#I’m very happy with him and love him with all my heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

misojunnie · 3 days ago

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KEROSENE 𖣂

there’s a fine line between delusion and reality.

jake sim was your boyfriend. park sunghoon was your best friend. neither knew about each other. you weren’t sure where your heart belonged, and you watch as your life begins to tear in half from the secrecy and guilt. but just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, an earth-shattering secret changes everything.

pairing: bf!jake vs. bsf!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: psychological thriller, horror, love triangle (kinda… you’ll see)

warnings: violence/death, heavily implied mental illness, very psychological, cheating (?) ig, kinda hoon focused….(sorry), enha’s personalities and backstories are not a reflection of reality, it’s just a story

featuring: enhypen

playlist: it was only a dream by joey quinones, S.D.O.S by alex g, back to black by amy winehouse, somebody that I used to know by gotye, I was only temporary by my head is empty, only you (and you alone) by the platters

word count: 9.9k

taglist ! @enhacolor @jwnghyuns @adoredbyjay @theothernads @firstclassjaylee @dollschan @enreveriee @surrik-i @jwonistic @laurradoesloveu @laylasbunbunny @tmtxtf @shixna606 @kumiwon @heeaxvhhoon

network tags: @kflixnet @k-vanity @k-radio @enhypennetwork

see the trailer.

a/n: hello yall! sorry these fics are taking so long,,,pls still look forward to more, I got a couple lined up! and p.s., look for foreshadowing in this one ;) there’s lots of hints leading up to the plot twist! <3

The flames burned bright, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the crackling fire. The yellow and orange flames flashed like rubies, licking the dark sky, illuminating the beach as you watched them burn. It was like a dance, the way the fire swayed in the wind.

“You okay?” a voice broke you out of your trance as Jake planted a kiss on your cheek. You snapped out of it, smiling up at him as he reached for your hand, clasping it gently in his. He sat down on the sand beside you.

Jake Sim. A year older than you, the sweetest boy you had met in your entire life. He had sparkling eyes full of youth, a smile that could make angels sing, and a calmer temperament than anyone you’d seen in your 20 years of age. You were lucky enough to call him your boyfriend.

You had always been a rather quiet person, but Jake was the opposite. Talkative and popular, he had a seemingly endless amount of friends, many of which threw parties like the one you were at tonight. You grew to enjoy the nights spent at bonfires, house parties, the various celebrations Jake invited you to.

Many people thought you were polar opposites, but that was what made you perfect for each other. You didn’t make friends easily, but he was happy to share his. He wasn’t very emotional, but you didn’t mind coaxing him into confessing what he was feeling. He helped you come out of your shell, you helped him learn to love the peaceful moments. After all, they say opposites attract. And that was certainly true for you.

You had only been dating for a year and a half, but all your friends told you he was the one. And you were beginning to really believe it.

“I’m good.” you replied sweetly. You and Jake’s friends were laughing and dancing boisterously, but you didn’t feel like joining in on the fun. The fire was giving you plenty of company, and an unsettling feeling was creeping into your heart. Maybe it was the Halloween season, or maybe your doubts went deeper than that.

“I’ll sit with you then.” Jake offered kindly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, and you leaned into him gratefully.

You were in love with Jake, you knew that. He was the first thing you thought of in the morning and the last at night, the main topic of all your conversations. He was sweet, thoughtful, smart, funny, and had every quality you ever wanted from a boyfriend. He was perfect, yet somehow, this didn’t feel right. Six months later, and you were beginning to have doubts. You had doubts in all of your past relationships, but none of them were as good as this one. Despite that, something was off. You could feel it.

For now, you tried to put it behind you, letting the fire and Jake’s warm touch comfort you as you watched the dancing flames.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

It was Sunday morning. You were looking forward to a day of no classes, and some alone time. While you loved being with Jake, you had spent everyday together for the past two weeks, and you were craving a little time to yourself.

It was a bit of a drive, but you suddenly wanted to go to your favorite bakery, picking up a fresh baguette to bring home, plus a few pastries for yourself. After that, you visited a nearby park, sitting on a bench alone.

You let the fresh air revitalize you, your hair floating in the breeze. There was hardly anyone in the park, the locals deterred by the fog and biting cold, but you had always enjoyed gloomy weather. You took a croissant out of the ribbon wrapped box, taking a bite and relishing in the peaceful feeling of being alone.

You closed your eyes briefly, and when you opened them, you were put out to discover someone standing before you.

He was extraordinarily good looking; it was the first thing you noticed about him. With his kind eyes, tall stature, and silky dark hair, he looked like an angel appearing out of the fog. He was standing a couple of feet away from the bench you were sitting at, looking at you directly with a soft smile.

