had the same look on his face.

Even during the jet ride home, they were sitting on opposite sides while everyone slept around them, staring at each other and only breaking eye contact when someone rustled in their sleep.

Grueling images of the things they'd seen in the past week danced between them alongside flashes of all the things they wanted to do to each other as compensation. They heard faint screams and gunshots muffled by the high moans and shouts of each others' names, heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin...

The only word that sat between them as they clamored into Spencer's car and drove off was, "Drive."

It was late. They were exhausted and alert all at the same time. Their bodies were practically on fire. Y/N's leg bounced rapidly as Spencer's fingers tapped the steering wheel with fervor and impatience. And when he knew there would be no one around to pull them over for speeding, he stepped on the gas harder, and their heartbeats picked up right alongside their speed.

Even the walk up to his apartment was laced with impatience, Y/N's leg still bouncing as Spencer unlocked the door.

They rushed through it the second there was a tiny sliver of light from the dim nightlight she knew he kept in the entryway.

And then it was beautiful, heavenly chaos.

The door slammed loudly as Spencer leaned his whole body weight against Y/N, sending her flying towards it. They were drawn together like a magnet to a fridge, a moth to a flame, days of pent-up frustration and tension beginning its firework show right there in his entryway as their mouths clashed together.

No amount of contact was good enough it seemed, because it was just constant movement. Their hands wandered and their bodies pressed into each other continuously as they kissed the breath out of each other. Even still, they continued all the way to his bedroom, grunting while bumping into furniture and walls and doorways, but never daring to separate an inch all the same.

"God, I needed you," Spencer whispered once his bedroom door was shut. His hands tugged at her shirt and tried to get the buttons done as he continued. "All fucking week, you were just right there and I couldn't touch you..."

Y/N pressed her mouth to his and started hastily unbuttoning his shirt as well. After a few seconds, he pulled his mouth away and started to speak again, his fingers still trying to get her shirt undone. "I need it bad..."

With a frustrated grunt, Y/N pulled him in closer by the collar of his shirt and hissed into his mouth, "Then shut up and fucking take it..."

Her words kicked him in the ass and shot him forward, sending them flying towards the door once again. She yelped at the sharp pain that came and went as her back hit the wood, but with Spencer's hands finally tearing open her shirt and settling on her bare waist as he practically shoved his tongue down her throat, she couldn't complain.

Both of their shirts came off, and as soon as they hit the floor her hands went to his hair. She tugged on the wavy locks, a soft moan escaping her as he dipped his hands under the back of her bra and worked the clasp. It came off quickly, as it always did, and once it hit the floor he leaned down and gave her breasts all his attention. His tongue swirled around her nipples one my one, littering her skin with kisses in between and reveling in the way she kept tugging on his hair each time he gently tugged a nipple with his teeth.

Eventually, they both couldn't take any more, Y/N pushing his head down while tugging down her slacks and Spencer being glad she did, using his hands to assist her.

Having known for about a year now how heavenly his mouth was when it worked at her wasn't even a fair warning for the intensity of the shudders that soared through her body when his lips made contact with her clit just then. She let out a loud, broken cry of relaxation and relief and pure ecstasy as he practically devoured her.

His tongue was gliding through her with ease, ravening groans erupting from his throat and sending more sharp waves of excitement through Y/N's bloodstream with every passing second. His ministrations were quick and greedy, sloppy yet precise. And when he added his fingers to the mix, she gripped his hair tight and cried out his name, tensing at the sweet, burning stretch they provided.

That only drove him more wild, his tongue flicking over her clit faster while his fingers pumped, curled, and dragged languidly inside of her. He worked to pull every ounce of pleasure from her body, all while squeezing his eyes shut and losing himself in the taste of her, the way her thighs lightly trembled over his face and the desperate clutches of her fingers in his hair...

He wanted all of it. All of her.

He also wanted to hear that sound she made when he was helping her through the peak of her orgasm— a high, dreamy cry that boiled his insides and turned him into an animal.

And there it was, with just three more quick pumps of his fingers. It started off soft, though he knew the second he sucked on her clit and grazed her g-spot with his fingers it would careen higher and louder, right into that perfect pitch that he wished he could hear for eternity. Her thighs shook almost violently around his head, her fingers clawing at his scalp so tight that he felt little pinpricks of pleasure run down the back of his head and through his neck.

Y/N came down soon after, her voice resorting to small whimpers and pants as she tried to push his head away. But it wasn't until she actually tugged his hair up that Spencer finally retreated and got up off the floor.

"I thought you wanted me to take it?" he panted, already missing the warmth of her legs over his face.

She reached down and started toying with his belt, pulling him closer by the leather and throwing him a smirk. "Yeah, but now I wanna take it."

Before she could sink to her knees, though, he stopped her, walking her towards the bed and sitting her down as he finished taking off his pants. "Another time... Right now I need to be inside of you."

The urgency dripping in his voice and through his movements made Y/N burn all over again, and really, who was she to argue? Yeah, maybe she wanted to suck the living soul out of him, but his eagerness to get to the main event gave her the opportunity to treat him tomorrow morning. Spencer was always hard in the morning (at least on the rare occasion that she'd wake up before he did), and the thought of his sleepy groans and whines as she slowly worked his cock with her mouth was more than enough to keep her satisfied until then.

It also made her incredibly wet and ready, which was convenient when he climbed over her and bent her legs back, leaning forward and sinking into her in no time at all.

The sounds that came out of their mouths right then were exceedingly pornographic. It had been too long since their last sexual encounter, and even though they'd been at it plenty of times before, it still felt as intense and fresh as the first few times.

As aforementioned, they were obsessed.

Their song and dance of skink on skin never got old. Time and time again, it was like they'd never touched before, every feeling so intense it was like they were on the top of a rollercoaster that just kept falling and falling with no end in sight.

Every time he snapped his hips forward and and stretched her wide, her insides crumbled apart and gave way to his storm. She embraced his using of her body for pleasure, and he gave her the best orgasms in turn.

As of right now, she was caught between wanting to look down between their bodies to watch him fuck her and laying back to let it happen— take it all in that way and lose herself in the moment.

Though, she settled on the former, just as she always did, because watching Spencer fuck her was always the more exciting option. Especially when he was as urgent as he was now.

She watched with her bottom lip out in a pout as he fucked her, taking notice of how his hands looked gripping her waist and how his stomach tensed with every movement. Her eyes wandered over the planes of his body, and then finally his face. Usually he'd be so focused on the task at hand that his eyes would barely be open, taking in every ounce of pleasure that he possibly could, and that was exactly the case here. Fluttering eyes, pouty lips, flushed face, hair damp and wild as ever...

It drove her half mad.

"Harder," she demanded, reaching out and pulling him closer by the ass.

Spencer was more than happy to comply, a satisfied huff of laughter coming from him as he leaned down and sharpened his movements. His hips were heavier, pinning Y/N down into the mattress with every thrust forward, consequently drawing a little whimper from her each time.

To take it a step further and complete her request, he leaned back a little and pushed her legs open and wide, spreading her further and pinning her down that way to give his hips more driving force.

Unsurprisingly, neither of them lasted long after that.

Y/N shouted his name into the air, leaning her head back as her body tensed and gave in to his force. And he fucked her through it, his grunts gradually getting louder until his hips pushed into hers one final time, at which point he leaned down and put more of his weight on top of her.

As he filled her with his release, she sighed out, clenching herself around him and reveling in his warmth. Whether it was the warmth inside of her or the warmth he provided by blanketing her body with his own, she was glad for its presence. There was nothing else she'd rather have felt after a hard week at work—or any hard feat, really—than Spencer.

He retracted his warmth once they'd settled, however, removing himself from the bed on shaky limbs to grab wipes on the other side of the room.

And of course, Y/N admired him the whole way, flashing him a devilish wink when he inevitably caught her staring.

***

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @rainsong01 @yourmisosoup @liveloudwriteloud @reidsconverse @la-vie-en-amour1 @edgycowboy666 @averyhotchner @centiaaa @lizziechaseee @coffeeandendlesswords @usuck @spenxerslut @g0lden-cth @emilyprentisslittlewhore @takeyourleap-of-faith @reidyoulikeabook @spencerreid9 @b-a-utiful @jareauswifey @big-galaxy-chaos @flipperpenguins @pansexualthing @donald4spiderman @awesomebooklover17 @shemarmooresfedora

TAGS NOT WORKING: @thatsonezesty13 @ayla-1605

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get to it!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

529 notes · View notes

chainofclovers · 3 years

Text

Ted Lasso 2x10 thoughts

GOOD GOD.

“No Weddings and a Funeral” is like being hungover but also coming out of a hangover. Having a terrible cold but also feeling better and appreciating every breath that comes through your nose. Embarking on an organizational project and accidentally falling into a photo album and crying about the pictures and organizing almost nothing tangible but making a few things more clear in your brain.

So much of this episode is about the AWFUL POINTLESSNESS OF DECORUM. How loud is too loud when you’re drinking stolen wine and shrieking about sex in a church right before your father’s funeral? How should you feel--thirty years later, as an accommodating, anger-averse person--about having been too angry to attend the funeral for your father who killed himself? What expression should you make when you show up really late to a different funeral? Why must you wear uncomfortable shoes just because someone died? What happens in your mind between standing up to give a eulogy for a man you’re still angry with and choosing to Rick Roll your mom and everyone else as an act of complicated love, humiliatingly incomplete until someone else starts to sing? Should you worry about your therapist seeing your normally tidy flat in a full-on state of depression mess? Is it okay to be offended that your boyfriend is so uncomfortable about death that he can’t stop making morbid jokes? Should you care about other people caring that you’re crunching an apple in church or squealing with joy to be reunited with a friend you’ve not seen in awhile? Are you obligated to explain your behavior if your kid doesn’t understand how you could stay with someone unfaithful? How far behind the counter should you sink when your [undefined relationship person]’s mother has just let you know she can see your dick through your underwear? Is a funeral reception an okay place to find a hookup? Is a funeral reception a decent spot for a break-up? Is a funeral reception a good time for a love confession when you know the person you’re confessing to is happy with someone else? And who do you make eye contact with when you can’t look directly at the person asking you if you’re okay when there’s so, so much about you she doesn’t know yet? Even if--for this tiny little moment within a vast swath of many okay and not-okay moments--you’re honest when you tell her that you are?

I fucking adored this episode because it answers all these questions very simply: Show up. Show up for yourself. Show up for your friends. Try not to harm yourself. Try not to harm your friends.

I love that this episode is about the messiness of adulthood and the things we bring with us from childhood and that it takes place partially in Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, and in Ted’s childhood memories. Dwelling in those places (whether physically or mentally) isn’t an automatic recipe for regression, but it does get everyone closer to the things that made them who they are, to the unresolved and half-buried parts of them that still make them tick today.

Forever obsessed with every single detail about Rebecca’s childhood bedroom.

Forever obsessed with Deborah’s decision to Rick Roll herself every single morning of her life.

Forever obsessed with Rebecca’s decision to Rick Roll her father’s funeral as a way to not have to make up a single word about her father and to do something very vulnerable and kind for herself and her mother and everyone.

Forever obsessed with Ted’s decision to Rick Roll Rebecca Rick Rolling her father’s funeral.

Forever obsessed with an entire found family backing it up.

I love that it is Isaac’s leadership that ensures every single member of the team attends the service for Paul.

I am very, very interested in Jamie’s love confession to Keeley because I do think it will spark some reflection in Keeley but I do not think it’ll go the cliched love triangle route.

Each scene with Rebecca and Sam struck (for me, a human being sharing a subjective perspective on the internet) the tender-awkward-beautiful-stressful chord I was hoping it would. I think it’s wonderful that Sam is honest with Rebecca about how difficult it is to keep their relationship a secret, and I love that Rebecca has a million mostly-unarticulated reasons for why she’d much prefer the secret to continue. I like that Sassy, Keeley, and Nora respond to the revelation as friends; they might be tempering their judgments in part because they’ve all gathered to bury Rebecca’s dad, but I don’t think their reactions would’ve been that different even on a happier occasion.

While there are a million and one different reasons why a continued relationship between Rebecca and Sam could cause serious ethical problems, I really love that when people share big news on this show, the people who care about them generally react by trying to see why the person is doing what they’re doing. Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t also hold each other accountable, but in my book it’s OK that Keeley’s first reaction was to feel happy that her friend is having some fun.

Also everyone has been making weird judgment calls this season, and this episode felt like a moment of real breakthroughs in terms of people telling the truth about things that happened to them and leaving themselves open to honest responses from others.

September 13, 1991. It’s so tenderly, beautifully, overwhelmingly meaningful that there’s still so much Ted and Rebecca don’t know about the things they have in common in these parallel lives they’re leading. The scene between Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis is so beautifully acted, and so is the scene between Hannah Waddingham and Harriet Walter. The way they intertwine to communicate that Ted and Rebecca basically lost the ability to trust their fathers simultaneously, from an ocean away? In the hands of lesser storytellers, it would feel too perfect a mirroring, but here it feels heartbreakingly imperfect. All the things they still don’t know. All the questions they try to ask each other. All the things they don’t dare ask yet. And then the storytellers are holding a candle up to all of it and letting the audience bask in the glow of this connection even if Ted and Rebecca can’t fully understand it yet.

I am so proud that Rebecca and Deborah were able to embark on the beginnings of a conversation about the ways Deborah and Paul’s relationship might have resembled or not resembled Rebecca and Rupert’s. It feels possible that they could get to a point where Rebecca truly internalizes her mother’s pride that she broke a cycle by leaving Rupert, and could maybe even understand why her mother made the choices she made. I love that in the final scene, they’re still relying on their old mother-daughter conversational patterns—the frustrations, the snippy shorthand, the passive-aggression. Mothers and daughters!

I am also proud that Ted—albeit via a joke about Sharon charging him for the house call—indicates that he understands the value of Sharon’s work. He’s changed a lot, all in realistic ways for someone who loves learning and really does want to meet people where they are and appreciate them. I’m very moved that instead of putting himself in a real harmful situation by showing up to the funeral on time at any cost, he did what he needed to do to take care of himself and accept care from someone else. And then Sharon’s suggestion that he think about things he loved about his father? And the way he’s able to share a positive memory of Rebecca’s own father at a time when she really needed it? Gosh.

Awkward, undecorous transition from 1991 to present-day incoming...but SASSY! She’s just, like, a whirling dervish of loyal friendship and not giving a fuck and penis size discussions and being casually, delightfully cruel to Rupert, who so deserves it. Rebecca was going on a real face journey when Sassy goes off with Ted at the end, and I’m sort of *eyes emoji* about all of that, but I continue to feel like Sassy is the most imperfectly wonderful friend-from-the-past kind of person and I love everything she and Nora get to do in this episode.

Keeley saying “That baby is whack” might be my favorite line in the episode? Maybe the whole show? Not really but really.

FUCK YOU, RUPERT. Bex and Diane, y’all are fine. And I truly feel for Nate...whatever scheme he’s getting suckered into. Whatever insecurity Rupert is preying on. I want Nate to go to therapy, too.

I feel like it was an unpopular opinion at the time, but I loved Rebecca’s 2x1 revelation about vulnerability and fear of getting hurt and needing to let someone love her. Sassy doesn’t always word things in the most nuanced way, but I think there’s a real possibility that she did ask Rebecca to really consider what it means to feel either safe or unsafe with a person but to know that in either circumstance, that person could end up causing her pain. Standing in that closet with Sam, managing to make it clear that she’s not asking for a break because she knows he will hurt her but because she has to figure out how to be with a wonderful person who could cause her pain...the growth, man. Makes me emotional.

I emerged from this episode feeling, of course, stunned by all the amazing parallels and revelations and beautiful acting and Rick Rolls and just, everything. I also emerged feeling sad/raw/tender because messiness and decorum and growth and coping mechanisms and death and dramatic irony and not knowing things about people and not knowing what you don’t know...it’s a sad, raw, tender place to be.

To quote a guy who got a whole sitcom (lol) named after him, life is real hard.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #meta by me #ted lasso 2x10 #a lesbian watches ted lasso #lotta feelings in here y'all #cw suicide

132 notes · View notes

outofsstyles · 3 years

Text

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?”

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time.

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.”

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her.

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address.

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd.

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.”

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head.

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone.

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions.

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen.

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after).

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way.

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.”

The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

“Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too.

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones.

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?”

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own.

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out.

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand.

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located.

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse. “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further.

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again.

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.”

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight.

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused. “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!”

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months.

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk.

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.”

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh. “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch.

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

342 notes · View notes

birdhouse-of-shadows · 3 years

Text

Hello everyone! So here is a fic that I left in my askbox for a hot minute lol. This was all submitted by an anon who you may or may not have seen a few times. This is a compilation of all of the asks and the whole story.

My comments will be in green, any notes from the author will be in blue and the rest will be in the normal text color.

PLEAAASEE be careful if you are sensitive to the following subjects:

Tw: Child Abuse, torture, multiple abusive foster homes, bondage(kinda, quirk inhibiting cuffs), Heavy injury, blood, smoking,

im currently running on no sleep and a bottle of pepsi, sour this is sloppy asf I apologize in advance 😗

im in an angst mood, so i come with this.

Tokoyami’s biological parents abandoned him when he was four. To this day he has no idea why, and has very little memory of them. All of his memories take place in one of the seven abusive foster homes he lived in before he entered U.A.. Over the course of that time, Fumikage has accumulated a large variety of scars, from deep, jagged scars, to cigarette burns, to just really, really bad bruises. Out of all the foster homes he’s been in, none of Fumikage’s foster parents have been fond of mutants, or mutant-type quirks. In several of the foster homes, Fumikage was forced to wear quirk suppressant cuffs 24/7, since his parents “didn’t want a monster running rampant in their house.” Between his mutation, and the violent tendencies of Dark Shadow, Fumikage was basically what nobody wanted in a child. His foster parents would yell every possible derogatory insult at Fumikage, saying he should’ve never been born, even though they weren’t even his real parents. Over time, the verbal abuse would mess with Fumikage’s mind. He’d stare at himself in the mirror, wondering why he was born the way he was, and why he’s the monster everyone says he is. And just when he thought the verbal abuse couldn’t get any worse, as he got older, his foster parents would resort to physical punishment. At first, it wasn’t that bad, at least, in Fumikage’s eyes. Just a slap here and there, plus some cigarette burns on his arms and shoulders. It was painful, but he fought through it, knowing no one would come to help him. But over time, the “discipline” would get even more brutal. It doesn’t matter what he did, every little thing seemed to set his parents off. From accidentally breaking something, to giving a snide comment unannounced, it wasn’t often that Fumikage went to bed at night without being beaten sometime before then. He would be pinned down by his throat and violently beaten with whatever blunt object was nearby. He eventually gave up trying to apologize, as it somehow only upset his parents even more. Once, when he was eleven years old, Fumikage was beaten with a glass vase after pushing one of his foster siblings. The glass eventually shattered, and the broken ends of the vase dug into Fumikage’s back, leaving horrible, jagged cuts all over him. Witnessing Fumikage being beaten day after day made Dark Shadow feel overwhelmingly guilty. Fumikage was in quirk suppressant cuffs ninety percent of the time, so Dark Shadow was pretty much helpless in most situations. Those damned cuffs made it feel like an invisible wall was put up between where Dark Shadow resided, and the outside world. A wall that agonizingly sat between Dark Shadow, and Fumikage’s safety. There were nights when Fumikage lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his body numbed by pain. Whether he was laying in a bed or not, unfortunately varied by foster home. But it was on those nights where Dark Shadow would apologize profusely to Fumikage, saying that they’re nothing more than the monster that brought misery to Fumikage’s life. Saying that they’re the reason Fumikage gets beaten so often, and yet do nothing to help him. They vow that once they’re in a safer home, away from their abusers, that they will always protect Fumikage. Always. But by then…Fumikage had already fallen asleep.