“Oh,” you said, startled. “Hi.” You weren’t sure if you were supposed to address him, but he was clearly waiting to say something to you.

“Hi,” he replied. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just liked your shirt.” You looked down at yourself, completely forgetting about your ripped tee. You noticed his neat grey sweater and ironed jeans, wearing a thin silver chain around his neck, and you grew suddenly embarrassed about your messy outfit. He smelled of lilies and fresh paper, the kind of scent that came from a cologne but seemed to be natural.

“You like Amy Winehouse?” you asked, and he nodded excitedly.

“Love her. Valerie was my top song for like, three years in a row.” He seemed eager to share his love of jazz music, and if you were a little more of a senseless person, you could’ve fallen in love right then and there.

“What are the odds?” you said, not sure how to respond. He smiled. Then he held out his hand.

“I’m Sunghoon.” You laughed at the odd gesture, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, and his hands were warm.

“Nice to meet you, Sunghoon. I’m y/n.”

“Beautiful name.” he said kindly, and you blushed, which you would never admit. You were hoping this nice stranger only had friendly intentions; if not, you’d have to tell him to go away, and you were beginning to enjoy his sudden company. “Do you go to the college down the road?”

“No, I actually live in the next town over.” you nodded in the direction you had come from. “I just drove here to visit.”

“Alone?” you looked away in embarrassment, and he gestured to the bench. “Can I sit with you?” It was an odd request, and this was a total stranger, but he seemed nice enough. So you accepted, nodding your head. “So, what's so appealing about this little old town that you’d come all the way here?”

“My favorite bakery, and some much needed alone time.” you admitted, and he raised a brow. “I don’t get much time to myself these days.”

“That’s unfortunate. I have the opposite problem.” he said jokingly, and you opened your box of pastries, removing another croissant.

“Well, you have a new friend now.” you handed it to him, and he looked at the offer in surprise, before accepting it with a wide smile.

“Thanks, y/n. I could use a friend right now.” You smiled in response.

It was shocking how easy it was to get along with Sunghoon. Most of the time, you were horribly averse to meeting strangers; you didn’t know how to act, what to say, what to do. But speaking with him was smooth, it felt as if you’d known each other for years. It was almost concerning how familiar he seemed.

At the end of your conversation, when your phone started flooding with texts from Jake, you took your leave. You offered your number to continue talking, but he told you with regret that he didn’t own a phone, a rare and oddly endearing quality. You accepted, standing to walk away.

“Y/n!” he called after you, just as you were about to leave. You turned around, and he waved at you with a smile, his dark hair blowing in the cold wind. “See you around, okay?” You smiled back, waving.

You didn’t know if you’d ever see this familiar stranger again, but you couldn’t help but hope you did. You had never felt a friendship bloom that quickly, and you didn’t want to let go of it. But you would have to leave it up to fate, hoping you would see Sunghoon again soon, wherever or whenever that may be.

You walked away in a significantly better mood, your box of pastries in your hand. As you got into your car, you noticed the ajar lid, reaching to close it, when your brows furrowed. You opened it, noticing that not a single croissant was missing. Not even the one you offered to him, the one you watched him eat as you chatted.

You blew it off, shutting the lid firmly and turning on your stereo, blasting Amy Winehouse as you drove home to your boyfriend.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jake was taking you on a date. Between your busy schedules and booming social lives, it was infrequent that you had time for an actual date. Most of the time, your nights would end in cuddling sessions at your shared house, watching a movie or playing your favorite board games. But today, he had a late lunch reservation for your favorite fancy restaurant, and he insisted that you both dress up in your nicest clothes. You wondered if you had forgotten about an anniversary or event, but he assured you he just wanted to celebrate your relationship.

Sometimes, you wondered how you could’ve gotten this lucky.

You put on Jake’s favorite dress of yours, a red silk dress that reached just below your knees. You hadn’t found an event that suited it in a while, and you were excited to bring it out of retirement.

“You look beautiful.” Jake said, holding your hand as you walked through the streets together. You garnered a lot of attention, a couple as beautiful as you were. Passersby stared, whispering with envy at your youth and glamor.

“You’re being so sweet today.” you giggled, your fingers clutching a single red rose that Jake had brough you, one that matched your dress perfectly.

“We don’t go on fancy dates often.” He kissed your knuckles. “I wanted to make today special.” Your heart filled up with fire as you smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Your lipstick lingered there, and you considered wiping it off for a moment, before deciding not to. You thought it suited him.

You were actually happy. Finding joy in relationships had always been hard for you; your brain decided to shut them down somehow. Whether going ghost, shutting down, even firing off a quick apathetic text, you found a way to escape your happiness. You weren’t sure why. But you were finally ready to retire from being a heartbreaker; Jake was really the only one you needed.

From behind your boyfriend, you caught a flash of something familiar. The scent of lilies, a grey sweater, silky black hair.

You craned your neck to get a better look, Jake watching you in confusion as you waited for him to turn towards you. He glanced at something, his face turning just a couple of inches, and it was indeed Sunghoon. His sharp nose, wide eyes, you’d recognize that face anywhere, it was the one you were hoping to see for days on end.

Jake followed your gaze, turning back to you in puzzlement.

“What are you looking at?” Upon his words, you shook yourself out of your trance, shaking your head with a smile.

“Oh, I just thought I saw someone I knew.” Jake nodded in relief, his grip on your hand growing a bit tighter as you continued to walk, Sunghoon left behind as the two of you fled the scene.

You wanted to reconnect with Sunghoon, but Jake was here, and he was more important to you. For now, you’d just have to hope that you’d see him again, in another time, another place.

As you walked away, Sunghoon turned around, his eyes following as you and Jake walked down the street, the red silk of your dress flashing under the afternoon sun.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jake was paying the bill for your meal. By now, the sun was beginning to set, fading slowly behind the horizon as the sky grew pink and orange. You had stepped out of the restaurant for a smoke break, waiting for him as you lit a burning cigarette. The flame of your lighter danced in the wind, swaying side to side before you put it out. Jake was trying to convince you to quit smoking, but old habits die hard, and you were craving a moment of peace.

Your eyes landed on the sidewalk, watching the fall wind sweep golden leaves across the pavement as you took another drag.

“You’re a smoker?” You startled at the sound of a sudden voice, but that surprise melted into delight when you saw who spoke to you.

“Oh, Sunghoon! I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He shrugged in response, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Must be my lucky day.” he replied, a smile on his face, one that you mirrored. You reached down to put out your cigarette, but he waved for you to stop. “No need to stop. I don’t mind.”

“Are you a smoker?” you asked, bringing it to your lips for another drag, and he watched you do so, seeming indifferent to your question.

“Not quite. But I don’t mind if you do it in front of me.”

“Most people hate it.” you chuckled, finishing your cigarette and putting it out on the sole of your heeled shoes. “I suppose the smell is a bit off putting.”

“I disgaree. I like the smell of smoke. It’s relaxing.” Sunghoon shrugged, and a smile grew on your face as you crossed your arms.

“I agree.” You found that it was, yet again, incredibly easy to talk to him. You’d only met twice, but you and Sunghoon already had a lot in common. Your taste in music, pastries, and your partiality to cigarette smoke were only a few of your many interests you’d discussed that seemed strikingly similar.

“So, what are you dressed up for?” he asked, and you were reluctant to answer. “Seems like a special occasion.”

“I suppose it is.” you said mysteriously, and he smiled. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Jake’s dusty blond hair through the glass window as he collected his coat from the back of his chair. “I gotta go. But it was nice talking to you, again.” Both of you chuckled at that, and he stepped back to allow you room as you walked back to the door of the restaraunt.

“See you around.” he said, reminiscent of the first time you met, a grin on his face that almost looked childlike with eagerness. You smiled.

“See you around.”

And for the second time, you prayed that you would see your new friend again.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

After your recent encounter, you began seeing Sunghoon everywhere. In an empty aisle at the grocery store, the street behind your college, even in the area near where you lived. At first you considered that he might be following you, your meetings were so random and frequent, but he confessed at random that he didn’t live in the next town over after all. He lived in your town, not disclosing where, but telling you he was seemingly very close.

You began to enjoy your interactions with him more and more, your friendship growing stronger every day. You told him your genuine thoughts, and he gave you genuine advice. You didn’t often feel comfortable sharing things about yourself with people, but he weaseled his way into your mind almost concerningly easily. Other than Jake, he was the only person you felt like you could truly be yourself around. It was unheard of for you, knowing someone for only a month and feeling this comfortable around it. But you quickly transformed from strangers to the closest of friends.

Today was one of the lazy days where the two of you would lounge on the grass on your front lawn, sipping on coffee to warm yourselves in the cold. Well, you did; Sunghoon wasn’t fond of coffee. You had never invited him inside your house, it seemed too intimate of a line to cross while you had a boyfriend, who wasn’t home at the moment.