Overall, Tokoyami’s home life…was nothing worth smiling about. Thankfully, his time at school was less painful. He often got comments about his looks, saying that he was ugly and all that, but by then, he was more than used to it. Eventually, he faded into the shadows (no pun intended) at most of his schools. He eventually was just forgotten about, which truthfully, didn’t bother him. It was a bit lonely, sure, but it was much better than constantly being beaten simply for existing. In Fumikage’s eyes, school was just a break from his disastrous home life. Though, he tended not to talk during class, and had very little interaction with his teachers, for…reasons. Even so, it was actually during his first year of middle school where Fumikage discovered his dream of being a hero. Just because he was spared from the excessive discrimination of mutants, others happened to be less fortunate. Fumikage would witness how his fellow mutants were treated by others. They had their work stolen, their bags dumped out, over were overall just treated like dirt compared to everyone else. So anytime Tokoyami saw a fellow mutant, or anyone really, being bullied, he’d go and help them, telling them that they don’t deserve to take shit for the way they look, or what their quirk is, and that quirks don’t make villains, it’s how those quirks are used, meaning that the people bullying them are more like villains than they will ever be. With his newfound motivation, Tokoyami decided that he wanted to become a hero to show others that they don’t have to fear who they were born to be, or, as he put it, “To not be daunted by their inner darkness. Instead, to embrace such, and with it, become your best self.” Love that for him honestly. One of the students he helped was a tall, slim girl with a head reminiscent to that of an elephant, her most notable feature being her long trunk that was about the length of her entire upper body. She was shy, and avoided any sort of conflict like the plague. At one point she was harassed by another group of girls, before Tokoyami came and stopped them. He gave his long winded, motivational speech to her, and saying she was grateful was quite the understatement, and the next day, as a thank-you gift, gave Tokoyami a red choker, saying that it was just like the one Dark Crystal wore, knowing how much Tokoyami admired the hero. (In other words, he never shut up about him) Tokoyami relayed his gratitude countless times to her, and the two agreed to become friends, even though they wouldn’t see eachother often. Reluctantly, the girl also pointed out the horrible scars and bruises on Tokoyami’s neck, and figured that he’d want to cover them. Tokoyami stiffened at the mention of his scars, but continued thanking her anyway. The two often saw eachother in the halls and waved at one another, on friendly terms, but strangely enough, they never spoke again.

It was also around that time that he became more interactive with Dark Shadow, and began to explore more darker concepts. He founded a love for reading, specifically horror novels and manga. He also became fascinated with poetry (specifically the edgy variety), both reading and writing it. He found that writing poetry gave him an outlet for expressing both himself, and Dark Shadow’s feelings, without having to risk angering his foster parents. Eventually, the tone found written by his favorite poets began to make its way into Fumikage’s speech patterns. He felt more comfortable with it, and it wasn’t something people easily understood, which ultimately meant his foster parents would just ignore him, thinking he was going through an emo phase. And miraculously, it worked. Although he was still physically and verbally abused throughout his middle school years, his foster parents eventually backed off, as Fumikage became more introverted. Now, he’d look in the mirror at all of his scars, and use his past trauma as motivation for becoming a hero. Though, it wasn’t easy. Those painful memories would always come flooding back whenever he looked at those scars. Since he spent most of his life surrounded by abusive adults, he believed that most adults were the same way, and refrained from speaking with adults at all, in fear of angering them. Hearing them yell would make him flinch out of pure instinct, and being stuck alone with an adult would make him an anxious mess. But he did his best to mask this fear with the brooding, edgy side of him. It was his best, and pretty much only way of coping with this fear. He tried his best to overcome his anxiety, but it was never that easy. But he managed to get through middle school mostly unscathed.

And finally, after three agonizingly long paragraphs, Fumikage makes it into U.A.. Of course, that didn’t exempt him from any of his current foster parent’s rules. He had to keep quirk cuffs in his bag at all times, and if he came home without them on, he would be beaten. Tokoyami remained obedient, not wanting to show up to his first day at U.A. beaten half to death. Armed with his scars, his motivation, and of course, Dark Shadow, Tokoyami entered U.A with confidence. And everyone… was so nice???? Almost immediately after he sat in his designated seat in class 1-A, people came up to him, talking to him. He met a variety of different students, some more…mellow than others. But overall, he liked his class. But the teacher? Well…not so much. In Tokoyami’s eyes, the man who dubbed himself their homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa, was completely and utterly terrifying. ‘He probably has a machete hidden in that sleeping bag ready to kill us at any moment-‘ Dark Shadow said on the first day. Tokoyami couldn’t help but agree. But not in a comedic way. Something about Aizawa was all too reminiscent of one of his foster fathers, specifically the one who gave him all of the scars on his back, after beating him with a glass vase. Any time he was around him, he was anxious. But eventually, little did Fumikage know, this man who he deemed “terrifying” would eventually become one of the people he trusted the most.

okay okay I’ll stop for now, I’ll write more eventually, but I’ll wait until this is answered so I won’t be flooding your asks, and I promise I will never submit anything this long ever again 😖

part 2 yee yee

also, as you can tell, i have heavily observed canon, and elected to ignore it :)

Fumikage’s year so far was hectic. No, scratch that. It was hellish. It seemed like everywhere the class went together, they were attacked by villains. Aizawa seemed to be getting more and more tired by the day. Fumikage didn’t blame him, as he had a class full of trouble magnets. But following the skirmish at the forest training camp, and All Might’s retirement, things seemed to be looking up, at least a little bit. However, there was rumor going around that U.A. was planning to implement a form system, leaving Fumikage with mixed feelings. One on hand, he was ecstatic. He could finally, even if it was just for a short time, get away from his foster home. The training camp incident left Fumikage shaken more than he’d like, and having to deal with verbal abuse at the hands of his father wasn’t doing him any favors. After being released from the hospital, his father berated him four what felt like hours after hearing that he’d lost control of Dark Shadow. The day he got home, without any second thought, his father grabbed him by his shirt collar (which hurt more than it should have due to the fresh bruises on Fumikage’s back) and mercilessly screamed at him. Even though it only lasted about ten minutes, it felt like forever. He was forced to stand just inches away from his father, the thick smell of cigarette smoke emitting from his breath. Dark Shadow shrunk within him, trying desperately to drown out the heinous comments that they’re directly responsible for. Following the “lecture”, as his father like to call it, Fumikage was put back into his quirk cuffs, but this time, as what his parents described as a “precaution”, he had a thick, tight quirk suppressant collar locked around his neck. It dug through Fumikage’s skin, and it felt like he was being strangled. Even so, just like everything he’d been through up to that point, he had to bear with it. He tiredly trudged back to his room, or, well, it was a linen closet. He had a small pile of blankets that acted as his bed, as well as several books lined up neatly against the wall. He’d read most of them several times already, but other that his phone, it was pretty much his only source of entertainment. The closet was always freezing, and he was rarely allowed out. But Fumikage always forced himself to be grateful for having a roof over his head at all, since he knew there were always going to be people who were less fortunate. With a sigh, he lay down on his small pile of blankets. He curled up within himself, trying his best to keep warm. Normally, one of his siblings slip whatever packaged food their parents gave them under the door. It always tasted like it went bad two weeks ago, but at this point, to Fumikage, fuck it, food was food. But much to his dismay, Fumikage’s parents told him that he was “on punishment”. And while on punishment, he knew well enough, that they refuse to feed him. Over the last 18 months that he’d been living in that foster home, he’d been on punishment five times, and during that time, he lost a very unhealthy amount of weight, and his overall health tanked. But, like he said for every terrible thing that’s befallen him over the past 12 years, he was used to it. So, Fumikage went the next three days without eating a single thing.

But it was after those three days, when Fumikage’s life changed. Whether it was for better or worse, he was forced to wait and see.

One morning, or…was it evening? It was hard to tell when you’re stuck in a dark linen closet with no sense of time whatsoever. But anyway, Fumikage woke up shivering, not that he wasn’t used to that. But he did hear the faint sound of his parents talking. However, there was one other voice. Fumikage’s hearing wasn’t the best, with him being a bird and everything, but he knew that voice. He knew that voice from anywhere. It was Aizawa’s. Fumikage forced himself up. His back was stiff, and the thick collar around his neck weighed him down. His stomach was begging for food, but that wasn’t important. He smoothed out his feathers best he could, and quietly opened the closet door. He could hear Aizawa conversing with his parents, and they talked about the newly constructed dorms. Aizawa explained that for the Fumikage’s safety, he requested that Fumikage lives in a secure dorm system. He’d have his own room, full access to a kitchen full of food, and of course, he’d have a common space to mingle with his peers. To Fumikage, it sounded like heaven, but unfortunately, his parents weren’t having it. They went on and on about how Fumikage would put his peers in danger with his destructive quirk. Aizawa, thankfully, wasn’t willing to put up with them either. He went on to tell them about how Fumikage has excelled with the control of Dark Shadow. Fumikage felt a warm feeling in his stomach after hearing his teacher, that same one he’s so afraid of, speak so highly of him. But there was one thing that left Aizawa’s mouth that his parents really couldn’t respond to. “Well, why not let Fumikage have a say in this? Where is he?” he asked them. There was something about his teacher’s tone that showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. Fumikage looked down at himself. He was still wearing the same black long sleeved shirt and blue jeans that he’d worn three days ago. His quirk cuffs were tight around his wrists, and his collar, though he’d gotten used to the feeling, was madly uncomfortable around his neck. He had two choices. Go down there and let Aizawa witness firsthand the extent of Fumikage’s constant neglect, and risk being punished even further by his parents, or play it safe, and potentially let Aizawa find him on his own. But…the world was never that nice to him, so instead, Fumikage heard an irritated sigh, and footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, Fumikage shut the closet door and sat back down against the wall. Just moments later, he watched the closet door open, and felt his father’s sultry gaze fall on him. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet. He took the cuffs off of Fumikage, and let them fall to the floor. Before taking off the collar, he leaned down, glaring daggers at his foster son. “You say anything out of place boy, and I reopen those cuts on your back, god help you.” he said in a low growl. Fumikage stiffened, the memory of jagged glass tearing his skin open flashing through his mind. He nodded, and took a breath of air as the collar was removed. He really didn’t care that all he breathed in was cigarette smoke. That feeling of being strangled by a metal collar was finally gone, even if just for a little while. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him down to the living room, where Aizawa sat across from his mother.

Aizawa knew right away that there was something seriously off. Tokoyami had a few feathers out of place, and his shirt hung limply over him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. But what pisses Aizawa off the most, was something Tokoyami was clearly trying to hide, and that was the dark ring of bruises around his wrists. He really needed to confront his student about how these two were treating him. But for now, he just needed to get the kid to agree to move into the dorms. He watched the avian teen sit down between his two caretakers. The boy looked very uncomfortable, almost afraid. Aizawa felt his gaze soften upon seeing his student in the state he was, but he had to do what he came here for. So he directed his gaze to Tokoyami, and asked him his thought of moving into U.A.’s dorms. It concerned him hearing how fast Tokoyami answered. “I’d be glad to.” He responded almost instantly. “It would be a great opportunity to get to know my peers better, no?” He looked to his mother, who gave him an irritated look. Aizawa held back a smirk. The kid had a way with words, that was for sure. Aizawa cleared his throat, and spoke up. “Well, it seems he’s all for it.” he said, looking at the two adults in front of him. They looked very unamused. The boy’s mother rubbed her temples, and sighed. “Fine, fine.” she grumbled. “But if Fumikage has any issues with behavior whatsoever, so let us know.” She said, giving her son a pointed look. Aizawa nodded, and stood up. “I doubt that will be an issue, he’s very well behaved.” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes fell to his student. He once again noticed the loose feathers sticking out from the sides of the boy’s head. There were only about two or three, but Aizawa took the initiative anyway. He leaned down toward Tokoyami, and smoothed out his feathers carefully. The boy stiffened, but relaxed. Once Aizawa was satisfied, he stood back up. Tokoyami brought a hand to the side of his head, and gave Aizawa a dumbfounded look. The man gave him an amused look, and turned around toward the door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Tokoyami.” he said, laying his hand on the doorknob. The teen nodded in response, and Aizawa left the house.

As soon as he shut the door, Aizawa clenched his fists. Of course he noticed Tokoyami’s disheveled-looking appearance. But there was one thing, one tiny little thing, that Tokoyami did. Since the moment he sat down, to the moment Aizawa left. Tokoyami rested one arm on his leg, and began tapping his knee. Aizawa didn’t think much of it at first, but then he remembered something he learned while he was still in training. Whenever someone did that, no matter the age, it was a warning sign. Tokoyami was trying to get his attention the entire time.

There was something seriously wrong.

And that’s it for part two I suppose. I feel like this part is significantly worse than the last one, but when it comes down to it, consistency isn’t my thing 🙃

i forgot to proofread part two before submitting it so uh….if there are typos to there aren’t <3

Its perfectly fine!! I never saw them~

part 3 let’s goooo

After Aizawa left, Fumikage relaxed his hand over his knee. He really hoped his teacher noticed his warning sign, but whether he did or not, he was still stuck with his parents until he moved into the dorms. A sudden wave of unease fell over him. He knew his parents were staring him down. And he knew they were not happy. He took at deep breath, and met his father’s gaze. The man’s eyes narrowed. “You got somethin’ to say, brat?” he spat through gritted teeth. Fumikage shrugged. He knew he wouldn’t be living with his foster parents for much longer, which made pushing their buttons much more tempting. He held back a smirk. “Me? Oh no. Although, judging by that look on your face, I figured you’d have something to say, no?” the teen hummed. He rested his elbows on his knees, and tilted his head. Fumikage watched his father’s eyelid twitch. It was quite amusing, really. “Just get your ass upstairs, brat. I don’t want another goddamn word outta you.” The man hissed. “And put your cuffs on too.” Fumikage let out a sigh, but nodded anyway. He’d best be obedient now, since, if possible, he’d like to make it to U.A.’s dorms in one piece. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, before trudging back upstairs to his “room”.

After closing the closet door, Fumikage took another look at the cramped area he’s forced to call his bedroom. For the last eighteen months, he was stuck in this hellhole of a house. He had felt more alone than any other point in his life, even with Dark Shadow around. He had no freedom in this house. Hell, he can hardly think of a time he’s ever had any freedom throughout his life. He’s been chained down, locked in cages like an animal, abused in pretty much every way possible…he hated it. More than anything. For most of his early life, it was hard for him to tell if Dark Shadow was really his quirk, or just a voice in his head, given how rarely the two would be allowed to see eachother. But to Fumikage, quirk or not, Dark Shadow was his closest friend. His only friend. And the idea of them getting an entire room, bed and all, just to themselves, with no restrictions, made Fumikage feel more excited than he had ever felt before. Fumikage put a hand to his chest, letting out a relieved sigh, and couldn’t help but smile. Even if it was just for a little while, he, alone with Dark Shadow, could finally be free.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Fumikage’s eyes eventually fell to his quirk cuffs, laying menacingly on the pile of blankets before him, his collar just a few inches away. He felt Dark Shadow stir restlessly within him, not wanting to be trapped by the cuffs. Even though Dark Shadow never got the chance to come out while they were off, it felt liberating to not be bound by what was, in the long run, thick pieces of metal. They’d felt more relaxed for those tense twenty minutes during the conference then they had been throughout their entire time living there. But they knew, for Fumikage’s safety, that, at least until they moved into the dorms, that the cuffs had to stay on. With a sigh, Fumikage grabbed the cuffs, and, after lining them up with his already existing bruises, snapped them shut. Dark Shadow felt like chains held them back the second the cuffs came on. They let out an agitated whimper deep within Fumikage. The teen sighed, bringing a hand to his chest. He hated when his quirk felt like this, but he knew it would all be over soon. He picked up the collar, feeling the cold metal in his hands. With a huff, he threw it aside, and sat down against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling, and reached deep within himself. It was faint, but he managed to connect with Dark Shadow. “Just a few more days, Dark Shadow…” he whispered. “It’ll all be over soon. Not for long, but…things will lighten up. I promise.” That promise was a bit of a stretch, in Fumikage’s opinion. But it would be that promise that got them through the next few days. Fumikage laid down on his “bed”, and reached for one of his books. He didn’t care which one, since he’d read them all about a million times each, but he just needed a distraction. The book he’d ended up grabbing, he knew was more philosophical than he would’ve preferred, but hey, he wanted a distraction. So he opened the book, and proceeded to read.

Fumikage had gotten about 90 pages in before he heard the lock on the closet door rattle. The door swung open, letting a wave of light into the room. Fumikage looked up from his book, and low and behold, his father stood over him, an angry look on his face, as always. “Can I help you?” Fumikage asked, laying the book down on his lap. The man in front of him snorted. “Get up, brat. It’s bath time.” he said, an amused tone in his voice. If he could, Fumikage would’ve raised a brow. That tone in his father’s voice was never a good sign, but Fumikage didn’t have much of a choice. So he laid the book aside, and stood up. His father grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the closet. Fumikage had no idea what his father meant by “bath time”, but as the two walked directly passed the bathroom, Fumikage knew, that his parents had something else in mind…

and that’s it for part 3. i never actually have a set plan for these, i just go until I feel like stopping. These also aren’t written beforehand, I just chill in your asks for an hours writing these, making things up as I go along. I basically treat it like my notes app lmao

I'm glad my ask box has served well as your notes app! Just be careful that things save!!

part 4. this was so fucking hard to write you don’t understand 😭 and im too tired to proofread this shit so if you see typos no you don’t. enjoy.

You're doing great!!

Trapped within his father’s grip, Fumikage nearly tripped as he was dragged down the stairs. Being dragged around like a rag doll was uncomfortable enough already, but having thick quirk cuffs clamped around his wrists, digging into his skin, made the whole ordeal more painful rather than uncomfortable, but either way, whatever his parents had in store for him, like always, Fumikage wasn’t looking forward to.

Before Fumikage knew it, the two were in the kitchen. A metal bucket sat in the kitchen sink, hot water running into it. Next to the sink stood his mother, a sultry grin on her face. Thick clouds of steam rose from the basin, and suddenly it hit him. Fumikage’s breath hitched, and he froze in place. He stumbled back, pressing himself against the wall behind him. His father let out a low chuckle. “What’s the matter brat? You were all smug n’ shit earlier. Where’d all that giddiness go?” He asked, leaning toward Fumikage. The man gave a sultry grin, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into Fumikage’s face.