A boyfriend you still hadn’t told him about. But he hadn’t asked, so you assumed it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Are you worrying about something?” Sunghoon asked, laying on his back in the dewy grass. You were reading a book beside him while he stared at the gray sky.

“How did you know?” you asked, bemused, and he chuckled.

“I know everything going on in your head.” You nudged him in the shoulder, and he rolled over playfully, turning to his stomach.

“Maybe.” you replied vaguely, and he sat up on his elbows.

“What are you worrying about?” You didn’t respond.

You wanted to tell him about Jake, you really did. It’s not like you were embarrassed, or you wanted to hide him. You loved Jake, you’d be proud to tell anyone that. But you had this creeping feeling that it would affect your friendship, that Sunghoon wouldn’t be fond of knowing about him. Not in a romantic sense, no, you knew Sunghoon had no feelings for you, just as you had none for him. It was just a sinking dread.

“It doesn’t matter.” he said after a minute, rolling back onto his back, looking up at the sky as the clouds moved through the mist. “I bet I already know.”

“And why would you know?” you asked, your voice amused as you turned the page of your book. He grinned, but you didn’t see it.

“I told you. I know everything going on in your head.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You were acting differently, and Jake could tell from a mile away.

He knew you, and he knew your heart. He could tell when something was bothering you, when you were unusually excited, he detected every minor shift of emotion. But lately, he couldn’t put his finger on what was happening.

You were spending less time with him. You used to be one of those inseparable couples that spent all their time together, but now you were ditching him for study sessions, meetings with friends, excessive alone time. You barely shared things with him anymore; it was like your emotions were all dried up by the time you got home. You were affectionate, but it seemed thoughtless. Jake didn’t want to pry into your business, but he knew he had to find out the cause of your sudden change.

Because not only did Jake know when your emotions changed, he also knew when you were lying to him.

You had just left for a day to yourself, and Jake grabbed his keys from the coffee table, running to his car once he knew you had left for certain. He didn’t want to follow you, that was for certain, but he was terrified that the secret you were keeping from him was big. Maybe as big as infidelity.

His old car crept around the corner, slowly following you from the back of the empty street as you walked. Your headphones were in, and he prayed you wouldn’t turn back and recognize his car. The pit in his stomach grew enormously when you turned the corner, heading towards the busier streets. He followed.

Jake parked, watching with suspicion as you walked into a busy coffee shop. He leaned over the wheel from across the street, squinting his eyes to make you out from the crowd as you sat down at a small table, your coffee table.

He stayed there for nearly an hour, just watching. Waiting for someone to come meet you, a man, as he feared. But nobody came, just you alone at that small table, sipping your coffee.

He sighed, turning his car back on, a flood of relief and guilt consuming him as he pulled out of his spot, heading back home. Maybe you weren’t cheating, maybe you weren’t lying to him. He drove back home, his knuckles blanching as he gripped the wheel tightly, turning back onto your street.

But despite his relief, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

It was day 365 of knowing Park Sunghoon. The year had gone by in a flash, but it seemed almost too short. To you, it felt like you had known Sunghoon your entire life.

You spent a lot of time together. Attempting to fit him and Jake into your schedule proportionately had proven to be hard, but Sunghoon always managed to show up when you least expected it, yet exactly when you were thinking about him. Sometimes you wondered if he could read your mind, he knew you so well.

365 days had passed, and he began feeling more like your best friend with every day.

Today, you were at the park you first met at. Coincidentally, you had happened to be craving your favorite croissants, and Sunghoon, who conveniently showed up to your dorm just beforehand, had come with you. Now, you were sitting on a park bench, croissants in hand, eating and chatting as the sun began to set.

Dozens of people walked by, but they didn’t seem to pay any attention to either of you. As you watched a pair of twenty-something girls walk past, you wondered why girls never noticed your exceptionally handsome best friend. Maybe getting a girlfriend would be good for him. You wanted him to experience the same happiness that you had with Jake, who you were realizing you hadn’t seen in a while.

“Why don’t girls ever notice you?” you said without thinking, and Sunghoon snorted, setting down his croissant.

“Gee, thanks.”

“That’s not how I meant it.” you said defensively, and he smiled in amusement. “I mean, you’re tall, handsome, sweet. Girls should be all over you.”

“Well, you’re not.”

“That’s different.” you said cynically. “I’m your best friend.” He looked at you seriously, and you shrugged. “What?”

“Nobody knows I exist except for you.” You met his serious gaze, before laughing, and he smiled in response.

“You’re so weird.”

“I’m totally serious. Nobody notices me but you.” It was a strange thing to hear, but it was seemingly true. When you were with Sunghoon, nobody really seemed to notice him, to even see him. He was enormously skilled at fading into the background, going unnoticed by passersby. As he had told you, you were the only friend he had, which only made him more endearing in your mind. You had always had issues making friends, and with your main company being your outgoing boyfriend, it was nice to know someone who went through the same struggle.

Sunghoon was Jake’s complete opposite; he was much more like you. His dark hair contrasted Jake’s dusty blond. He was calm and quiet with a strange sense of humor, not constantly joyous and amused like Jake. In moments when Jake would’ve laughed, he frowned. When Jake would’ve frowned, he laughed.

“And why is that?” you finally replied, and he smiled mysteriously.

“That’s for you to find out.” You snorted, shouldering your bag as you got to your feet, brushing off your pants. “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah, I should start heading home.” you said, checking the time on your watch and disappointed to see it was 7:45. You had plans with Jake at 7:30, and he wasn’t going to be pleased if you were any later than you already were. “Do you need a ride?” Sunghoon shook his head, leaning back against the bench as he looked up at you.

“No. I’ll make my way home.” You cocked your head at him, chuckling as you turned around, waving him goodbye.

“Suit yourself.” you said, and he waved at you as you walked down the street towards your parked car, a few blocks away, eager to get home to Jake before you miss more of your quality time. As you walked, you turned suddenly, gazing down the street at the park bench you had been just a moment before.

Sunghoon was gone.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

“You’re late.” Jake grumbled as you met him outside your home, a sheepish grin on your face. His hands were on his hips, but his disgruntled attitude faded when you pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, and he rested his hands on your waist. “What took you so long.”

“I got caught up with a friend. I hope I’m not too late.” you said, and he smiled, taking your hand as he led you down the driveway onto the sidewalk.

“Better late than never. Ready to go?” you nodded, and you began to walk, heading towards your favorite diner. You both had cars, but you preferred to walk. It allowed for more talking, more eye contact, more intimacy. It felt more real.

“You look really handsome today.” you said, pressing a hand against Jake’s cheek as he immediately grew warm at your compliment. Two years after you’d started dating, and sometimes you still made him feel like a schoolboy with a crush. He smiled with lovesickness.

“Mm, really?”

“Really.” you said, and he pressed a kiss to your lips, your hands swinging together in unison as you held them all the way to the middle of town.

You knew you loved each other, more than anything in the world. And virtually nothing could make you doubt that, or doubt each other. But what you didn’t know was that someone was watching you.

Sunghoon stared unrelentingly as you and Jake walked together. He walked twenty paces behind or so, his footsteps silent, so soft that not even grass bent upon him stepping on it. He watched as you talked, laughed, kissed, reveled passionately in each other's love. It was enviable, he thought.

As you shifted onto busier streets, he followed. Not a single passerby or stranger turned to look at him, nobody noticed as he weaved intricately through the busy crowds, following you and Jake who stumbled through them clumsily. He went completely undetected by everyone, even by you and your boyfriend. He was right when he said nobody noticed him but you; outside of you, his existence meant absolutely nothing.

He watched from outside the diner as you and Jake sat by the windows, sharing a milkshake with two straws like the cliche you were. You assumed Sunghoon didn’t know about your boyfriend; in fact, you’d been purposefully keeping it from him. But of course he knew about your boyfriend, as well as his name, as well as everything else there was to know about him. Sunghoon knew everything about you, and that even included your cheesy, hopelessly romantic boyfriend. As you laughed at Jake’s milk mustache, you looked happier than you’d ever been. Sunghoon frowned.

He knew he had to shut down that happiness somehow, he just wasn’t sure how to. Yet.

He eventually grew tired of seeing you smiling at your boyfriend, sharing meals and stories as the two of you laughed. It began to rain, but the falling droplets never touched his head, and he turned around to walk back home, to wait for you.

To wait for the next time you called for him.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Burn.

Let it all burn.

You awoke with a start, sweat matting your hair to your forehead. You sat up in bed, wiping the sweat off your face, looking beside you, flooded with relief when Jake was sleeping beside you peacefully.

You were having a nightmare. Your house was on fire and it was raging, the flames seemingly reaching the heavens as it slowly burned to a crisp. The fire was pulling you in, and for a moment you almost walked inside the burning building, until you heard Jake screaming. You snapped out of whatever trance you were in, running to the front of the house where the sound was coming from. In your front yard, Jake was bleeding, pools of blood surrounding him as he went still. And standing above him was Sunghoon, a bloody smile on his face as he slowly turned to you.