Fumikage’s eyes fell to his mother, who had her hand laid against the bucket. The painful reality all started coming together. Much quicker than Fumikage would’ve preferred, given that he’s on the receiving end of yet another one of his parent’s grueling “punishments”. His mother had a heat quirk. Not fire, but heat. She could alter the heat of any object she touches, reaching heats of up to 315 degrees celcius. Fumikage has been burned before. Several times actually. It hurt like hell, but nothing he’d ever felt before compared to the searing, agonizing pain of being touched by anything heated by his mother’s quirk. And here he was, backed into a corner, at his parent’s mercy.

He knew what was coming. As much as he hated what was about to come next, there was no getting out of it. Not with both of his parents right in front of him. As Fumikage watched that bucket of water begin to boil over, and his mother’s grin grow wider. he felt Dark Shadow begin to tremble within him, helplessly. He could feel his hands begin to shake, and without even having to look, he could hear his father chuckle in amusement.

Fumikage clenched his fists. He couldn’t just submit himself to his parents so easily. But then again, at the end of the day, he was helpless. As always. There was no escape, because when has there ever been? Fighting back was pointless. It always has been. Because to him, this wasn’t torture. This wasn’t abuse. To him, this was just another punishment. Another, grueling, agonizing, painful, god-forsaken punishment.

He was used to this.

Fumikage felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He looked up at his father. What was this sudden burst of emotion? Fumikage had never felt like this before. Was it anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it made his head spin. Either way, he planned to use his sudden rush of negative energy for something he should’ve done months ago. And the consequences that came with it?

Fuck the consequences.

A twisted, pained smile forced it’s way to Fumikage’s features. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he locked eyes with his father. “Sick bastard.” he muttered. “You know I’ll be out of this hellhole in two days, so you take every opportunity you have to put me in as much pain as possible.” Fumikage wiped a tear from his eyes with his sleeve. “Sounds like you’re getting desperate, wouldn’t you agree?” Fumikage grinned upon seeing that irritated look wash over his father’s face. Oh, how much he loved that look.

Over the years that Fumikage has been in foster care, he was never liked by this parents. They blamed it on his violent quirk. Funny enough, almost none of them had even seen his quirk. Fumikage never got around to asking about that, since a lot of the time, talking ended up getting him in trouble. Looking back on it, Fumikage realizes just how stupid it was. Talking, of all things, got him in trouble. What was next? Breathing?

And this foster home was no different. If he “talked out of place”, as his father liked to put it, he was punished. It was hard to decipher exactly what was considered talking “out of place”, since it seemed like nearly everything Fumikage said warranted punishment. So eventually, he opted not to speak at all. But there were always those times, now included, where talking back just felt so right. When Fumikage is finally able to stand up for himself, despite the inevitable consequences that came with it.

And boy, were there consequences.

Before he knew it, Fumikage’s head was slammed against the wall behind him, beak first. With how sensitive his beak was, that pain rung throughout his brain, dazing him. Then he was kneed in the stomach, three times actually, right on one of his fresh bruises. Fumikage let out a choked sob as his breath left him. Even if it only lasted seconds, Fumikage felt as though he were suffocating. And as much as he hated the feeling of air leaving him, that just so happened to be the least painful thing he experienced that night.

Through his pain, Fumikage caught a glimpse of something shiny. Because of course he would. It looked to be metal, with a sharp tip. In his dazed state, he could only guess that it was his Father’s six-inch knife. And right he was, because that exact knife tore down the back of his shirt, exposing all of the scars that littered his back. Pinning him against the wall, his father ripped off his shirt, before kicking him to the cold hardwood floors. Just as Fumikage attempted to sit up, he felt another hard kick to the back of his head. The teen brought his hands to his head almost immediately, gripping tightly at his feathers in an attempt to ease his head’s throbbing pain. But at that moment, Fumikage realized, he had let his guard down.

Just seconds later, he felt it.

That agonizing, searing pain.

All over his body.

He let out a gut-wrenching scream as he felt blisters rapidly forming all over his back and arms. He found himself clawing at his arms, in a desperate attempt to ease the stinging pain, only for thin, deep cuts to form on his pale skin. He felt his quirk cuffs reacted to the heat, getting ever more tighter around Fumikage’s thin wrists. Any and all obscenities his parents threw at him were drowned out by this unbearable pain. Through his sobs, Fumikage began to wonder, was it really worth it? Was it ever worth it? He almost didn’t care. He just wanted it all to be over.

He just wanted the pain, the suffering, the torture, all of it, he just wanted it to go away.

Once the pain died down to the point where it was at least bearable, Fumikage forced himself up on his hands and knees, struggling to keep himself stable on the wet hardwood. Between both the burns, and the quirk cuffs nearly suffocating his wrists, his hands were blistered and swollen. Fumikage locked eyes with his father, who looked down at him, satisfied with his work. Fumikage’s breathing was slow and heavy, as he tried to fight through the pain. “Is…is that all you got?” he managed to choke out. “Two kicks and some hot water? Is that your last line of defense? Seems pretty lackluster if you ask me.” His entire body trembling, Fumikage managed to get to his feet. Steam emitted from his entire upper body, and he was throbbing with pain. That satisfied look on his father’s face suddenly turned to one of pure rage. Without a word, the man walked toward Fumikage, his knife in one hand, and empty glass bottle in the other. Pressing any further in this situation, with this many injuries, Fumikage knew, would be incredibly risky. But then again, heroes are supposed to take risks.

Fumikage forced his beak back into that same twisted grin he wore before, but this time, it was more reluctant. Either way, there was no turning back now.

“Bite me.” he muttered through gritted teeth.

It went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. But that silence was short lived.

Fumikage heard the deafening sound of glass shattering. There was a sudden flash of bright light, leaving as quick as it arrived, and Fumikage’s world became black.

i dont plan on writing any more violent scenes, simply because they’re hard asf to write lmao, so the next part is basically an unneeded time skip because im lazy <3

I'm sure whatever you will write will be perfect!!!

part 5 bitches. or is this part 6? idk this feels like a part 6. anyway proofreading is out the window, it was a long time ago, but either way this might look at but messy. fuck it it’s 3am idc anymore. enjoy.

Fumikage’s eyes opened. His eyelids felt heavy, and his back was stiff, but other than that…he felt no pain. He sat up and looked around. He wasn’t in the linen closet. In fact, it didn’t look like he was in his foster home at all. He looked to be in an apartment. It was on the small side, but it felt…comfortable. The furniture wasn’t dusty, and the air was free of cigarette smoke. Beneath him, was a dark grey couch. He had to have been sleeping on it for a while, as he had shed a single feather onto the fabric of the couch. But either way, Fumikage somehow felt…safe.

Then, he caught something from the corner of his eye. Well, not something, rather, someone. A tall figure, their face and body obscured by shadow, stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The figure began to walk toward him. Their hands were tucked into their pockets, and they stalked toward him, almost tiredly. It felt so…familiar. But Fumikage’s world felt fuzzy. It was hard to tell if what he was seeing was even real. The figure kneeled down in front of him their obscured face looking him in the eyes. He watched their lips move, but there was no sound. Fumikage wanted to speak, but all he heard was his own confused, stuttered breathing.

The figure tilted their head, and their eyebrows furrowed. They reached a hand behind Fumikage’s head, ruffling his crown feathers gently. The figure spoke again, yet Fumikage was still met with silence. The figure’s face, as far as Fumikage could see, was painted with concern. But before Fumikage could make another attempt to speak, another figure appeared from a hallway. They were taller, slimmer, and just like the first one, their body and face was completely obscured. The second figure came over, kneeling next to the first, trying to get Fumikage to say something. Anything. But the world around him was completely silent.

Fumikage felt his vision blur at the edges. What was happening? Who were the people in front of him? Why did they look so worried? His mind was runny by a mile a minute, not knowing where he was, who he was with, and why any of them were there. Fumikage looked around desperately for anything that could pose as a distraction. In the midst of his panic, he saw one of the figure’s shadowy hands reach toward him. Fumikage swatted at the hand and tried to back away, but instead was blocked by the back of the couch. His gaze went back toward the two figures in front of him. Once again, one of them reached toward him, carefully grabbing his arm. The touch felt cold, and staticky, much like how Dark Shadow felt. Fumikage squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt tears run down his cheeks, afraid of what’s to come next. But, much to his surprise, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Through the haze, Fumikage could finally make out what this person was saying. It was a faint, hollow echo that rang through his ears. “It’s okay, kid. You’re safe.” They said.

Fumikage’s breathing slowed as he lay his head on the figure’s shadowy shoulder. “I’m…safe…” he repeated, almost hypnotically. Then he heard the second figure join in. “That’s right. You don’t have to be scared anymore. You’re in a new home, with a new family.” they said. Their voice was slightly higher, and had a softer tone to it. But those words…

Fumikage lifted his head slightly, just enough to see over the figure’s shoulder. His vision was hazy, and he felt as though he were in a trance.

“Family…” Fumikage whispered. That word…that word alone. ‘Family’. It just felt so…right. As though what Fumikage saw as paradise was finally coming to pass. He felt tears well up in his eyes. But unlike before, he felt tears of relief. For the first time in what felt like years, he really felt safe. Fumikage lifted an arm, and whipped away his tears with his sleeve. When his vision cleared, yet another figure appeared. However, this one was…small. Then Fumikage realized, it was a child. His head tilted as the obscure figure carefully walked over to him. They kept their hands in front of them, almost as if afraid to hurt him. Although Fumikage had relaxed, he still felt dazed, and somehow, his movements almost didn’t feel like his own.

Just like when he reached his arm out toward the child. They were just barely out of reach, but in response, they brought both hands to Fumikage’s, and a smile came to their obscured face. They looked…happy. And for the first time in what Fumikage felt like forever…so did he. He felt a small smile form on his beak. He hated kids. Normally, anyway. But right now…this wasn’t so bad.

He felt the older figure pull away from him, still carefully running their hand through his feathers. The second also leaned back, relaxing a bit. Fumikage lay back against the couch with a sigh, before looking over the three figure’s one last time. Was this really his family…? Hell, whether they were or not, he could get used to it. He just couldn’t help it. After years of pain, years of terror, a family, a kind, loving family, was what Fumikage had always dreamed of.

He eventually felt his eyelids, as well as his whole body, become heavy. He felt his grip on consciousness slowly slip, the world around him slowly swirling into a dark grey void. That same word echoed through his mind throughout, becoming more faint each time he heard it. Family. family….family….

Fumikage’s eyes slowly opened one last time, but this time, he didn’t just feel tired. He felt cold, he felt sore, but above all…he felt uneasy. That cold, painfully familiar feeling washed over him. And painful it was. The second he dared to move, Fumikage felt a sharp pain up his back. He sighed, letting his body relax. He looked up at the ceiling, but couldn’t stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

He was home.

and that’s it. i feel like i use too many commas, but fuck it im sleep deprived i do what i want :D anyway the next part will be done…whenever the fuck i feel like writing it idk lmao

Please sleep, you're doing great!! I too suffer from overuse of commas, but I don't think they hurt too much!!

sigh. part 7. maybe. idgaf anymore lmao

toward the end I pretty much forgot how to write, so this is uh, a mess to say the least. but enjoy I guess? yea

Fumikage slowly sat up, and let his hands fall solemnly in his lap. With his level of pain and exhaustion, it was hard to keep himself stable, and his quirk cuffs acting as six-pound weights wasn’t doing him any favors. Which, now that he noticed, wasn’t the only thing Fumikage was wearing. He felt his quirk collar clamped around his neck, even tighter than before. He was surprised that it hasn’t cut off his airflow by now.

Fumikage brushed off the pain, still in awe by his dream. As abstract as it was, it just felt so…real. Everything around him felt as though it were really there. And those shadow figures….he felt their words, their touch…as strange as it was, it just felt right. Fumikage leaned back against the wall behind him. ‘Dark Shadow…’ he whispered. ‘Did you…feel that? In the dream?’ Within him, Dark Shadow stirred restlessly in response to their host’s bewilderment. ‘Mhm…but…Fumikage? Would it be weird to say I…miss it?’ they asked. That restlessness quickly turned solemn as Dark Shadow deflated a bit, wrapping themself protectively around Fumikage’s rib cage. The teen hummed quietly to himself in thought. ‘Well, as weird as it is, you aren’t alone. I don’t know why but…that dream world just felt so surreal. It was…at least compared to what we’re used to, amazing.’ Fumikage replied. He lay his head against the wall behind him as he felt tears in the back of his eyes. Dark Shadow seemed to mimic his movements in a way, as Fumikage felt them curl within themselves, hugging Fumikage’s ribs tighter. ‘I just want a new family…’ they said, barely a whisper. Fumikage felt tears slowly roll down his cheeks, soaking his feathers. It feels like every day that passes, Fumikage feels more and more isolated. More and more alone. It’s just him and Dark Shadow. It always has been. Fumikage thrives off of his quirk’s company. Dark Shadow is the only reason he’s kept a positive outlook on life throughout his last few painful years. If not for Dark Shadow, Fumikage’s life would have ended long ago. But even with Dark Shadow around, Fumikage couldn’t help but feel lonely. He wanted someone else to talk to. A human to talk to, because let’s face it, Fumikage’s social skills are…underwhelming. He never speaks unless he knows exactly what he’s going to say and when. He comes off more confident that way, because otherwise, he’d let his anxiety get the best of him.

Having a kind, caring family around, and having other people in general around, just made Fumikage feel safer. Even his foster siblings. They all despised him, but when they were around, his parents were less violent with him. There was always less expected of him when there were others around to steal all of the attention. But that didn’t mean Fumikage didn’t want attention, he just didn’t want negative attention. And every foster home he’s been in, year after year, has been exactly that.

He just wanted to feel loved, was that so much to ask?

Fumikage slouched back against the wall, only to quickly regret it as he felt a sharp pain shoot up his side. He sat back up with a groan. What exactly happened to him? He knows he blacked out at some point, but it was hard to tell what happened after. His body was numbed with pain; his back and arms were covered in burns that sting when touched, and he had a large, dark bruise right in the middle of his abdomen.

His memory of the previous night was cloudy, among other things, but he does faintly remember that sharp glint coming from his father’s knife. Fumikage put a hand to the source of the pain, feeling around for anything of interest. The closet was nearly pitch black, and as good as Fumikage was at seeing in the dark, he couldn’t do much other than carefully feel his wounds to make sure there isn’t anything too serious. But at this point, getting out of a punishment unscathed would be a miracle.

Fumikage ran his fingers across what felt like a gash along the side of his waist, approximating the length. He winced at the stinging pain, but kept going nonetheless. The wound went from just above his waist halfway up his chest. Pulling away he felt something warm and wet lining his fingers, which he could only assume was blood, given the stinging pain that shot through his body right after.

The teen let out a low groan in response, before wiping his bloody hand on his jeans. Slumping back against the wall, Fumikage looked as his blood stained hand. Even in the dark linen closet, he could still see the dark, smeared blood stain his palm and fingers. Suddenly he felt a surge of negativity rush through him, and he clenched his bloodied fist. Was it disgust? Frustration? Or just pure, justified, rage? It was always so hard, just trying to identify this one, burning, unbearable emotion. Fumikage felt it so often but could never tell what he was really feeling. Dark Shadow growled in reponse to their host, growing increasingly larger, metaphorically, desperately wanting to break free and release this unbearable surge of negativity. It didn’t take long before Fumikage boiled over, and slammed his fist against the wall behind him, causing the paint to crack and a dent to form in the wall. Fumikage looked to the wall next to him, and the result of his outburst. And just like that, he deflated, completely, and utterly, defeated. Defeated from what? It was hard to tell.

The teen choked out a sob, curling up within himself, burying his face in his knees.

Just one more day.

yeah. that’s it. short and painful sweet. no comments, bc i cant think of any. next part coming in uh….idk like a month? who’s to say lmao

I absolutely loved this!! I am so happy you shared this! The writing was phenomenal and this is such an interesting take on Tokoyami’s past. It has the perfect dose of angst~

I hope everyone else enjoys this as much as I did!

#bnha #tokoyami #tokoyami fumikage #tw child trauma #tw child abuse #tw pain #angst tw #angst #pain

19 notes · View notes

thebakingqueen5 · 3 years

Text

KW 2021: Role Swap

Day 4 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Role Swap!

This is taken more in a figurative sense- rather than Katara being the Avatar and Aang her teacher, I wanted to shift their relationship dynamics and just add some pregnancy fluff of course, so enjoy!

Links: FF.net | AO3

Summary: Another year, another summer, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 4: Role Swap. Expansion upon the Yin/Yang oneshot from KVB 2021. During Katara’s first pregnancy, an interesting change in dynamics occurs.

Word Count: 2.6K

Aang let out a groan as a beam of sunlight shone through the glass window directly onto his face, promptly waking the airbender up. He rubbed his groggy eyes, yawning as his senses awakened, and rolled over onto his side, arms expecting to find his wife’s form peacefully resting next to him.

“That’s weird,” he frowned. Aang patted the empty space again, reaching farther across the bed this time. Nothing.

Aang was naturally quite an early riser, far more so than Katara, and it had become routine for them to cuddle for an hour or two in the mornings before properly getting ready for the day. So where was she?

With a short blast of air from his hands, Aang propelled himself upright so that he was standing on the hard, cold, stone floor of the Air Temple. He closed his eyes in concentration, blocking out all other sounds and sights to focus on the vibrations under his feet.

Aang muttered to himself, eyebrows knitted, “She’s not on this floor… not in the temple at all actually, so where- the spring? What’s she doing there so early?”

Wanting to know what his dear wife was up to, the airbender quickly grabbed some blankets from the cupboard (early mornings on the island tended to be quite chilly) as well as some moon peaches from the kitchen and made his way through the temple corridors until he was standing outside, his natural element instantly surrounding him with a refreshing cool breeze.

“Ah,” Aang sighed, taking a deep breath. He basked in the sun’s rays for a few moments, eyes closed as the sounds of birds chirping and the distant crashing of waves onto the shore filled his ears and relaxed his senses.

Then, remembering why he came out in the first place, the airbender began trekking uphill to the west side of the island, resuming his search for Katara.

In their early days of exploring, the waterbender had discovered a secluded stream hidden in the forest that cascaded into the sea if you followed it far enough. It also had a few natural hot springs along it, and it had quickly become one of Katara’s favorite spots not only to bend and spar, but to also just unwind and relax.

“Kataraaaaa,” Aang called out, pushing away the vines that covered the entrance to her little nook. “Where’d you go, sweetie?” He could hear the burbling of the water as it flowed over the rocks under its surface as well as the soft croaks of the frogs who called it home. He had to be getting close.

“Over here, Aang!”

The airbender’s head perked up in the direction of her voice and he grinned widely when he saw her, pleasantly surprised.

Katara’s eyes were still closed, her features serene from her seat on top of a round, flat boulder overlooking a wider part of the stream. She had obviously been meditating, but that wasn’t quite what shocked Aang the most.

Instead of her traditional fur-lined Water Tribe garb, she was wearing Air Nomad robes in warmer shades of yellow, orange, and dark red like the fall leaves. Her swollen belly poked out from under the loose layers of fabric, and she had never looked so beautiful to Aang (except maybe on their wedding day).

“Hey, Tara,” the airbender murmured, walking up to her. He gave her a hug from behind and pressed a kiss to her temple, one of his hands interlocking with hers around the middle of her stomach while the other rested on top of her bump.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Quite early to be all the way out here, no?”

Katara slowly fluttered her eyelids open, the corners of her mouth turning up as she leaned back against him. “Well, your child wouldn’t stop kicking me and woke me up, so I figured we’d try and relax for some time.”

Aang pouted. “Why is she always my child when she’s bothering her amazing and beautiful mom?”

“Because he gets it from his dad,” she deadpanned in response.

“Meanie.” Aang gave her a look and stuck his tongue out at her, causing them both to dissolve into laughter.

“Meditating isn’t usually your thing, nor are those,” he pointed out as he gestured to her clothing, an eyebrow quirked. “What brought this on?”

Katara blushed, looking away with a shy smile. “Well, I thought I’d take a page out of your book. Meditating always works for you, so I just figured why not try it? And these I’ve actually been sewing together for the last week or so. I found a pattern in one of the crates we brought over from the Southern Air Temple, and they’re a lot looser and comfier than my normal clothes. I, um, I hope that’s okay?”

“More than okay. The fact that you even cared enough to use the pattern, not to mention how you took my breath away- it’s concerning as an airbender, you know,” Aang grinned as Katara giggled at the last bit.

Suddenly, a frigid gust swept by them, cooling the already chilly morning air and causing the waterbender to shiver as she scooted closer to Aang, seeking his natural body heat.

“Spirits, it’s cold,” she muttered, rubbing her hands up and down the sides of her torso. “I’ve been out of the South Pole too long.”

Aang quickly trotted over to the entrance of the little den where he had set down the blankets and fruits he brought. “I have just the thing.”

He quickly grabbed two of them, one made of polar leopard skins from the Southern Water Tribe and another he had managed to sew using Appa’s shedded fur last spring, and snugly wrapped them around Katara, handing her a moon peach as well as her body warmed back up.

“You really didn’t have to, Aang,” she mumbled, biting into her moon peach and humming contentedly when she tasted its sweetness.

Fruit still in hand, she gave him a slightly awkward side embrace, enveloping him in the blankets with her while he returned the hug and kissed the top of her head, as well as her growing belly.

“Of course I did,” he said looking down at her. “You always work yourself to the bone doing stuff for everyone else, Katara. It’s high time you let someone do the same for you. Especially when you’re carrying such precious cargo.”

Katara rolled her eyes, the pink tint in her cheeks and upturned corners of her mouth giving her true thoughts away.

“Quite the role swap today, eh?” she teased. “Me in airbender robes and meditating while you start to mother everyone?”

“Not everyone,” Aang chuckled. “Just you. You take care of our baby, so I take care of you. Simple as that.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Katara sighed. “Can we stay here for a bit?” she asked, leaning into the airbender a little more. “This is nice.”

“It would be my pleasure,” the airbender responded.

The couple did, in fact, end up spending the entire morning at the secluded creek simply relaxing, meditating, and enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t until Katara’s stomach growled that Aang insisted they head back (“You’re eating for two now, sweetie, c’mon- I’ll even make you some mini fruit pies.”) and have a proper breakfast.

Time quickly flew, and the sun made its way across the cloud-streaked sky as the minutes turned to hours and the afternoon was spent taking a stroll across the island grounds. The training arena and meditation pavilion had been coming along quite nicely, and soon some Acolytes would be able to move in from the other temples, Aang remarked at some point.

Alas, eventually duties called, and by dinner time, the airbender was holed up in his office, back hunched over a stack of documents illuminated by a small candle on his desk.

Though he certainly didn't regret the day's adventures, they had put him back significantly. The council had been assigning more paperwork lately with even tighter deadlines in preparation for the unveiling of new city infrastructure, like the ferry to the island, and it was driving Aang crazy. He barely got any time away from his Avatar duties as it was, and this just added to the pressure.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring!

Aang snapped out of his thoughts, startled by the chimes of the bell tower on the mainland and quickly counted how many he heard.

“12?! ” he thought to himself. “ How is it already midnight? I’m barely halfway through! ”

The airbender groaned, dropping his head onto the desk with a loud thump. All he wanted was to be next to his wife in their bed right now, and he couldn't even have that!

As if telepathically summoned by that last thought, Aang suddenly felt her soft hands on his shoulders, massaging them as they both sighed softly.

"You need a break," she whispered as she alleviated some of the stress held in his back. "You're so tense."

"Believe me, I know," the airbender muttered. "I wish I could just leave this all and take a break from work already."

"Well, why don't you?"

Aang turned his head to look at her as if she had just grown a third arm. "I'm the Avatar. I can't. This needs to be done."

She rolled her eyes, gaze still focused on kneading the knots in his shoulder blades. "Please, the world managed to go an entire century without the Avatar. I'm sure the council members can stand to wait a day without some lousy paperwork."

"But-"

"No buts," Katara harrumphed. "You're the Avatar! You're the one fighting for workers to have shorter work weeks and less hours so that they can be home with their families! Why not apply the same to yourself?"

Aang frowned. She did have a point. Technically speaking, he could easily skive off the paperwork and the council wouldn't be able to do anything. After all, he was the Avatar. Avatar Kuruk certainly had no problem with it (though that was a frequent point of contention between him and the other Avatars).

"People are relying on me to get this done, Tara. I can't disappoint them."

Abruptly stopping her movements on his back, Katara grabbed the documents and held them out of reach of the airbender.

"I'm going to tell you exactly what's going to happen now,” she huffed. “You are going to forget about these documents tonight. Tomorrow, if and when the council asks, you are going to tell them that everyone is taking the next week off because of how overworked they are. But for right now, you are coming with me for some nice, relaxing midnight waterbending. No sparring, just an orb of water back and forth.”

Aang opened his mouth to argue but faltered, seeing the determined look on Katara’s face. Instead, he just shook his head and chuckled.

“My wife, the epitome of responsibility and good work ethic, is not only encouraging, but actively telling me to blow off work and waterbend with her? Who are you and what have you done with Katara?”

The waterbender blushed, but the fire in her eyes did not die down one bit. “Maybe it’s this baby, maybe it’s the full moon, but you were the one who showed me how to have fun when I needed it, Aang. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

Aang sighed and set down his pen as he stood up.

“Lead the way.”

Katara eagerly took his outstretched arm and pulled him in the direction of the cove. On the southern tip of the island, surrounded by rocky cliffs on either side, there was a small lagoon, heated by the same source as that of the hot springs along the stream they had visited earlier. As a result, the water was comfortably warm all year round, and was incredibly effective for relaxing the mind, body, and soul.

The two arrived in mere minutes and the heat immediately had its desired effect. Tension evaporated away like water on hot coals as the two entered the steam and began to strip into their waterbending clothes, Katara in her bindings, slightly modified to accommodate her growing bump, and Aang in his undergarments.

The full moon reflected brightly off the surface of the water, creating an almost halo-like effect around the two benders as they entered the shallow end and began passing around a ball of water.

They easily settled into a consistent rhythm, moving back and forth in time with the ocean tide pushing and pulling around their feet. It was almost hypnotic in a way, and the monotonous motion calmed Aang’s erratic thoughts.

His head now far clearer, the airbender flicked his wrist, splashing a bit of water in Katara’s face.

“Did you just-” she asked in shock

He gave her a cheesy grin. “Maybe.”

“Oh, it is on.”

Instead of passing the ball of water back to Aang, Katara held it over his head, smiling devilishly.

“You wouldn’t,” Aang gasped.

“Wouldn’t I?” she smirked.

Without another word, Katara released her hold, and the sphere splashed down onto Aang, leaving the airbender soaked and spluttering.

“Two can play at that game.”

Aang swept his hands from side to side in a large motion that caused the water around Katara to rise higher and higher, soaking her from the hips down.

The waterbender began to form her counter to it, a large wave building behind Aang out of his line of sight, without realizing that the water around her had suddenly receded as he had the same idea.

The two simultaneously released their grips, and their waves swept over both of them, submerging them for all of a few seconds before the water settled and they came up for air. They were left sitting on their butts, completely soaked with their knees and torso mostly submerged, and burst into laughter.

“So much for some peaceful waterbending,” Katara chuckled.

“It may not have been peaceful, but it was exactly what I needed,” the airbender smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Of course,” she yawned, making Aang yawn as well.

“Looks like it’s time for bed,” he murmured, eyes bleary.

“It’s a warm night,” Katara said as she stood up. “Maybe we could sleep out here?”

Aang quickly strode through the water onto shore, Katara right behind him, and turned towards her, kissing her forehead.

“Cuddling and sleeping under the stars with my beautiful wife? Sounds absolutely perfect. Let me just get some pillows from the temple.”

“Oh, no, Aang, you’re already tired and worked so much today, you don’t have to do that-”

“Ah,” he interrupted. “My job to take care of you. Besides, the jog will help me sleep faster,” he winked, running off towards the spire.

Within a few minutes, he had gone and returned, pillows and blankets in tow, and the two quickly set up a little sleeping area on the beach so that they could finally settle down for the night.

“Ah,” Aang sighed as the two lay down on their sides and began to close their eyes. “The council might be mad, but you know what? Screw it, I’d take waterbending with you over boring paperwork any day."

“Well, I should hope so. I’d like to think I’m more exciting than paperwork,” she smiled, giving him a soft nudge. “You know, it’s not every day we get a whole day like this and it means a lot. You mean a lot. I love you, Aang. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” he smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to her stomach. “I love you too, Katara. You and our precious baby. Sweet dreams, love.”

“Sweet dreams.”

#kataang week #kataang week 2021 #kataangtag #kataang #aang x katara #midnight waterbending #aang #katara #pregnancy fluff #bc yes #4 am ramblings #wrote this way later than i should've #atla fanfiction

27 notes · View notes

sunnysviolin · 3 years

Text

White Dresses and Wedding Vows

I vow to love you always and forever

I vow to cherish you until the end of time

I will always be there for you. I will always wait for you to come back to me. There will never be a day you are not the first thing on my mind when I wake, and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep.

Hero had created a very elaborate idea of what his wedding to Mari would look like. They would get married in the church in their town, on a perfect summer morning before the heat made the church stuffy. The sun would gleam from the stained glass windows, creating rainbow patterns on the floor, and the air would be sweetened by endless flower arrangements. Lilies and roses, the flowers each handpicked by Basil for them.

In his dream Mari’s dress was always simple. Her favorite outfit to wear was a short sleeved long white dress, elegant in its plainness. Sometimes he saw her in that exact dress, sometimes he saw her in a full length version of it, her hands clasping a bouquet of white roses. Her father would walk her down the aisle and finally give Hero a look of quiet approval as he gave her away. Aubrey would be carrying her train.

They would stand as one in the front of the church as he slipped her ring onto her finger, an unknown pastor asking them to stay together better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness and health. It was all necessary, but Hero just knew it would always be better, richer, healthier. With Mari at his side, how could it not?

In his mind it was always a quiet easy ceremony, and afterward they would go back to their joined households for a simple backyard reception. Basil, Sunny, Aubrey, and Kel would each give a toast, and they would dance until their feet ached and the moon rose bright and full above their heads. Nothing elaborate, nothing fancy. They weren’t the types of people to need any of that. Just their friends, their family, and their love.

The only thing that was wrong were the vows. No matter how Hero dreamed it, he could never get his vows to sound right. They came out formal and distant, promises that fell flat in the epicness of his love for his girl. She was his other half, everything that made sense in the world. There wasn’t a world for him without her, there wasn’t even a way he could envision it. But every time he tried to put that into words, it came out basic and trivial.

They were years away from any real wedding plans, but it was frustrating that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t convey what he felt for her. Marrying Mari was an inevitability, just a step in his plan for his life. Of course he would always be by her side, all of it was just a formality for what he already knew.

He even had a promise ring for her, just a silver band with their initials on the inside. He would give it to her for her sixteenth birthday, only a few months away now. By then he would have a good handle on his vows, and he would tell her what he was going to say in the future when she was ready. By then the words would be worthy of her.

Of course, finding those perfect words didn’t really matter anymore.

Mari was wearing a dress now. Not the slim pale simple dress she loved so much, the one that reminded him of their future life together, but a pale lavender that washed her out. She was already so pale, no blush adorning her soft cheeks, but that lavender made it worse. It was wrong. Mari belonged in white. White was her color. But the reason they were in a church did not call for white, it called for black. It was not their wedding.

It was not their wedding, but she was surrounded by flowers. Delicate orchids instead of the white stargazer lilies he had always imagined. Her parents had chosen to have her funeral be an open casket, and they had carefully arranged dozens of orchids to surround her final resting place. Hero had glanced down at her only once, and after that he had kept his eyes closed the entire time. That wasn’t his girl. That was a delicate porcelain doll with her features, eyes closed and tiny mouth arranged in a neutral position. His girl had always been wildly expressive. Even when she slept her brow furrowed and relaxed and her mouth moved as she mumbled through her dreams.

Mari wasn’t sleeping.

Hero wore his best suit, and he had a diamond ring even though it wasn’t their wedding. The ring was not waiting in his pocket to slip onto her finger, but clasped around his neck on a gold chain. Mari’s mother had given it to him the day before. His own mother had tried to stop her, but Mari’s mother hadn’t acknowledged her protests. She had only given Hero a tight lipped smile and pressed the ring further into his palm, nearly cutting him. Hero was glad she hadn’t. Ruining its perfect shine with his blood would have been a waste.

Now he was fiddling with it, memorizing the shape and texture rather than listening to a pastor who barely knew her try to tell him about the love of his life. They had asked him if he would speak, and Hero hadn’t been able to answer. What could he say?

All he had were wedding vows that always felt like cliches, like words that could never capture how he felt about Mari, and now never would. All he had left were half finished vows for a dream that would never be reality. His life was over, all his plans in a box surrounded by orchids. The only wedding ring that he would ever have was already around his neck. The promise ring he had gotten for Mari tucked into the side of her casket to be buried with her. He was complete in his emptiness.

I will love you until the end of my days. You were the only person who I will ever feel this way for. You were the only one who could complete me.

Still wrong. It would always be wrong.

#omori #omori fic #omori headcanons #omori mari #omori hero #heromari #made myself sad

82 notes · View notes

paisley-print · 3 years

Text

10:00am : Five More Minutes

About: A morning spent in bed.

Rating: 18+

Word count: 1696

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Warnings: Smut (Oral Fem receiving, fingering, mentions of sexual fantasies) Pregnancy, family drama

Series Master-List

Tag List: @sherala007 (I remembered to tag you this time! Sorry for the mix up! :)

Notes: *sigh* a calm before the storm. Enjoy a nice moment.

“Close your eyes”

“How did you -”

Jack cut you off, sighing and shifting closer to you in bed. “Because I can feel you starin’, you’ll do fine.” He flipped onto his stomach, moving a hand up under your t-shirt to place his palm flat on your belly.

Daylight was spilling through the curtains, but you just wanted to stay in bed with him. The soft opening of the bakery was tonight for the members of the city counsel. It was a tradition in the town. You couldn’t tell if the nausea you felt was from the pregnancy or your nerves.

What made it worse was that most of the food there had been made by your staff. They were your recipes, but somehow it still felt like cheating.

“Jack?” You whispered, moving your hand to thread through strands of his coffee-colored hair. He shifted closer and kissed your cheek - his eyes still closed. You took this as a sign to continue, “you’re gonna make it, right?”

His voice was deep and husky from sleep. “Course I already spoke to the boss about it. He said it was fine. I wouldn’t miss this for the world darlin’.”

“Has your family said anything about tomorrow?”

“No, but I’ll ask em’ again.”

“...do you think they like me?”

Jack groaned “we’ve had this talk a million times sugar, of course they like you. They just have a funny way of showin’ it is all.”

You listened to the birds singing from the oak tree outside. Normally you two didn’t stay in bed this long unless it was a weekend, but Jack called in late today. You rubbed his arm idly under the sheets.

“Have you thought of any names yet?”

“We only found out it was a girl yesterday.”

“I’m watching this show and the main character’s name was Houston…. I thought that was pretty cute.”

He was quick to shoot you down, “no.”

“Why?”

“I refuse to name my daughter after the enemy.”

“Unpack that for me.”

“The Tennessee Titans formerly known as the Houston Oilers have had a rivalry with the Houston Texans since the team was founded in 1999.”

“Jesus Christ Jack Football?”

“If my daughter is gonna be a winner then she’ll need to have a winner’s name.”

You reached over onto the bed stand and unplugged your phone. You opened the web search app and started typing. “It says here that the Tennessee Titans have never one a Superbowl.”

“At least they’ve been there darlin’.”

You scrolled “yeah once twenty years ago. Says they lost to the St Louis Ra-”

He snatched your phone from your hand and placed it under his pillow. “They’ll get em’ this year darlin’ - don’t you worry.”

You snorted with laughter.

“Just for that her first birthday will be Titans themed.”

You smiled and settled in closer to your husband as the sweet scent of lavender filled your senses. “Do you think she can hear us in there?’

“I dunno.” he raised his voice a little. “Baby girl - if you can hear this, tell your mamma to get her cold feet off my leg.”

You kicked him playfully. “Tell your daddy to stop hogging all the covers and I won’t have to put my feet on his leg.”

“Tell your mamma that I need the blankets as my shield for when she decides to flail about in the night.”

You cackled. “I do not flail about.”

“Uh, trust me darlin’ you do - I gotta be ready at any moment for an elbow coming at my face.”

You giggled “that was one time.”

“It hurt like hell.”

“I was asleep! Besides, I said I was sorry.”

He shuttered dramatically. “You're worse than-” he cleared his throat, saving himself quickly. “Maybe I’ll call out today.”

“You don’t have any more vacation days,” you remind him.

“They can’t fire me.”

“Why?”

“Cuz’ then they’d have to kill me …..and you.”

Your eyes went wide. You lifted yourself up a little to look at him, only to notice the smile on his face.

“I’m only jokin’ hon. They would torture us both before they killed us.”

You rolled your eyes.

He snuggled closer to you. “Don’t worry darlin’ I won’t let that happen.”

“Oh, you won’t?” you asked, teasing.

“Nope.”

“What are you gonna do? Tie em’ up and bore them with football facts?”

He hummed, pretending to be annoyed - but you knew he was only playing. There was silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “I can still feel you staring-”

“I’m not tired I can’t just fall back asleep-” a gasp escaped your lips as Jack moved his hand from your stomach to brush against your panties. He traced the hemline of the fabric before moving his hand underneath.

His index finger stroked over your center with a feather light touch. You twitched and reached out to halt his hand. “If you're still tired you don’t have to-”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes but-”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“So close your eyes and let me do it.”

You nodded and relaxed into the mattress. Jack shifted upwards, so he was holding himself on one arm. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and started to rub tight circles around your clit.

You flinched uncomfortably; he knew what it meant without you even having to verbalize it. Reading your body was something he had become excellent at these last few years. He had learned your patterns and made a mental note each time something worked and something didn't.