The image of his evil expression was burned into your memory, and you shook your head, carding a hand through your hair as you checked the time on the clock. It was 3:00 in the morning, but you knew you couldn’t go back to bed.

You crept out of bed as quietly as you could, careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend as you pulled a sweater over your pajamas, walking down the stairs as they creaked, the sounds muffled underneath your slippers.

The cold morning breeze bit at you as you stepped out the front door, careful to lock it behind you. You were hoping a walk and a cigarette would help to clear your mind and calm you down.

You weren’t the type to be freaked out by nightmares, but this one felt hauntingly real. You could feel the warmth of the fire as your house went up in flames, the pure fear as Jake’s screams rang through the empty night. You tried to ignore it, lighting a cigarette and propping it in the corner of your mouth as you wandered the streets.

In your mindless wandering, you found yourself at a grassy park, ten or so streets down from your house. Nobody was here at this hour, and you walked through the trees and playgrounds until you reached a grassy hill that contained a familiar face.

You raised a brow in surprise as you watched Sunghoon sitting at the top of the hill, his back resting against a tree as he read a book, flipping the pages casually.

“What are you doing here? It’s 3 am.” you called to him, taking a drag when he turned to look at you and smiled.

“I don’t sleep.” he replied, his attention shifting back to his book. You climbed the hill slowly, your cigarette propped in your mouth as your slippers grew stained with the green dewy grass.

“What are you, a vampire?” you joked, sitting down beside him when you reached the top. You were hesitant to talk to him after your dream, but you did regardless, his hand reaching out to take a hit from your cigarette, his smile just as vivid as it was in your nightmare. You tried to brush it off. It was just a dream, after all.

“Not a vampire, no.”

“What are you reading?” you asked, and he shut the book, showing you the cover.

“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” he replied, and you nodded at him, impressed as you took your cigarette back from his hands.

“Ken Kesey. Nice.” He shrugged.

“It’s interesting. The main character hallucinates all kinds of shit.” You snort.

“I’ve read it.” He smiled, tucking the book away behind him. That smile, which had once seemed so pure, seemed malicious through the lens of your dream.

“I know.” You both grow silent, the sound of burning ash and your breathing being the only sounds in the quiet morning. The two of you watched the grass sway in the wind, completely undisturbed by the presence of other people.

“We run into each other a lot.” you said finally, Sunghoon turning to look at you. You were pensive, your cigarette burning out in your hand until the ash reached your fingers, and you crumbled it in your hand. “Do you sometimes wonder if we can read each other’s minds?” Sunghoon leaned back, closing his eyes against the breeze.

“I’ve never wondered that. I’ve always known it.” You looked at him, your brows drawn as you nudged him with your elbow, him laughing in response.

“You’re pretty strange, you know.”

“You’re pretty strange too. That’s why we like each other.” You couldn’t argue with that, so you didn’t. You just leaned back against the trunk of the tree, your shoulders touching as you and Sunghoon sat in silence, watching the sun slowly rise in the horizon.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Jake was saying something to you, but you weren’t listening. Lately, you’d been having a hard time focusing on just about anything.

Your nightmare was persisting, coming back to haunt you every night. Ever since that first dream, your mind had been preoccupied with the image of that fire. The fear you felt in your dream crept up on you in your waking hours, the image of Sunghoon’s face burned into your eyes every time you closed them. And it certainly didn’t help that he’d been showing up more than usual, taking more of your time away from things that mattered, like the man in front of you.

You found that you were thinking about Sunghoon more than often. For the past year, he had been your best friend and nothing more, but now, you weren’t sure. His silky hair and mysterious smile kept you up at night, and the gleaming blood on his face as he smiled woke you up in the morning. There was something about him; you couldn’t explain it, but he drew you in just as strongly as that fire in your dream. And the guilt you felt for thinking about him so often was doing nothing to improve your mood, or your relationship.

“Y/n? Are you listening?” Jake asked frustratedly, snapping in your face. You came out of your trance, startling awake as you dropped the tea bag you were holding, the one that had been steeping in your tea for more than a couple minutes now. You threw it into the trash, your angry boyfriend following you as you sat down at the dining table. “I swear you don’t even listen to me anymore.”

“I’m trying to, Jake.” you said, running a hand through your hair. You didn’t even remember what you had been talking about, why he was mad at you in the first place.

“For the past week, you’ve barely spoken to me,” he said. Jake was rarely angry, almost never, but you could hear the resentment in his voice. “You don’t even look at him half the time when we’re together.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” You felt hazy.