The sheets ruffled against each other as his body weight moved lower on the bed. You didn’t realize what he was doing until his lips brushed against your upper thigh.

“I can do you next,” you told him quickly, not wanting to seem selfish.

He shushed you and hooked his fingers around your panties to pull them off. You lifted your hips and felt the fabric glide down your legs and off your feet. A shiver shot through your spine as his facial hair brushed against the inner part of your leg. He smiled and trailed kisses all the way down to the apex of your thigh, pausing a moment before starting to suck a mark into your soft skin.

You felt yourself buck already. He laughed at how eager you were and laid a hand flat on your hips, stopping your squirming so he could finish making a little bruise with his mouth. One of his favorite things to do was paint you with a hickey or two.

Especially in places that are visible to others, it served as a reminder to everybody that you were his. He got high off of it. Watching that spark of jealousy cross over peoples faces as soon as you flipped your hair or removed your jacket and unwittingly displayed for them the purple mark that he had kissed into your skin not hours before…..yeah he would never get tired of it.

He loved watching other people lust for you and often found himself wondering just what they were imagining. Was it the way your nipples perked up whenever he ghosted a hand over your chest? Or perhaps the sound of your breathless moans beneath him as he pumped into you and you submitted to him entirely? Sometimes when he was fucking you, he imagined someone watching or listening from outside the door.

The daydream that came most often was bending you over his desk and work and looking down at you. Your face pressed against a stack of files, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. In the dream he wouldn't try to silence your cries of pleasure as they echoed through the long corridors. He would make certain that you were heard clearly by every single coworker walking by the office. It was his dirty little secret that he never planned to confess because it made him feel guilty.

A large hand gripped your leg and nudged it apart, you could feel his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as he lingered there, teasing you. You whined, grasping a fistful of the sheets in your hand and rolling your head against the pillow.

You bucked again and thankfully he was merciful this time. He swiped his tongue upwards through your folds slowly, and your hips followed. Your hands released the fabric and found their way to his curls. His hair was mused and knotted from sleep.

“Fuck, I love you” you sighed.

His fingers spread you apart while his tongue started to swirl gently on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You arched your back and moaned something unintelligible.

Jack loved hearing you sing for him. When he first met you, he had noticed how much you held back. After that, each time he took you, he made it a game to pull as many trembling cries or melodical notes from your lips as he could. It worked too, because god did you sing.

His beautiful little instrument, carved by the gods themselves.

He moved his arms around your thighs, keeping them open as you squirmed from pleasure. He kissed you harder, losing himself entirely in the sensation of your wet sex against his lips. The tug on his hair made him smirk and dip his tongue inside of you. Hot waves of pleasure shot straight into your stomach.

The feeling of absolute bliss made you dizzy. “Jack,” you whimpered, voice cracking a little.

When you started to lift your hips into his touch, he knew that you were close.

You always squirmed a little more as you approached the edge. Pulling away and then moving right back, as if your body couldn’t decide if the pleasure was too much or not enough all at the same time. He withdrew his tongue and pulled you downward on the bed a little, positioning himself over you more.

“Please,” you begged, needing to feel him again.

He was quick to respond, clamping his mouth over your clit and flicking quickly with his tongue. The knot in your stomach tightened ever more, and you felt yourself moving your hips against his mouth.

He urged your legs to open an inch wider and that extra burst of sensation was all you needed to slip over the edge. Your eyebrows knit together and your mouth fell open in pleasure. You didn’t even hear yourself finish, but Jack sure did.

‘That's it, just like that darlin’,’ he thought triumphantly. He continued to kiss you, your walls fluttering at his touch until your hand came up to bat weakly at his shoulder. A signal for him to stop. He pressed one more kiss to the inside of your thigh before moving back upwards and settling on the pillow again.

He laughed when he saw you laying there, momentarily immobilized from ecstasy. The smirking cowboy snuggled closer to you again, forearm draping over your heaving chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“Yeah,” you panted “I can do five more minutes.”

#Jack Daniels x you #Whiskey x you #Agent whiskey x Reader #Agent whiskey x you #Agent whiskey fanfic #Kingsmen Fanfiction #Kingsmen Fanfic #Pedro fanfic #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal Fanfiction

48 notes · View notes

katsidhe · 3 years

Note

could you do 9.10 and 9.13 for episode reviews.

Love your takes btw.

9.10 Final Thoughts

well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend season 9. God I love season 9. buckle in.

Plenty of what season 9 tries to do with angel drama falls flat, but plenty of it doesn’t. It’s at its strongest when interrogating the ways that the angels are looking for personal purpose, rather than folding themselves into various suit-clad factions. In this episode, we have Gadreel, Abner, and Thaddeus, all with very different takes.

Thaddeus is the most boring of the three—a straightforward narcissist and sadist. (Lucifer will follow in his rockstar-impersonating footsteps in s12. SPN clearly has a dim view of the music industry.) We don’t care when he dies, and we aren’t meant to.

Abner’s found a family, and he’s let go of revenge. He’s clearly found peace and happiness—but it’s stolen. I’m ambivalent about this. I guess I could take his word that his vessel was abusive and therefore deserves to have been permanently body-snatched, and I guess I could believe him when he says his new family loves him, even though they clearly don’t know what he is or what he’s done. His regard for humanity as something other than a project is… uncertain. Even if everything is as sunny as he explains to Gadreel, there is fundamental selfishness and short-sightedness here. Get what you want, Abner says, and never let go.

Gadreel asks Abner if his vessel is happy. This reveals both Abner’s scorn for his vessel, and Gadreel’s uncomfortable awareness of and respect for Sam (and his bartender vessel, who Gadreel stares at, and who accepts Gadreel back easily).

Gadreel! OF COURSE Gadreel’s gotta be the scapegoat for Lucifer’s release, HAHAHAH. I love him to pieces, oml. Seriously, the Sam parallels could not BE more blatant. I’ve talked about this before, that it makes the earned antipathy between them all the more alarming, all the more visceral. The big sticking point is that Gadreel’s years of pointless torture came prior to his “redemption” arc, rather than as a consequence of it. Gadreel has all of s5 Sam’s despair and helpless anger and self-loathing, all of his drive to set things right at any price, and all of it is amplified by his trauma.

Sam and Gadreel’s relationship is defined by its liminal spaces. Gadreel threatens to tear Sam apart, but he does not, even when he is tortured. He locks Sam away in a dream rather than force him to watch him kill, or to suffer. But when Sam forces Gadreel out, Gadreel leaps instantly on telling Sam he is weak, reciting back Sam’s fears and Gadreel’s own. This reads like Gadreel is aiming quite a lot of his own self-pity and self-hatred at Sam.

Cas’s murderous rage at Gadreel when his identity is revealed is fun. It shows that Heaven’s PR team did a good job, for one thing. But Cas is furious because it’s specifically Lucifer. And the Apocalypse, and all the attendant suffering, his and Dean’s and Sam’s. It’s a personal wrath.

“Stupid for the right reasons…” oh, Cas, your scarcity of positive human role models is showing. Also, Cas’s particular brand of reassurance here isn’t actually something Dean has a problem with. He expresses regret over having been tricked—he says he’s stupid, he says he got played—but he’s never in doubt that his intentions were good. He’s never in doubt that he did the righteous thing. He’s never in doubt that he’d do it again.

Dean apologizes to Cas for barring him from the bunker. (Sam will not receive an apology.) Cas compares what Dean did to Sam to what Cas did by trusting Naomi. There’s a key difference here. Cas’s moral compass is not the problem; it’s his critical thinking skills.

Crowley, Cas, and Dean are a hilarious trio. (Also, I really hope that Cas’s pimpmobile got to Heaven too, like the Impala.)

Crowley being genuinely sorry that Kevin’s gone and his willingness to risk his life to help Sam are the best two moments of the generally weak Crowley-has-human-blood plot line. They feel earned. [also Crowley’s ‘I told Kevin he should’ve run!’ is both accurate, funny, and sad.]

Let’s talk 4.21 parallels! I mean, first, the glaringly obvious: Sam locked down to be purged of something supernatural; Sam suffering; Dean unable to bear Sam’s tortured screams; a very atmospheric fan. Dean walking away.

and then, of course, there’s “at least he dies human.” Right off the bat, Dean tells Cas he’s going to kill Gadreel. Cas, concerned, says that this will kill Sam too; Dean, sounding tortured, says he knows. Now, obviously, Dean doesn’t kill Sam. He doesn’t even get particularly close. But it’s really interesting that this is the first thing Dean brings up! He declares unprompted that he’s ready to kill Sam rather than leave him possessed. Which is both a recapitulation of the save-him-or-kill-him mantra, and an ironic twist on the decision Dean made in 9.01. Then, Dean knew Sam would rather die than be possessed, but had him possessed anyway. Now, Dean has decided instead that Sam must die because he is possessed. Obviously Dean’s opinion on the possessing entity has changed in the meantime: Sam’s hasn’t, but Sam’s isn’t what matters.

Dean reaches new levels of PEAK IRONY when he declares that Cas should possess Sam too. Cas has to actually point out that Dean can’t, in fact, volunteer Sam’s permission. Because apparently Dean had forgotten, lmaooo. Crowley, on the other hand, is happy to oblige. Dean directs Cas to burn Sam’s tattoo off.

The language of this entire scene is so sexual. I mean, it’s Crowley, of course it is, double entendre is his first language. But this theme recurs again and again. Here it is just more pointed than usual. It is queasy.

Gadreel has Sam trapped in a Dean-type happy place—a hunt with ghouls and cheerleaders, no organic produce to be found. And I don’t think it’s because Gadreel doesn’t understand what Sam likes. I think it’s because Gadreel’s aim was for Sam to feel comfortable, not blissful. It smacks of Hallucifer, just a bit—using the verisimilitude of Dean’s louder moods rather than trying to appeal directly to Sam’s contentment, because of his always questionable, always a question, sense of reality. If things were too smooth, too cheerful, Sam might just be suspicious. Sam is easier to trick by proxy.

The HORROR of this episode for Sam: Gadreel washing someone’s blood off of Sam’s hands. Crowley pushing needles into his brain. Sam’s body and life as a bargaining chip as Gadreel threatens to kill him, and then as Dean threatens to kill him right back. The quiet heartbreak as Sam remembers Kevin’s death, as he realizes the magnitude of Dean’s betrayal. But the worst part of it, I think, is somehow still Sam’s face when Crowley comes to get him in the dream where Gadreel stashed him. How his expression just crumples as Crowley tells him he is trapped in a lie, that his mindscape is once again a prison, that he truly cannot trust his reality. The sheer devastation of this on top of Sam’s history, plus the knowledge that Dean did this—and he pulls himself together and puts his foot on Gadreel’s neck and casts him OUT anyway. Sam Fucking Winchester.

and then the Bridge Scene. The lighting, the staging… it’s fucking gorgeous. It’s one of those scenes where I knew as I was watching it for the first time, seven years ago, that it was going to be something. I held my breath and still hold my breath. I can’t take my eyes off the way that Sam is shaking slightly, the entire time. The way he can barely meet Dean’s eyes but he does it anyway. He SAYS HIS PIECE, says it clearly, says it with an even tone despite what he’s gone through, despite the holes in his head that were healed seconds ago.

I love the gentleness between Sam and Cas here. I love knowing that 9.11 follows this. I love that there is no question that Cas will leave with Dean—he is staying with Sam, to heal and support him, even after he spent this episode mostly reassuring Dean.

Dean does not start this conversation to apologize. He starts out with the intent to DELIBERATELY egg Sam on: “come on, let’s hear it.” It’s an incitement, because Dean wants Sam to act angry, so that Dean can feel more justified in leaving. Sam does not rise to the bait.

Dean has an excuse for every point Sam has: I had no choice, you were dying, it’s not in me, he saved your life. He says, “I did a bad thing with bad consequences and I would 100% do it again, anyway, bye.”

And then the most infuriating thing: Dean is in the wrong, so he tells the person he’s wronged, ugh, I’m just such an awful poisonous person, I’m going to burn for this. It’s so clearly wrong-headed. Intentional or not, it’s such an obvious invitation for Sam to comfort him that it might well have been embossed. If this were in e.g. season 15, or if the crime he’d committed had been less awful, I can easily hear Sam’s reassurance: no, Dean, I promise you’re a good person, we all make mistakes. It is the most toxic way possible to frame a potential apology.

The textual theme of Dean-as-poison (and, for that matter, the consequence of Kevin’s death vs. the initial crime of the possession) is an intentional muddying of the waters: Crowley, Cas, and Dean himself all bring it up in some fashion, linking some fundamental aspect of Dean himself rather than Dean’s choices to Kevin’s death. Crowley is trying to be cutting; Cas is trying to be supportive; Dean is both excusing himself and camouflaging that fact in his exhausting self-loathing. There is a complicated interplay of what the text says about Dean’s guilt and what it condemns; this pattern continues throughout s9, and reaches its apex in the next several episodes. Dean’s love as a condemning feature rather than a redeeming one is one of my favorite things about SPN, and s9 has it in HIGH gear.

But, here, at least, Sam doesn’t rise to this bait either. “Don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.” The problem is obviously, achingly, exhaustingly clear. Sam’s spelled it out in this very conversation: you tricked me. You lied to me. You got me possessed when I was willing to die. But Dean, and a fair portion of the audience, can’t hear it. So he doesn’t. And they don’t, and they pretend that this line is some sort of puzzle! a cliffhanger on a conversation unfinished! when it was the conclusion, not the beginning.

image that is now inextricable from 9.10

#9.10 #final thoughts #I have even more to say tbh #sam and cas #sam and dean #dean and cas #sam and gadreel #sam and crowley #sam and possession #sam and abuse #dean and self-hatred #sam and forgiveness #sam and mindscapes #sam and trauma #blahdose

88 notes · View notes

kakakakashi · 4 years

Text

Hokage’s Office: The Door

100 Follower Celebration - Day 5

Kakashi Hatake x Reader || NSFW

Warnings: porn without plot, Kakashi’s a smug motherfucker, cursing obviously, overstimulation, idk man, you know what you’re getting into by day 5

Word count: 2,855

A/N: I think this one is my favorite tbh.

Irritated was an understatement for how Kakashi currently felt. He’d been dealing with too many frivolous problems all day long. Even with Shizune and Yamato’s help, Kakashi was still up to his neck in bullshit. He was the Hokage for crying out loud.

When he trudged back into his office with a cup of black coffee to help get him through the day, he found you swaying back and forth in his chair with your feet propped on the edge of the desk while you read his work copy of Icha Icha Paradise. Frankly, Kakashi didn’t have the patience for this.

You’d made him late this morning after trying to entice him with morning sex, but Yamato had ended up knocking on his door right when things were getting good. His friend insisted that they were both needed in the office, and he was sent to make sure Kakashi was okay. Kakashi ended up going into work only for you to pester him all day until now.

“Feet off the desk,” he demanded in an exasperated, low tone. You rolled your eyes at him, pretending like you didn’t hear while you flipped a page in the book. “Don’t think I didn’t see you roll your eyes.”

“Fine,” you huffed, allowing your feet to loudly plop on the floor, hoping to get your point across that a lot worse things have happened to the desk. However, Kakashi seemed to snap at your brattiness, stalking forward until his large frame towered over you.

“I’ve had it with your attitude.” Your wide eyes met his narrowed one for a moment before he threw you over his shoulder and carried you towards the door. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing? I don’t have time for your immature little act. I really don’t want to give into you, but maybe if I do fuck you, you’ll finally do something more productive with your time.”

He flung you from his shoulder so your back lightly smacked against the door. He knew exactly where to position you so that when he put you down, you were only an inch off the ground with his thigh between your legs and his hands beside your head.

His flaming eye and intimidating stature had you panting, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable with no way to escape. Gazing at him, you’re reminded that he is a deadly shinobi, and you’re also painfully aware that you want him to ruin you.

“By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky if you can walk out of here.”

His voice sent a shiver of arousal down your spine, settling in your lower stomach while his fingers fiddled with your pants until they were undone. Once they were about to fall off your hips, he knelt down on the floor, not breaking eye contact with you until his gloved hands fisted in the fabric of your pants to tug them off along with your underwear. He maneuvered one of your feet out of the fabric before hooking it over his shoulder, effectively spreading your legs for him. Meanwhile, his free hand already had a finger hooked in the edge of his mask.

Watching him in this position had your pulse racing. The sin behind his eyes had you weak at the knees, and he knew he had you right where he wanted you. If his eyes didn’t say it, the smug smirk he exposed when he pulled his mask down sure did. He mumbled, “You know the word.”

“Yes.”

His gaze darted down from your eyes to between your legs where you knew you were already wet. The air felt far too cold hitting your folds, and you knew Kakashi would taunt you for being so eager. As if reading your mind, you heard the chuckle he let out under his breath. Your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, your palms flat against the door balling into fists out of frustration. However, you nearly lost your balance when Kakashi’s tongue unexpectedly darted out to give a gentle lick to your folds.

The gasp that tore from your mouth had him laughing to himself again, his huffed breath fanning against your slick core, prompting another shiver throughout your body. Kakashi’s gloved palms gently took hold of your thigh over his shoulder along with your other hip before he buried his face between your legs and pressed his tongue to your clit, circling the small bud to give you the friction you desperately craved.

A soft, breathy whine escaped your throat while one of your hands gently threaded your fingers through his hair in encouragement. He retreated for only a moment, licking a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, where he flicked at it with the tip of his tongue only to wrap his lips around it and suck. Your back arched into the contact, head flung back, and you could feel Kakashi’s smirk against your pussy. His tongue began drawing patterns, making your breath hitch in your throat with each stroke of his tongue. You did your best to stay still against the door, well aware of why Kakashi wanted you in that exact spot.

He kept working you so well with his tongue, alternating from his incoherent patterns in favor of dragging his mouth down to your entrance where his tongue circled you before dipping inside. You glanced at Kakashi only to find him completely concentrated, filthily pumping his tongue inside you while pleasure gradually accumulated in your body. The sight of him, eyes closed and swollen lips lapping at you like you were his last meal had you biting your lip to keep from moaning, but Kakashi knew what you had done.

He retracted his tongue and licked his slick, swollen lips before his eyes met yours. He demanded in a rough voice, “Let me hear you.”

“Kakashi, someone’s going to hear.” You panted out, trying your best to hiss at him, but your words only came out more desperate than anything.

Kakashi’s lips were on your inner thigh now, his teeth nipping on the skin hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation had your hips involuntarily bucking in search of friction, and Kakashi’s lips tugged upward. “Darling,” he mumbled with his lips still brushing against the tender flesh so close to where you needed him, “we both know you love the thought of someone hearing us as much as I do, so don’t play so coy.”

Your head rolled back again while you whined out wantonly, your brows furrowed in frustration. Of course the little shit knew what he was doing when he put you against the door. He wanted people to hear you, how much you wanted him. It never ceased to amaze him how such a powerful person who was feared by nations would turn to putty in his hands, begging for him so desperately it would make Jiraya blush.

“Go, on. Let everyone hear those pretty little sounds you make for me.” His mouth found its way to your clit again, puckering his lips around it and sucking hard. The shock of the sensation had you drawing in a loud gasp, and Kakashi’s words rumbled against your heat, “Attagirl.”

That drew a soft moan out of you, and it only continued to motivate him to get more out of you. He began using his tongue again, tilting his head to cover more area while your grip on his hair tightened a bit. Your hips loosened up with each roll of his tongue against you until he did something that made them stutter unexpectedly. He repeated his previous action, and a sound caught in your throat. He continued that motion, alternating between it and sucking on your clit just how you liked it, even going so far as to scrape his teeth against the bud a few times just to get you to cry out in shock.

The cloudier your mind got, the louder your soft sounds of pleasure became, and the louder you were, the more Kakashi gave you. When you began to feel that all-consuming flame in your gut, you started moving your hips in time with Kakashi’s mouth, causing his fingers to dig into your flesh in encouragement.

He sucked on your clit at one particular angle, and a particularly loud moan came tumbling from your lips. It made Kakashi’s mouth vibrate with a grunt against your cunt, and you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t keep your noises to yourself while you began guiding his head by his hair. It only made him moan more. After all, Kakashi loved it when you pulled his hair. With newfound motivation, he was eager to please, driving you closer to the edge with each lap.

“Fuck, you’re too good at this,” you moan out, “Kakashi!”

His hand on your hip slipped down your leg, encouraging you to spread your legs a little wider, and you obliged, trusting him to not let you fall. The new angle had you hurtling towards your orgasm more, that fire in your gut spreading to your entire body, concentrated mostly where Kakashi sucked at you.

You could feel yourself climbing closer to that peak, your body beginning to lose control with each passing moment. Kakashi was obviously aware with the way your pussy quivered around nothing, and just when you were about to cum, he retreated.

You were about to yank his hair to get him back in place, but you knew he’d leave you like this if you did anything like that after everything you’d done before now.

“Did I say you could cum?” He looks like he’s about to scold you with the way his brow is cocked, and you quietly sob out in response.

“No,” you confess, “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be good. Just, don’t stop. Please.”

He licks his lips while he admires the wreck he’s made of you. Internally, Kakashi debated if he should humor you or if he should wait until you calmed down so he could really drag it out. You had been waiting for this since you woke up, so he decided to oblige you, but not without warning you, “Very well, but you don’t get to cum until I say you do or else.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “yes, I understand.”

Thankfully, Kakashi dove back in between your legs and started working you up again. You were throbbing against him while he worked your body like only he could. Your nails dug into your palms, releasing his hair in fear that you’d hold him against you until you came.

Kakashi resumed his pace, but he started developing a new pattern. He was well aware that you’d come sooner than he wanted if he continued with the previous one. However, the more he worked you, the more you couldn’t bear it. The fire in you burned your skin so beautifully, it practically consumed you while you moaned his name. And without even realizing, the cord deep inside you snapped, your legs shaking while you released all over Kakashi’s face while his lips assaulted your abused clit. You cried out softly while your hips bucked against his face. You didn’t notice the disapproving glare on his face while he continued to suck, working you through your orgasm.

However, once you came down, Kakashi tossed your leg to the floor and stood up, licking his lips before wiping his mouth on his glove.

“Did I say you could cum?” he repeated his earlier question, this time much more taken aback than before. You deliberately disobeyed him, and he was not happy.

With wide eyes, you realized your mistake. “No,” you softly yelped, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to. It just snuck up on me.”

Kakashi took the opportunity to loosen his own pants before he caged you in against the door between his arms. His eyes bore into yours when he replied. “No, I didn’t. Did you really need it so badly that you couldn’t even wait for me to give you permission?” He paused. “Fine, you want to cum. You’re gonna cum again and again until I tell you to stop. We’re not finished here just because you came.”

His eyes never left yours while he freed his dripping erection from his slack pants before he wedged a knee between your legs and spread them apart. Taking one of them, he hooked it around his hips while he ground his member against your soaked folds. You mewled at the contact, grinding your hips in time with his while he covered himself in your arousal before he lined up with your entrance, catching inside you before his free palm grabbed at your other thigh, encouraging you to wrap them around his hips. You obliged, and he used the momentum to thrust into you with one hard thrust, trapping your body between his and the door.

You cried out at the sensation of Kakashi stretching your walls almost too much. His hips began slamming into yours mercilessly, not even giving you time to adjust while he set his own pace. The door behind you was thumping with every thrust of his hips into yours, sheathing himself so deep inside you, you thought he might split you in half. Each drag of his cock inside you had you getting louder until you were screaming his name in pleasure. You were still throbbing uncontrollably from your previous orgasm, and Kakashi was giving you too much. In his grip, you couldn’t even squirm much, his grip on your hips holding you right where he wanted you, and all you could do was grip onto his broad shoulders.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room while Kakashi filled you to the hilt over and over until tears prickled at your eyes. “Please!” you begged him through a strangled cry, “Kakashi, it’s too much.”

He grunted in your ear, not even bothering to slow the merciless piston of his hips into yours. “You’re gonna be a good girl and take what I give you, and you’re gonna thank me for it because you were begging for it earlier.”

You moaned so loud your throat cracked. There was no way of knowing if you cried for him to stop or to continue when you replied, “Please!”

His hips crashed against yours, grinding against your clit beautifully with the position, Kakashi’s thick cock rubbing you just the right way while he ripped you apart. When you practically jerked in pleasure, Kakashi knew he’d found that spot inside you, angling you perfectly so his erratic thrusts hit that spot every time.

He was fucking you like an animal up against the door. It was obvious to anyone who passed by exactly what was going on behind closed doors, but you couldn’t find it in you to care when your body lost control, winding tighter and tighter the more Kakashi pleasured you.

“Look at you,” he groaned, biting at the flesh of your neck, “I bet everyone in the building knows what I’m doing to you right now. They probably think you’re a dirty little girl for fucking me in my office in the middle of the day, but I bet you like that.”

You screamed. You were so close you could taste your next orgasm. With Kakashi pounding into you mercilessly, his balls slapping against your ass with every frantic thrust, you were already clamping down on his shaft inside you. He was close too, though, his hips bucking at a less steady pace each time. You could feel his member twitch inside you with a particularly good thrust, and you knew the second that knot in you snapped, he would follow.

“Yes. That’s it. Cum on my cock,” Kakashi practically growled in your ear, and that was all it took for you to break, every nerve in your body unraveling with a snap. You clung to him while your body shook, mind going into a blissful haze.

Kakashi’s hips stuttered for a final time before he was following you, emptying his load inside you with a series of grunts and curses while both of you twitched until you came down from your intense highs.

When you finally had some sense back, you unhooked your legs from Kakashi, placing them shakily on the floor while simultaneously slipping his softening length out of you. You tried to stand, but you almost fell, barely catching yourself on the door handle before you could tumble to the floor. Thankfully, Kakashi also reached out to help steady you. Although he appeared to be just as shaky as you were.

It took a minute for you to regain your bearings. Your entire lower body felt like it might give out at any moment, and all you could do was lean against the door with Kakashi while the sticky mix of cum dripped down your legs. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, though. Kakashi and you were happy to simply gaze at each other, trying to steady your breaths between soft, loving kisses.

#cherry's 100 follower celebration #naruto imagines #kakashi x reader #cherry has ideas sometimes #hi. i’m cherry queen of the sin bin.#100 #cherry posts about ninja nerds #200

278 notes · View notes

adventuresinwonderlust · 4 years

Text

Title: “Two months too long”

Pairing: dom! Yoongi x sub! brat! Reader Ft. Namjoon Ft. Jin Ft. Jimin

Warnings: SMUT like a lot, fluff (just a bit), angst (eh), cheating/talk of cheating, abusive parents, oral (f) receiving, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), rough sex, orgasm denial (f) receiving

*Read in both perspectives, this a long one: over 10,000 words.*

Rating: 18 and over

Y/N:

“Faster, Faster!” You moan, yanking his hair, and grinding your aching cunt against his face. You’ve been at this for 20 minutes and you were no closer to your release than when you started. “Use your fingers!” You cry out. Jimin pops up from beneath your skirt, out of breath, lips swollen. “Jagi, this doesn’t seem to be working. Please, I need to be inside you.” He whispers in your ear, rubbing his erection along your thigh. “I don’t know why I am even doing this. We were supposed to just talk. I have to go.” You push him away. “Perhaps lover boy isn’t doing his job properly.” Jimin quips licking your juices from his lips. “This was a mistake Jimin, I can’t, we can’t do this ever again.” “We shall see Jagi. As always, it’s good to see you.” You rush out of Jimin’s office and race for the street, angry with yourself for thinking you could have a simple conversation with your ex. You hop into your car and pull out your phone sending a text that you know will just fall into the unknown like the rest. ‘I need you, please just answer me. I miss you. I’m so sorry.’ You wait and wait staring at the screen, as tears begin to fall from your eyes, for a response that doesn’t comes.

MIN:

Yoongi quietly contemplates whether he will respond this time. He does this every time you message, each message more desperate than the last. He’s ignored you ever since he walked out on your father’s birthday party, wanting you to suffer and hurt the way he did. A tap on the passenger side window snaps him out of his contemplation as he simply placed his phone in the cup holder. “If it isn’t my baby brother. Have you missed me?” Yoongi’s brother smiles wide, throwing his luggage in the back seat and taking his place in the passenger’s seat. “How was your flight?” Yoongi grumbles. “Nah, come on, is that anyway to greet me?” Yoongi sighs deeply but leans over and embraces his brother. Yoongi had never hated Jin, he was in the same boat as Yoongi, merely a passenger to their parents’ craziness. In fact, Jin and Yoongi had bonded over the years and become a source of comfort to one another. Jin was only older by a year but had taken over his father company after his death, becoming quite successful at his young age, something Yoongi admired and Yoongi’s father lusted after. A fact that neither boy allowed to sully their relationship, Jin even protected Yoongi at times from his father’s wrath. “Have you eaten?” Yoongi asks. “No but I can wait. My mother has instructed me to come straight to the house to see her upon landing.” Yoongi nods and begins driving. “How’s the love life?” Jin inquires, Yoongi chuckles. “I don’t do love lives.” “Good answer bro. I intend to meet many love lives out here. Mother has been pressuring me to choose a wife and I am uninterested.” “Well then, we should throw a welcome home party for my favorite brother.” Jin laughs out loud. “Speaking of, how is Namjoon?” Yoongi joins in on Jin’s joke laughing along with him.

Y/N:

“So, let me get this straight, you want me to convince him to talk to you?” “Yes! Exactly.” Namjoon nods sarcastically. “No.” “What? Why not?” “Well for starters you really messed up this time and second, I don’t care to be involved in your craziness!” You whine obnoxiously. “Joon, please. I need this, this one favor.” “Ah, then one favor becomes two and two three and you see the pattern here yeah?” You drop your head into your hands and begin to cry causing Namjoon to chuckle nervously. “Well, don’t cry. He just needs his space. You need to realize that not everything is your way. The people around you have feelings also and deserve to be treated accordingly.” You wipe your tears and look up at Namjoon. “I fucked up Joon and I don’t know how to stop fucking shit up but I know that I love him and I shouldn’t because he flat out told me he doesn’t love me but I still want him.” Namjoon sighs. “I think the best thing to do is give him space. When I see him, I’ll pick his brain a little but that’s all I’m going to do!” Namjoon warns as your face lights up. “When do you see him?” “Uh, Uh, bro code, remember?” “Yeah, yeah. What about us code?” Namjoon laughs. “That’s the thing Y/n, no one else puts me in a situation to have to play that card but you.” You roll your eyes at his response. “He will come around, hopefully, in the meantime you’ll just have to wait.” “I have to tell you something. I saw Jimin today. I know what you’re going to say. I shouldn’t have but I just wanted to get closure I guess, and it turned into something else completely and the entire time I was with him I just couldn’t stop thinking about Min.” Namjoon just stared at you in a disapproving manner, it made you feel anxious. You always thought highly of Namjoon, he was smart in ways you weren’t, and he always gave the best advice and right now you needed that. “Well, say something Joon.” “I just have one question Y/n, How do you ever intend to move forward if you’re always looking back?”

MIN:

“Okay, okay. How about this one? What do you call a cow with no legs?” Yoongi sighs and rolls his eyes but obliges his brother’s antics. “What?” “Ground beef!” Jin immediately starts cackling while Yoongi just shakes his head disapprovingly. They have been home for a time but no one else was home. “We should’ve just gone out to eat. I fear you’re losing your mind.” Yoongi tells Jin. “Yeah, I agree. Let me call mother and see what’s going on.” Jin walks off. Yoongi pulls out his phone and aimlessly scrolls through his Instagram, stopping when he sees a side profile mirror selfie of you in bed, hair tousled, wearing nothing but a thong and white crop top. He sucks in a breath at the sight, feeling his cock twitch to life. She’s teasing me and its working, Yoongi thinks to himself. He swallows hard, examining the photo with a fine-tooth comb, his heart beating at a rapid pace. His mind playing tricks on him, what if she was just with someone. You have your phone positioned to cover your face so he couldn’t really tell if you looked fucked out. “Wow, she’s hot! Do you know her?” Jin leans in over Yoongi’s shoulder. He fumbles with his phone quickly tucking it away. “What did your mom say?” “Oh! You really like this one huh? You got all nervous and I think you’re even blushing.” Jin teases. “Fuck off.” “Well in any case, mother is almost back from shopping. She’s going to bring food back with her. While we wait, why don’t you tell me about this girl.” Yoongi shakes his head, visibly annoyed. “She’s no one. Someone I was seeing for a bit but she’s just like the rest. Taking what she needs and discarding what she doesn’t.” Jin purses his lips, nodding in understanding. He taps Yoongi on the shoulder, “Day by day brother. Just take it all day by day. Anyone who doesn’t see how great you are doesn’t deserve your time. How about another joke to clear your head?” “Ahh, please spare me. I’d rather jump head-first into the river.” Yoongi jokes. “That can be arranged boy.” Jin and Yoongi both jump up at the sound of Lee An’s voice. They both bow deeply as she shoves past Yoongi and embraces Jin. “My son, my handsome son. Ive missed you so. Come, let’s eat, tell mother everything about your trip.” She takes Jin by the hand and pulls him towards the dining area. “Come brother.” He waves at Yoongi to join. “Actually, I would prefer some time with alone with Jin. I’m sure Yoongi has other things to do today, don’t you boy.” “Mother, Yoongi picked me up from the airport. He hasn’t eaten either and I’ve missed him as well.” She sucks her teeth at Jin. “It’s ok. Your mother is right. I have a lot to do today. We can catch up later.” Yoongi gives Jin a tight smile and turns to grab his things. “Mother that was rude of you.” Jin whispers. “I don’t care. I hate that boy and I don’t want you picking up nasty habits from him.” “I have ears you know.” Yoongi mumbles. “I wasn’t trying to be discreet.” Lee An hisses as she walks off. “Really, stay brother, don’t worry about her.” Yoongi chuckles and taps Jin on the shoulder. “It’s all good, I’ll see you later at Namjoon’s place, besides this will give you a chance to get out all those terrible dad jokes. Women don’t find those things sexy.” Jin laughs loudly. “I find just the opposite. It drives them wild.” Jin gives Yoongi a wink as he takes his leave.

Y/N:

You watch as the likes and comments pour in for your naughty little photo but of course the attention you want you don’t get. Namjoon’s voice rings through your head over and over. He was always right, even more so this time. How did you ever intend to move forward if you were always looking back? You were fooling yourself into thinking you needed closure from Jimin. You had since moved on from what he had done to you without a second thought but still you ran to him when Min left you high and dry because you figured you’d show him who was boss, again only fooling yourself. Now it seemed you may have ruined any chance at a normal relationship. “You told him you loved him? Girl, are you sick in the head?” You sat on your BFFs bed, sulking, filling her in on everything. “It doesn’t matter now, I fucked everything up. He doesn’t feel the same way and hooking up with Jimin again just put the final nail in my coffin.” “Yeah but he doesn’t know about that and you didn’t even cum so technically it doesn’t count.” You groan and throw yourself back on her bed. “Why can’t I just be happy?” Your BFF sighs deeply at your question. “Well for one, I think you might be an actual bitch.” “Wow, thanks! You’re really great at this!” She begins laughing at your response. “Okay, okay. You seem to be hooked on this guy and while I don’t approve, I am always down to help my girl out. With that being said, I happen to know that he is currently with Namjoon.” You hop up at this news. “How do you know this?” She gives you a sly smile. “I’ve been texting Joon and he told me they would be out and about today, planning some party. Maybe we should accidentally show up to where they’re going to be looking fucking bomb. Get that Min boys blood boiling.” “That’s fucking genius! I think I’m in love with you!” You say before jumping on her. “Let me text Joon and see what’s the tea.” “Let me borrow that red mini skirt.” You ask, running to her closet. She nods excitedly while texting rapidly. “Let’s see you ignore me now.” You whisper, looking yourself over in the mirror.

MIN:

“Who are you texting so much?” Yoongi ask Joon while shoving a dumpling in his mouth. “Ahh, Y/N’s friend, do you remember her from the party? I don’t know, maybe I’m reaching but I think we have chemistry.” Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think she liked me very much. She wasn’t very nice if I recall.” “Maybe you should try smiling more.” Yoongi pretends to choke on his food at Namjoon’s comment. “Now where’s the fun in that?” “Namjoon, hello, how are you? It’s so good to see you again.” Namjoon begins to stutter as Yoongi licks his lips looking over the guy who’s approached the table. He furrows his brow, trying to recall where he’s seen him before. “Jimin, what are you doing here?” “Finishing a business lunch. This place has phenomenal food. Who’s your friend?” He looks over at Yoongi, who’s heart drops to his stomach. “I know you. You’re the ex.” Yoongi states through clenched teeth. “Excuse me.“ Jimin questions, leaning in. “Y/N’s ex, the one who kissed her at her father’s party.” Jimin’s eyes widen suddenly. “Ahh, you must be lover boy. I would shake your hand, but it seems tasteless since I was just with Y/N today.” Yoongi jumps up from the table at the remark. “What the fuck did you just say?” Jimin takes a step back as Namjoon steps between them. “Gentlemen please, not in public. We all have reputations to maintain.” Yoongi’s body trembles with rage as he breathes heavily. “Calm down friend, as I recall she kissed me back at that party and came to my office to see me today. A fact I’m sure wouldn’t have been necessary had you been taking care of business on your end. No matter, I made sure she was handled just as she likes.” Jimin provokes with a wink. Yoongi chuckles and nods, passing his hand through his hair. “Let it go, Yoongi, he’s just trying to get under your skin.” Namjoon tries to calm. “Listen to Namjoon here. You wouldn’t want to do anything stupid.” “You’re right, she isn’t worth it.” Yoongi states calmly, grinding his teeth. He places money on the table and swallows hard, examining Jimin one last time before walking past him. “Good choice friend. Being the bigger person. I know how hard it is to resist her but I’m sure it’s harder to see her fucked out in photos on Instagram, knowing I’m the one who did it to her.” Yoongi’s breath hitches at Jimin’s words and he all but blacks out before spinning around quickly to slam his fist into Jimin’s perfect jaw.