“Where are you going at dawn every morning?” Your gaze snapped to him, and his eyes were filled with a flurry of emotion; hurt, anger, sadness. “Every morning, you wake up at 3:00 and leave. You think I haven’t noticed?”

“I’ve been having nightmares. They wake me up.” you dismissed him, taking a sip of your tea and finding it had grown cold during your argument.

“You’re not cheating on me?”

“God, no, Jake.” you said, rubbing your forehead in frustration. “I’m just…I’m just confused right now.”

“Then please, tell me what’s going on!” he said, gesticulating in annoyance. “You won’t even speak to me lately. We used to talk all the time.” You considered telling him about Sunghoon, but this was not the time, nor place. It would only make him angrier, and you hated fighting with Jake more than anything.

“I can’t have this conversation right now.”

“Well, when are we going to have it? I mean, do you even love me anymore? You’ve been avoiding me nonstop.”

The past you would’ve fled, would’ve told yourself that this wasn’t worth the conflict and decided to run. You were used to running, but you were tired of it. The new you loved Jake, and you would get through whatever was stopping your relationship, regardless of how hard it was. And you knew you were the one to blame.

“Of course I love you. I’m sorry.” you said, standing up and abandoning your tea on the table. “I’m just going through a weird spot right now, and it’s hard to explain.” You placed a hand on Jake’s face, and he immediately softened. “Soon, I’ll tell you everything. I promise. I’m just in my own head right now.” He put his hand over yours, smiling tightly but accepting what you said, despite how much it hurt his heart to see you struggle in silence.

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” He pressed a kiss onto your hand. “And next time you have nightmares, please, wake me up. I’m happy to keep you company in the morning when you can’t sleep.” You smiled, kissing his cheek as you released him, grabbing your mug of tea and dumping it in the sink.

“How did I get so lucky?” Jake grinned at that, walking with you to the kitchen just to hold your hand, walking you to the living room as the two of you cuddled up on the couch together.

You tried to put it out of your head, but something was off. That little, self-sabotaging part of your brain was screaming, begging to be released, and you knew that somehow, it would manifest itself eventually.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

Burn.

Let it all burn.

Flames were eating away at your bed, and you stood in the doorway as it burned. The fire consumed the walls, your house and all its belongings being consumed by golden flames licking the sky with their enormous size. You watched as your closet, then the bed sheets, then the clock on your nightstand table reading 3:00 am. The fire spread until your room was consumed whole. The house was burning down. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“Wake up!” a voice screamed, and you recognized it to be Jake’s through your trance. “Y/n, wake up!” You were confused, turning around to see him behind you, tugging at you, shaking your shoulders with vigor. There was desperation in his eyes, his eyebrows drawn as he shouted at you, desperately pulling, but you wouldn’t budge.

Shouldn’t he be dead by now? This wasn’t how the dream was supposed to go.

“Y/n, wake up!”

Something snapped, and suddenly you were awake, but the house kept burning. Wrathful fire ate away at the furniture and your bed, the walls beginning to collapse in on themself as the house moaned with the effort of keeping itself upright. The house shook, the walls caving in, Jake standing behind you in his pajamas, shocked awake, desperately trying to pull you away.

“Please, we have to get out! Now!”

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.” you murmured, still in a sleepy haze. “Am I dreaming?” But it didn’t seem like a dream, no, it was all too real. Your house was on fire, and you began to cry, tears streaming down your face as you stared at your burning bedroom, paralyzed with grief.

Jake pulled violently on your arm, leading you out of the bedroom and through the house. It was full of fire, your staircase burning the bottoms of your feet as you both ran to the front door, flames licking your skin until you finally made it outside.

“What just happened?” you asked, your voice trembling as you both watched your house burn down, the framework being the only thing left. The fire let out a roar, the roof creaking before it crashed in on itself, the walls crumpling to the floor. The flames ate at the grass, igniting your yard and everything around, the ravenous fire slowly spreading across the ground. Somehow, only your house was the one ignited. Nothing else. “How…how did this happen?”

“I don’t know.” Jake replied mournfully, and you began to cry, your shoulders shaking as sobs wracked through your body, and Jake held you close, tears running down his cheeks as well.

You both watched the house you had so dutifully loved, and the relationship you’d made inside of it, burn to the ground, turned to ash and dust. It was all lost. And you knew it had something to do with you, the dreams you’d been having.

Somehow, you had this creeping feeling that the man with the bloody smile, the man who haunted your dreams, was at fault.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

The police said the fire was likely due to a pilot light and an excess of gas, some logical, reasonable explanation, but you weren’t listening. Jake was nodding along to their long-winded speech, but you were staring off into the distance, eyes zoned out on the wall of the police station where you sat.