Y/N:

“Shit!” Your BFF says aloud. “What? What’s going on?” “They are headed back to Namjoon’s house already.” “What? That was fast! He just said they were eating.” You look over to the passenger’s seat to catch her gnawing on her lip nervously. “Yoongi clocked Jimin.” Your jaw drops as you try to find words, heart frantically beating in your chest. “I don’t understand.” You feel tears burn in back of your eyes. “According to Joon, Jimin was at the restaurant also and approached them at their table and told Min you guys fucked and something about your picture on Instagram. Yoongi flipped and clocked Jimin. Damn that boys got it bad for you.” “Are you crazy!? What are you saying!? I didn’t sleep with Jimin okay. That’s a lie! And why would he even hit Jimin? We aren’t even together anymore; hes been ignoring me for almost two months. Why does he even care? I can’t, I have to pull over.” You abruptly turn the wheel, parking the car on the side of the road, and begin hyperventilating. “Calm down Y/N! What the hell?” Your friend rubs your back to calm you. “He’s never going to talk to me again! Everything is so fucked!” You sob. “I don’t want to be that friend that hits you with an I told you so but girl this Min boy was trouble from the start. You need to just let this thing go. It’s not worth all this grief.” “You’re right. I don’t need to hear I told you so.” You bark at her, yanking out your phone. “Oh, please don’t do what I think you are going to do.” She warns you. You dial Yoongi and wait for an answer. ‘You have reached the voicemail….’, You hang up and dial again. ‘You have reached the voicemail….’, you hang up and dial again. ‘You have reached the voicemail….’ but this time your BFF takes your phone. “Stop,” She shouts, “He doesn’t give a shit about you. He only clocked Jimin because men are territorial pigs not because he cares! I have had enough of that god damn Min boy. Now, we are going back to get you cleaned up and go get nice and shit faced tonight, and you are going to forget all about that ridiculous Min Yoongi!”

MIN:

It had been hours since Yoongi knocked Jimin on his ass. He smirked to himself as he looked over his swollen knuckles. He was good and drunk now, making damn sure he was numb to the pain. He nodded his head to the music playing even though he had no clue what it was. His eyes shifted frantically just trying to focus on something long enough to fool himself into thinking he could move about the party he and Namjoon put together for Jin. “There you are brother! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! This is Lisa and Jess. I overheard them talking about the infamous Min boy and they could hardly contain themselves when I said we were brothers.” Jin gives Yoongi a wink. “Is that so?” Yoongi looks over the two girls, not really his cup of tea but he’s not in the position to be picky. He needed to get his mind away from you and quick! Before he has time to speak Jess leans in for a photo. “Smile for the Gram!” Yoongi leans his head in and gives a sly smile. “Oh, me too!” Lisa leans in next and Yoongi obliges her with a photo as well. “Jin was just telling us he doesn’t have social media.” Lisa pushes herself against Yoongi to say. “Takes away from one on one time. I hate it.” Jin explains. “Maybe we can have some one on one time?” Lisa whispers into Yoongi’s ear. He takes a moment to take in her features. She’s a pretty girl, too much makeup honestly, which surprised him since she didn’t really need it. She begins to run her hand over his arm and press her breasts, which are spilling out of her top, into his chest. “Can we find someplace quiet?” She breathes heavily into his ear. Yoongi nods and leads her off. Jin winks at him, wrapping his arm around Jess, who pulls him into a kiss. Yoongi takes Lisa through the house, trying to get to a guest room. “This is good.” She says, yanking him into a dark room. “This is a restroom.” He drawls, flicking on the light. “I don’t mind.” She giggles, shoving him into the sink and dropping to her knees. He chuckles at her enthusiasm. “We can take our time. I promise I’m not going anywhere.” “I heard you have a big cock. Is that true?” She pants, pawing at his crotch. He growls quietly, covering her hand with his, trying to soften her brutish attempts at stroking him through his pants. “Hey, hey,” He grabs her by the chin and lifts her face up. “It’s not going anywhere.” She giggles while yanking at his belt, undoing his button and fly. “I heard you like it rough.” She yanks down his pants and underwear just low enough to free his semi hard member. “Mm, let’s wake him up shall we.” She states before licking at his shaft like a lollipop. Yoongi’s brow furrows as he tries to calm his mind. You’re fine. He repeats over and over in his head as she laps at his cock. “Don’t tease.” He whispers to her. She smiles up at him before suckling on his tip.

He moans softly, as she swirls her tongue around his now engorged tip. “There’s that big boy I’ve heard so much about.” She comments, examining his fully erect cock. She slowly begins to stroke him, a perfect bead of pre-cum forming at his tip. She swipes her thumb over it and slides it down his shaft. He hums in approval. She wraps her mouth around his tip again suckling at it while using both hands to pump his cock. He groans in discomfort at how tightly she clenches and twist his shaft, her hands beginning to dry around his dick. “Wait.” He says. She releases his now reddened member. “Open up.” He says gently, placing his hand on the nape of her neck. She does as she’s told, and he slowly slides his cock into her warm gaping mouth. He sucks in a breath at the sweet sensation of moisture that finds his irritated dick. He is almost inserted halfway before Lisa begins to gag and shove him back. He pulls away, stroking her cheek gently. “I’m sorry, are you ok?” “I don’t really do the deep throat thing. I know guys like it but to be honest I think you’re too big for my mouth. Literally, my dentist once told me I have an unusually small mouth.” Yoongi purses his lips but soon nods in understanding. “Don’t you worry Min. I can still make you cum.” She smiles seductively up at him, pushing Yoongi’s hands away from his member to insert his tip in her mouth once again. She slurps loudly on it while using both hands to pump his cock again. Yoongi bites his lip to keep from groaning in pain. She slows her pace much to Yoongi’s delight and he releases a relived breath until she twists her head to the side and grazes his sensitive tip with her teeth. “Ah!” He cries out. “Sorry! I just get so excited.” She giggles. Yoongi grips the countertop and tries to steady his breathing. He should stop this right here and now, but he doesn’t want to insult the girl. So, Yoongi just closes his eyes, trying to stay calm in the moment. “Mm, so good.” She moans, moving her attention towards his shaft, wrapping her lips around the left side and gliding her mouth along the side. She begins to twist her closed fist around the tip of his cock, tightening her grip with every turn, causing Yoongi to wince at the feeling. “Fuck.” He whispers to himself. “You like that baby.” She asks, turning her attention to the right side and gliding her mouth along his shaft once more, all the while still twisting his tip tightly. “Wait.” Yoongi cries out, unable to stand the pain any longer. “Gonna cum already.” She teases. “Uh, no, just, um, I like when you use just your mouth.” He mumbles, trying to hold back his need to take control of the situation. Lisa doesn’t exactly look like the type to enjoy Dom play and he wouldn’t dare try it since she seems to live off the rumor mill. “Well, I can’t get the whole thing in my mouth but maybe if I just focus on the tip…” Lisa rambles as Yoongi’s mind begins to wander on how to salvage this moment. He stands there, cock out and losing life, watching Lisa’s mouth move but not processing what she’s saying. Instead he wonders about you, what you were doing, what you were wearing, if you missed him. Try as he might, he can’t stop thinking of you, your cunt, your neediness, and the way you swallow back his cock with ease, like a woman mad. He growls at the thought, his cock coming back to life. He begins stroking himself greedily while Lisa watches in awe. He closes his eyes, imagining you laid out, on display for him, rubbing your perky tits, mouth opened and waiting for his seed. He moans loudly at the thoughts plaguing his mind, feeling his climax approaching from deep within his ball sack. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Open that pretty mouth for me?” He asks of Lisa. “Um, I, uh, I don’t swallow.” Lisa mumbles, eyes wide like saucers, clearly affected by the show. “What?” Yoongi says breathlessly and frustrated. “I don’t swallow, sorry. I hate the taste.” Yoongi groans, heading towards the toilet quickly. He strokes his cock desperately and cries out as he shoots his load into the porcelain. “We could fuck if you want?” Lisa offers. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.” Yoongi states calmly, fastening his belt and escaping the restroom.

Y/N:

“This is amazing. Really a great idea. Why didn’t we think to do this sooner?” You pass the bottle of Vodka to your BFF and she takes a swig. “I have no clue but Its exactly what we needed. Namjoon is so sweet right? Like he could’ve told me no when I asked to borrow the lake house no questions asked but he didn’t. Who does that?” You squint over at you friend, taking in her newfound glow. “Wow, I’m really sorry.” She looks over to you and laughs. “Why?” “I have been so consumed by everything going on with me that I hadn’t noticed that you were falling for Joon! When did this happen?” “Ok, so, no more Vodka for you.” She scoffs. “Come on be serious! Does he know?” “Ugh,” She throws her hands up in defeat, “I have no clue! Ok, full disclosure, I guess it started blossoming at the fourth of July party and he’s just been so sweet and attentive, and I’ve never experienced anything like that. Now we’re like talking a lot! I mean he sends me a good morning text every day. Who does that?” She passes you the bottle. “No one because chivalry is dead but,” You swallow down some Vodka and the large lump in your throat, “You and Joon are going to be really cute together. I think you’ll make a great couple. I can always ask him how he feels about you.” “Really? Do you think he could like me? Like do you get that vibe. I mean, I know he’s completely out of my league. He’s smart and charming and worldly. I’m just some random chick that happened to become friends with the cool kids if you will.” “Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve the best! And Namjoon is the best in this God forsaken city so you go get your man girl!” Your friend immediately starts laughing and you can’t help but join in. “You are super drunk!” “Are we expecting company?” You ask looking past her. She spins around, “Not that I am aware of.”

Your jaw drops as Namjoon approaches from the house. “Shit, girl. Act natural.” You whisper to your BFF, who’s face is turning a gorgeous crimson. “Sorry to interrupt ladies! I had assumed you would be alone.” Namjoon says directly to your friend. “Nope, no, not a problem. Please join us Joon.” You slap your hand on the blanket laid out on the grass underneath you. He chuckles. “Not to be rude, I was hoping that I could speak to your friend alone?” Your BFF gasps as you try but can’t hide the shock on your face. “Of course, yeah. Um, Is Bear still here? Maybe he can drive me back home. I am in no condition to drive myself.” You respond, shaking the Vodka bottle at him. He laughs and nods. “I can definitely arrange that for you,” He turns and reaches his hand out to your BFF, “Will you do me the honor and join me inside for a night cap and some conversation?” Your BFF nods at him, shock and lust gracing her face. “Hey girl, drive my car back to my place tomorrow?” You ask. She looks over to you and nods as she makes her way to the house. “You ok?” Namjoon asks, holding his hand out to help you stand. “No but I think I will be.” You stand and then pull him into a hug. He squeezes you tightly. “Yeah, you will be. You’re strong like that.” “Hey, Joon, is Yoongi ok?” He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “No, but I think he will be.” You nod. “Be good to her. She really likes you and she deserves to be treated like a queen!” You point at him with warning. Namjoon smiles wide, adjusting his eyes to see you better. “I wouldn’t have it any other way Y/N.” He looks down at his phone and then up at you. “Bear is out front. Get home safe. Promise I’ll take good care of her.” You hug him again and make your way out to meet your ride.

MIN:

“Be quiet. Your mother will freak if she sees you like this.” Yoongi strains, trying to keep a drunken Jin upright on the steps to their house. “She can be very overbearing, but she is a good mother Yoongi. I wish she could love you like she loves me. You deserve to know a mothers love.” Yoongi scoffs at the comment. “My mother wasn’t always how she is now Jin. She loved me once and in her strange way still loves me now.” He responds, leaning Jin against the house to retrieve his keys. He quietly unlocks the front door. “Shh.” Jin says to Yoongi, pressing a slender finger to his full lips. Yoongi throws Jin’s arm around his shoulder and helps him into the house. “That Jess girl really was nice, I might call her again. How was Lisa? Did you like her?” Yoongi shakes his head. “I think I’m good for a while.” Jin laughs quietly at Yoongi’s comment. “Animal! What have you done to my son?” The lights go on in the living room and both Jin and Yoongi find themselves looking up in shock at Lee An. “Mother, we are fine. Yoongi threw me a party. It was wonderful. We had a great time!” “You smell like a whorehouse! I knew I never should have let you hang around with this heathen!” “Stop it mother. I am not a child! Yoongi did a nice thing for me. You are always putting him down and I have had it!” Jin shouts. “Is that so?” Yoongi’s father appears from the hall. Jin swallows hard. “Sir.” Jin bows. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Jin drops his head in shame. “No sir. I apologize. I just got frustrated is all.” Jin explains. Yoongi’s father rests his hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Understandable. Why you are just being a proud hyung and defending your brother. Who can ever fault you for that?” Jin continues to look down. Yoongi’s father removes his hand from Jin’s shoulder and turns to face Yoongi, who immediately stands tall. “You should be honored Yoongi.” “He should be punished.” Lee An chimes in. Jin whips his head in the direction of his mother.

Yoongi takes in a deep breath as his father approaches him. “Sir, please, we did nothing wrong.” Jin pleads. “It’s ok Jin.” Yoongi murmurs. His father smirks. “You are almost enthusiastic for punishment son.” “Why fight the inevitable?” Yoongi’s father hums in agreement, turning to face Jin and Lee An for a moment, nodding briefly at a snarling Lee An. He spins suddenly and quickly, punching Yoongi in the stomach. The wind knocks right out of Yoongi’s lungs as he drops to his knees with a strained gasp. “Don’t.” Jin shouts, moving towards Yoongi. Yoongi’s father shoves him back hard, causing Jin to fall on his ass. “Don’t touch my son!” Lee An yells. Yoongi slowly regains his breath but only for a moment as his father kicks him in the ribs. He cries out in pain, rolling onto his side. “Get up!” His father shouts, grabbing him from the top of his head. Yoongi claws at his hand, fearing he will yank out the hair from his roots. His father releases him. He gains his bearings and stands upright on his feet. “Stop this now!” Jin shakes free from his mother’s grasp to intervene, only to be met with the back of Yoongi’s fathers’ hand. “Jin! Stay back.” Yoongi strains. He turns to face his father and reason with him. “Father…” His words are cut off by the intense humming in his head from being struck in the temple by his father’s heavy fist. He stumbles back but remains on his feet. “Do you wish to fight me son? I can see the anger in your eyes. That burning, you wish to strike me, don’t you? Well, come on.” His father moves close to him. Yoongi does not respond nor does he move but instead he drops his hands to his sides. They stare at one another for what feels like forever. Yoongi pants heavily, still struggling to breathe. “Please sir, just stop this now.” Jin calls out to Yoongi’s father. “You will never understand just how much I love you son, until you yourself become a father.” Yoongi’s father explains. “I don’t ever want to love someone the way you have loved me.” Yoongi responds plainly. His father smirks with a nod, striking Yoongi square in the mouth.

Y/N:

Your father was out of town on a business trip and you hated being alone in the house. It just felt empty and hollow without anyone around. You shuffled about in your oversized shirt and fluffy slippers, looking aimlessly for something to occupy your time. It had just started pouring out and you were instantly happy not to be at the lake. The rains usually brought in intense winds when on the lake and it made you nervous that a tree would fall over. You stood in your kitchen snacking on a granola bar, listening to the rain hit the roof, when a desperate slamming on your door caused you to shriek loudly into your empty home. Your heartbeat quickly in your chest and you wondered if you should even answer it. The knocking came again this time more intense than the last. You shuffle over to the door and press your ear against the cold metal. “Who is it?” You shout as bravely as possible. There is no answer, and you can’t help but think of every horror movie ever, where the dumb girl dies after asking who is at the door. “I have a big knife.” You call out now. Still no answer and now you panic wondering if the person on the other end has a gun. “Please go away. I’m calling the police!” You yell. “Y/N,” You hear from the other side, “Please, open the door. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You remove your ear from the door, your brows high in confusion. You yank the door open and gasp at the sight before you. “Oh my god, Yoongi, what happened to you?” You shake trying to grab a hold of a bruised and bloody Yoongi. You frantically look over his bloody nose, lip, and bruise forming under his left eye, unsure of if you should ask what happened. He takes notice of your alarm.

“Do I look so horrible?” He asks, leaning his weight on you. He smells of liquor and winces as you wrap your arm around his waist. “No, I just, are you ok? Did you drive here yourself?” He nods, walking over with you to the kitchen. “You could’ve killed someone.” You hiss, dropping him into a stool and rushing to grab ice and a wet wash cloth. “I needed to see you.” He confesses, stopping you in your tracks. “I thought you hated me.” You bring the ice over and place it on his eye while cleaning the blood from his face. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I couldn’t stay away any longer. You hurt me like everyone always does but you love me like no one else does.” He shakes his head, and you can see his free eye glisten with his held back tears. “Oh, Yoongi.” You swallow back a sob. “Don’t,” He cuts you off, “I don’t know what this is. I can’t decide right now. I just know that I needed to be with someone who doesn’t hate me.” He explains, allowing an angry tear to fall. You wrap your arms around him, his face buried in your chest. “I don’t care what happens after tonight. I just want to be here for you.” You kiss into the top of his head, allowing him to dig his hands into your hips and pull you closer to him. “Let me draw you a bath. It will make you feel better. Wait here.” You walk off to your room and into your attached bathroom. You sit on the side of the tub and begin to fill it with warm water, bubbles, and bath salts. You go back into your room to grab fresh towels and find Yoongi already undressing. You gasp and shift your eyes down to the floor. You hear him chuckle. “Shy doesn’t suit you baby.” He says, standing before you completely naked. Your eyes water at the sight of fresh bruising forming on his ribs. You feel your face flush as he walks over to you and takes your face in his hand. “Will you join me?” He whispers, rubbing his lips over yours and it takes everything in you to not pull him into a kiss. “If you want me too.” He just nods and walks into the bathroom, shutting off the running water.

You undress quickly and head into the bathroom to find Yoongi submerged up to his nose. You thank the heavens that you convinced your father to get the larger soaking tub installed. He shifts only his eyes over to you which causes you to giggle. He slowly slides his body up and waves for you to join him. You gently enter the tub, being sure not to lean against his battered chest but you are caught by surprise when he tugs you towards him. “Yoongi,” You tense up, “I shouldn’t put pressure on these.” “It’s ok, I just need you close.” He tugs at you again until your back is resting against his chest. You suddenly feel emotional and feel the need to tell him everything you’re thinking. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry Yoongi. I was so stupid. I need you to know I never had sex with Jimin. I don’t know what he said…” “Please stop talking. Just lay here with me.” He cuts you off, frustration lacing his voice. You release a slow sigh and allow your body to relax into his, laying your head in his neck. He rubs his left hand up your arm until it rests on your shoulder and rest his right hand on your belly. His breathing becomes calm and you wonder if he is falling asleep. After a few moments you nuzzle into his neck causing him to moan. Now knowing he isn’t asleep; you decide to inquire on his evening. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You whisper. “No.” He clips. You raise your body up off his and straddle him instead, taking his face in your hands. “I am big shit in this city. My father knows so many people. I don’t know what happened or why your dad did this but I swear I can make sure he never touches you again.” He licks over his swollen lip, smirking at you. “Who said it was my father? Besides, I don’t need you to protect me but it makes me feel good to know you would call your daddy if ever I needed saving.” “I’m fucking serious Yoongi. I don’t ever want to see you like this again.” He pushes his back up away from the tub and pulls you into a gentle kiss. You melt into his soft lips, opening your mouth for his warm tongue to tease masterfully against yours. You moan into the kiss, nibbling at his top lip while reaching down to stroke his growing erection as it presses against your belly. “Make me cum brat.” He pants into your mouth.

Min:

Yoongi can’t stop kissing her, her soft mouth on his, driving him wild with need. His heart ached at her valiant attempt to provide him comfort, as if she could really protect him. No one could save him now. He can’t help but let a moan escape when she gently begins to pump his cock beneath the water. A flush of relief washes over his body. “I missed you too.” He admits, hitching his hips up as she gently glides his tip through her folds with every up stroke. He breaks free from her mouth and peppers kisses down her neck until he meets her collar bone, kissing and suckling at her exposed skin leaving a perfect purple mark on her flesh. He needed to claim her, show everyone she belongs to him. She shoves him back against the porcelain tub and begins to pump him faster using just her right hand in long languid strokes, being sure to run her thumb against the flesh on the underside of his sensitive tip. “God, how I’ve missed this cock.” She mewls, using her upper arms to squeeze her tits together. Yoongi takes one of her perky mounds in his hand as she continues her steady pace, dropping her free left hand from Yoongi’s chest down to massage his balls. Yoongi throws his head back against the tub in pure bliss as his body catches fire. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.” He pants as he feels his climax rise up. “I’m gonna cum.” He cries out, calling out her name as long white strands shoot out into the bath water. He is completely out of breath and still hard. He looks up into her lustful eyes, wanting so much more of her. “You really didn’t fuck him?” Yoongi asks, he can’t help himself. He needed to know the truth. She shakes her head frantically. “No. I swear it. I couldn’t stop thinking of you.” Yoongi’s heart flips at her confession. He knew he had no right to ask her, having fooled around with Lisa, albeit it was his attempt at retaliation for what he assumed happened. “Couldn’t stop thinking of me huh?” “No, you’re all I want. I need you, so bad. Please.” She whines. Yoongi’s cock twitches at her desperation for him. “Please what?” He moans, grabbing one of her full tits in his hand again and squeezing. “Please, sir.” He plants a kiss on her lips before they step out of the tub. She grabs a towel, attempting to hand it to him. He tilts his head to the side and instead drop to his knees in front of her. “Yoongi.” Is all that escapes her lips before he yanks her by the ass and brings her to his face. He slowly licks a long trail through her folds from her taint to her clit. Her moans echo through the bathroom while Yoongi buries his face deeper within her sopping cunt.

He places her right leg onto his shoulder while resting her plump ass on the side of the tub. He begins to suck on her full folds slowly, loving the soft mewls that escape her as he carefully takes each one between his lips. He swears she’s the most delicious woman he’s ever tasted. She bucks forward with a gasp as he wraps his mouth around her clit, sucking on it hard, becoming intoxicated on her scent and taste. She whines lustfully as he releases her sweet bud, moving down to her entrance. He looks up at her to catch a glimpse of her biting her lower lip as he begins to slowly fuck her with his tongue. He dives in and out of her, lapping up her arousal with lurid slurps and moans. She tangles her hands in his hair, alternating between calling his name out and cursing. When he feels her juices trail along his chin he moves back up to her swollen bud, taking it into his mouth again, sucking and licking in circles, driving her wild. He feels her inner thighs tremble and he knows she’s close. He lifts his right hand up and moistens two fingers with her lust before sliding them into her soaked cunt. She cries out from deep in her throat and Yoongi can feel his cock get harder than it’s ever been. “Whose needy cunt is this?” He asks between laps. “Fuck, it’s yours, it’s fucking yours sir.” She says out of breath, grinding into Yoongi’s face. He curls his two fingers up rubbing against that sweet spongy spot deep inside of her, and he can feel her walls begin to clench around him. “Say my name.” He pants. “Yoongi, fuck, Yoongi, I, I’m, fuck……Ahh.” She shrieks into the room. Her walls quivering, legs shaking, and breathing labored as Yoongi continues to lap at her cunt, riding her through her climax. “I can’t, it’s too much.” She gasps her body trembling. “Who’s pussy is this?” Yoongi asks continuing to lick at her overstimulated bud. “Yours, God, please, it’s yours.” Yoongi finally releases her, pleased with her response. He moves his mouth down, trailing kisses along her inner thigh before placing another purple mark, this time on the center of her inner thigh. She sucks in a breath watching Yoongi work. He slowly removes his mouth from her thigh, observing his handy work with a smile, and slowly stands, pulling her into a kiss. She runs her hand over his cock and he hums in approval. “I want you inside me.” She slowly strokes him, pushing him towards her bed. “I need to feel you deep inside me.”

Y/N:

He smirks suggestively as you push him closer and closer to your bed. He yanks you by your neck into another desperate kiss once you arrive at your destination. You get lost in this kiss however, it’s tender and gentle, so unlike him. He spins you slowly, switching places with you. He takes your bottom in his large hands, lifting you onto the edge of the bed. He trails kisses down your neck, taking your erect nipple into his mouth, hungrily sucking and nibbling on it. He releases with a quiet pop and gently guides you to lay on your back while he aligns himself between your thighs. He drags your body down by the backs of your thighs towards his drooling tip, wrapping your legs around his waist. “My God, Yoongi.” You cry out feeling his swollen head glide between your folds. “Please don’t tease me.” You mewl, pushing your hips forward. He slowly pushes into your entrance. His mouth falls open and your eyes roll back as he slowly adds inch by inch of his cock into you. “So, fucking, tight.” He growls, taking a moment once he bottoms out to allow you to adjust to his size. You buck your hips impatiently and he nods pulling out all the way to his tip and slowly entering you again, stretching you in the best way possible. “No one fills me like you!” You praise. Yoongi hums and begins to slide in and out of you at a methodically slow pace, his mouth wide, you can see he’s savoring every stroke. Still, you can’t help but lift your hips to meet his torturous thrusts. He grasps your waist to still you and continues to roll his hips upwards, releasing a sobbed moan into your room. “You feel so good Yoongi, please, fuck me harder, faster.” He smiles seductively, taking you by the back of the neck and pulling you up so you’re face to face with him, his cock pushing further inside you. “I don’t want to fuck you tonight,” He whispers into your ear, extending his hands down your back, and taking your ass into his large palms. He lifts you off the bed slightly and begins to glide you across his cock, still keeping with his original rhythm. You whimper into his neck feeling your core tighten as your clit rubs against his shaft. “God, Yoongi, feels so good.” You pant into his neck. Yoongi lifts you fully and climbs atop the bed, lying you on your back once more and repositioning himself between your thighs. He takes you in a full deep kiss, swirling his tongue around yours. “Ready to cum baby?” He moans softly, grinding against your G-spot. “Yes please sir. I want to cum all over your cock.” You mewl as he begins to hasten his pace, dropping a hand between you both to twirl circles against your clit. He drives himself harder into you, his tip pressing into your cervix. Your core ignites, as you feel that coil deep inside you tighten and suddenly explode. “Fuck Yoongi, I’m cumming.” You cry out as white-hot waves crash over you causing you to clench your pussy tightly around Yoongi. He releases an animal like moan into your neck, his pace becoming sloppy. “Fuck! Me too baby.” Yoongi cries out and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, filling you to the brim with his hot seed. He continues to thrust through his climax, taking your mouth into a ravenous kiss. You moan lustfully, feeling the slickness of his cum dripping down from your cunt and onto your sheets. He releases you from the kiss, out of breath and looks you over, making no attempt to remove himself from inside you. He presses his forehead against yours and you glide your hands down his back. “Yoongi,” You whisper, running your hands back up his back and into his hair. “Yeah baby?” “I love you.” Your voice cracks at your confession.

MIN:

Yoongi sighs deeply, planting a kiss on her cheek. He wanted so badly to say those words back to her. He felt his heart swell as she looked at him longingly, seeing the truth of those words in her eyes. He swallows down the large lump in his throat and slowly pulls out of her. He makes his way into the bathroom to grab a towel. He brings it back to her and begins to clean her up. He can feel the tension fill the room as she stares at him nervously. “Yoongi.” She whispers. “I should go.” He declares once she’s clean. “Please don’t. I shouldn’t have said that. I meant what I said about wanting to be here for you. I’m sorry.” “No, don’t be sorry. It’s just, I’m just, I’m fucked up Y/N. I’m no good. You shouldn’t want to love me.” She pulls Yoongi towards her until he is forced to stretch his body out on the bed. She cuddles into his side, head resting on his chest, Yoongi feels so at ease with her so why on earth couldn’t he just say the words? After the blow-up with his father, Yoongi drank himself stupid until his head was running a million miles a minute. It wasn’t until you came across his mind that he felt his thoughts ease and he decided he needed to see you. How long had it been, he wondered? Two months? Two months too long. A soft kiss on his bruised ribs jolts him from his head. “Penny for your thoughts.” She lifts her head to look up at him. He strokes her cheek gently, taking in her beauty. “You are mine and I am yours. Do you remember me saying that to you?” He asks, reminding her of the first thing he ever told her the first time they were intimate. She nods. “I meant those words then and I mean them more now. I can’t be without you and I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you. Seeing you kiss your ex brought up so many different emotions. Betrayal is the one that initially comes to mind. Then, meeting him and hearing him say you’d been together. I wanted to kill him over just the thought that he had his hands all over you,” Yoongi slides his body up so he’s resting his back on her headboard and she has no choice but to sit up and face him, “It may seem odd to you based off of my demeanor but I don’t cheat. If I make a commitment to you then I keep that commitment but if you burn me, I can promise, you and I are done. You burned me Y/N and even still I’m having a hard time forgetting you. I think that’s the worst part of this.” Yoongi looks her over, she’s deep in thought. “So, how do we move past this? I want to make it better.” She says. “I need you to be honest with me, always. Do I have anything to worry about with your ex? Is there any truth to what he’s saying? I mean why would you kiss him in the first place?” Yoongi had so many questions, questions he could see were making Y/N uncomfortable.

She shifted her body so she was closer to his. “I want to say that I needed some sort of closure but that would be a lie. I’m just stupid. I am so used to fucking up and still getting my way that it didn’t occur to me that my actions would affect you. The truth is no one has ever been able to make me feel and think about anyone other than myself until I met you. Now I find myself wanting nothing more than to be around you and please you. I fucked up Yoongi and I am so fucking sorry. I don’t want to lose you. I swear nothing more than that kiss happened and nothing will ever happen again. I am yours and you are mine.” She shrugs. Yoongi furrows his brow, searching her face for any doubt. “Come here.” Yoongi says as he leans in and plants a kiss on her lips. She practically melts into him. “Don’t betray me again brat.” He whispers into her lips. “I won’t. I promise.” Yoongi claims her mouth again, this time slower, filling it with his emotions. She moans softly. Once they part, he looks over her face, his heart racing, nerves taking over. “I love you too.” He confesses, feeling a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders.

Y/N:

You wake up feeling the best you ever have, rolling over to find a snoozing Yoongi beside you. After his confession last night, you both kissed until you fell asleep in each other’s arms. “Yoongi, I love you.” You whisper. Yoongi mumbles whilst rolling onto his back, sighing deeply, clearly still asleep. You kiss his cheek gently and climb out of bed, checking your phone. You find a message from your BFF. “On the way with your ride.” “Shit.” You whisper, checking the time to see an hour has passed since she sent the message. You hop in the shower and dress in shorts and an oversized sweater, pondering on how you can convince Yoongi to stay in all day with you. When you emerge from the bathroom you find Yoongi still fast asleep. You smile to yourself at the thought of him being this comfortable with you. Suddenly the doorbell rings and you jump up at the sound. Yoongi only sighs again. He must be extremely exhausted after the night he had; you think to yourself. You head out of your room to answer the door. “Hey bitch!” Your best friend smiles brightly at you. “Hey yourself.” You whisper. She pushes past you and you quickly trail behind her. “Here are your car keys, I can’t stay too long Joon is outside waiting to drive me home. How was your night? I know you hate the rain.” She looks you over suspiciously. “It was good. Quiet you know. How about yours? Did you and Joon…you know?” You raise and shimmy your brows at her. She giggles nervously before nodding hard. “Holy shit girl! About damn time! How was it?” “Amazing! He’s gently and kind and strong if you know what I mean.” She laughs. “Ew, TMI!” “Well anyway, it was a great night. I’m sorry our girls night got interrupted though. I’ll make it up to you another night. How about later?” “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow, I might just stay in today.” “Girl, you cannot lay in bed crying over this Min boy nonsense. Besides, he wouldn’t let Jimin eating you out bother him if he knew you didn’t even cum. He would probably be overjoyed at the thought. Men and their egos you know.” She rolls her eyes as you both hear rustling from down the hall. Your heart drops. “What was that? Is your dad home?” She covers her mouth nervously. You swallow hard but try to laugh it off. “No, he’s gone till next week. I forgot to put some clothes away after I washed them, they probably toppled over. Anyways, you should get going before Joon freaks.” She nods in response and pulls you into a hug. “Call me later if your bored.” “I will.” You walk her out and head nervously back to your room.

As you enter you find the bed empty, “Yoongi.“ You call out before being pulled by the hair into a hard kiss. Yoongi shoves you back towards your vanity, lifting you off your feet and sitting you atop it. You moan into his mouth, your hands finding their home in his hair whilst his hands grip your hips. He drags your aching core up and down his growing erection, moving his wet open mouth kisses down your jaw and neck. “Fuck Yoongi, I want you so bad.” You whine, raking your nails down his back. He bites down hard into the soft flesh of your neck causing you to cry out, your cotton thong sticking to your moist cunt. You reach down and rub at his cock through his briefs. “I want to suck your cock.” You whisper in his ear. Yoongi says nothing, he just grabs a fist full of your hair again and yanks your head back, suckling at your exposed neck. You pant and moan loudly as Yoongi slides his hand up your short leg and rubs at your clothed center. “Please don’t tease me.” You beg, hitching your hips forward. Yoongi just smirks, still gripping your hair tightly. He carefully slides your cotton barrier to the side and glides his middle finger between your slit, coating it in your juices. He brings it up to his lips but before he inserts it in his mouth, he looks over to you lustfully. “Open.” You pant desperately and do as your told. He waste no time shoving his soaked finger in your mouth, allowing you time to suck your own juices from his finger. He grips your face with his remaining free fingers, causing the one in your mouth to glide dangerously close to the back of your throat. You take a deep breath to calm your gag reflex. He releases his grip on your hair and pulls your face towards him, “See how sweet your cunt taste? It’s no wonder all the men in this shit city want a piece of you.” Your eyes go wide and your heart races as you wonder if he overheard your conversation with your BFF. He pulls his hand from your face. “Yoongi…” You start before he quickly shoves two fingers inside your sopping pussy. You gasp at the feeling of pleasure that courses through you and immediately forget what it was you wanted to say. Yoongi curls his fingers inside you, stealing the moan that escapes your mouth with an aggressive kiss. He expertly fucks your cunt, his fingers moving in and out of you at a toe curling speed. The lurid sounds of your moisture and moans filling the room. “My greedy little brat loves getting finger fucked huh?” Yoongi grunts, wrapping his free hand around your throat. “Yes, fuck, God. Yes!” “Yes what?” “Yes sir! Fuck, yes sir! I fucking love it!” You practically shriek as he applies pressure to your clit with his thumb and you can’t help but grind your hips up with every circular movement he makes on your sensitive bud. You feel your core burn as your climax fast approaches. Yoongi clamps down on your neck causing you to grab his wrist as you pant desperately with your rising orgasm. He stares at you, mouth opened, with lust filled eyes, watching your every reaction. You whimper as your walls clench, “Fuck, sir, I’m gonna cum.” Yoongi smirks, pulling his fingers from you abruptly. You try to raise your body up in protest but he keeps you down with his tighten grip on your throat. He yanks your short leg and thong to the side again shoving his cock into you without warning. You cry out at the burning mix of pain and pleasure.

He yanks you forward into a painful kiss, your teeth clashing with his. You attempt to speak but Yoongi’s forceful thrust keep your head too dizzy to forms coherent sentences. “Does my brat like getting fucked stupid?” Yoongi growls between clenched teeth into your ear. You can only mewl and whimper, choosing to show your satisfaction by thrusting your hips forward to meet his. “I’m gonna cum into this needy cunt.” He whispers into your ear and you nod frantically, dying to feel his cock twitch inside you. You lower your hand from his wrist to attempt to rub your swollen clit but Yoongi uses his free hand to stop you, crying out as he fills your cunt with his hot seed. You clench around him, whining and thrusting trying to build up your high while Yoongi rides out his. “Don’t stop.” You plead. Yoongi releases your hand and you immediately drop it down to your needy bud, rubbing frantically as Yoongi continues to thrust into you. “Yes, fuck yes, don’t stop, I’m right there. God.” You cry out as your walls tremble. Yoongi kisses you hard and yanks his member from your aching walls. “What the fuck!?” You shout, swatting at Yoongi who steps back and begins dressing. “Tell me brat, is that what it felt like when Jimin left you wanting? Or do I do it better?” Your jaw drops as you watch him finish dressing. “Yoongi, you don’t understand.” You begin, sliding off the vanity. “That you’re a liar? No, I get that part. See, Y/N, I’ve been surrounded by liars my whole life. It’s no surprise to me that you’re one too.” “I didn’t want to hurt you Yoongi. It was insignificant.” He huffs at your comment, standing as he finishes lacing his shoes. “Am I insignificant as well?” He cocks his head to the side. “No, I love you. Jimin means nothing to me.” He nods and moves towards the door. Your heart seizes at the sight. “Please don’t leave!” You yank at his arm. He pulls his arm from your grasp. “On your knees brat!” He shouts and immediately you do as your told, tears streaming down your face. “Yoongi, please don’t leave like this. I’m sorry.” He walks over to you, pulling your face up by your chin. “My gorgeous brat,” He whispers, rubbing your wet cheek, allowing you to lean into his hand, “Keep testing and pushing my love because in the end, you will submit. I’ve made the mistake in thinking I could let my guard down but that was just me being foolish. I know what my spoiled little brat needs.” He grips your hair and yanks your head back, rubbing his lips across yours. “She needs to be punished. Craves it even.” He whispers before kissing you deeply. “Yoongi please, I’m sorry, I love you.” “I will forgive you for lying in exactly two weeks’ time. Let’s call it a cooling period. A time for reflection. Until then, you’ll be a good girl for me, wont you?” He looks over you lovingly and you can’t help but nod in response, wanting so bad to please him. He kisses you again. “See you then brat. You can stand when I’m gone.” He releases you and walks out, slamming the door behind him. You cup your aching cunt and drop to the floor, groaning in defeat, knowing Yoongi was right. You would always push but in the end you would always submit.

#bts smut #suga x reader #suga x you #yoongi smut

177 notes · View notes