You felt Jake grasp your hand, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin, but you were too enraged to even feel it. Sunghoon was at fault for this. You knew it. Your brain had been warning you, sending you fire-filled nightmares until they finally became reality. It was his fault. It was his fault.

And you were going to find him.

“Smoke break.” you muttered when your boyfriend and the police looked at you questioning, standing up in the middle of their explanation with your fists tightly clenched. You strode out, Jake covering for you, telling the police you were a smoker, you were stressed, all the things they wanted to hear. Their voices went silent as the door closed behind you and you walked right out of the station, not sure where you were going but knowing you’d run into him somewhere. You always did.

“Are you looking for me?” Sunghoon said, and you shrieked at the sound of his voice, startled. You had walked nearly five streets away, to that empty park you had seen him in just a couple of days previously, and there he was, sitting against the same tree at the top of the hill. You slowly walked up to him.

“Sunghoon.” your voice trembled as you spoke, with anger or fear, you weren’t sure. “Was it your fault?” He cocked his head at you, shutting his book.

“Was what my fault?” You shook your head at him.

“You know what I’m talking about. You always know. So tell me, was the fire your fault?” For a minute he didn’t respond, until his lips spread into a crooked grin, and you felt a shiver of fright run down your spine. You had never been scared of Sunghoon, not since you met him that day on the street, but now you felt pure fear when you looked into his eyes. That haunting smile had come to life, from your dreams into your reality, and although there was no blood, you could feel it in the way he looked at you.

“You ruined everything.” you said quietly, your shoulders trembling. “My house is gone. Burned to the ground.”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you actually cared about that house.” He stood, and you backed away from him, stumbling down the hill as he pressed towards you. “Or is it Jake that you’re really worried about?”

“What?”

“Don’t play games. I know about your boyfriend, I’ve known since the day we met.” You never told him about Jake, you were certain you had never slipped up.

“Have you been following me?” you asked, confused and frightened, and he smiled again, that same bloody smile.

“I don’t need to. I told you, I know everything about you.”

“I’m done with this. You’re crazy.” you said with finality, dizzy with rage and fear as you turned and walked away from him, your slow pace turning into a run as you sought to be as far from him as possible.

“No, I’m not. You are.” he called after you, but you didn’t hear it, running against the wind as the sun just began to come up, peeking over the cloudy horizon.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You didn’t see Sunghoon for a while after that. You and Jake rented a studio apartment at the edge of town, it being the only thing you could afford after you lost all the money that was tied up in the house. You were both depressed, but at least you were together.

Sunghoon’s actions weighed heavy on your mind. You didn’t tell Jake that he was the one to blame for the fire, you were afraid of how he would react. If you revealed you had been keeping Sunghoon a secret for this long, he might blame you for the house burning down, and where would you go from there? You had already lost your best friend, and you weren’t willing to lose your boyfriend too.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Jake said quietly. He was sitting on the couch, head in his hands, as he usually did when he had nothing to distract him. “You’re keeping something from me.” You didn’t respond, because you knew he was right. You were keeping something from him, something enormous, and it was eating away at you. “You won’t talk, you’re smoking more than usual, you’re withdrawn-”

“My house just burnt down, Jake.”

“It was my house too.” he said sharply, and you didn’t reply. You could feel a distance growing between you and Jake, getting wider with every day, and you didn’t know how to fix it. You were desperate to resolve this issue, but how could you tell him that you were to blame for the fire being lit?

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

“What?’ you said, your brows lifting in surprise. He looked up at you, his eyes pleading with you for any kind of response, something he could work with.

“You said you were having nightmares. Tell me about them.”

You didn’t want to, not at all, it would make you have to explain everything to him. But you owed him that, so you sat beside him. And you told him.

“Our house burnt down in your dream? Every night?” he asked, in shock that you could’ve predicted what happened. “And I died?”

You swallowed down your guilt. You kept out the part where Sunghoon was the one to kill him, just saying he had died somehow, but lying to him out loud felt much more horrible than just keeping things from him.

“Yeah. I don’t know why, it just happened.” You expected him to yell, to blame you, to say anything, but he didn’t. He just nodded, like he understood, and you heaved a breath of relief.

“Okay. Okay, I get it.” He abruptly stood, grabbing his keys, and you looked at him with confusion. “I’m going on a drive to clear my head. I’ll be back.”

As he said it, he walked out the door, and you prayed that he was right, that he really was going to come back.

After all the occasions of lying to him, it was Jake’s turn to lie to you. He attemped to keep the wheel steady as he searched for a psychologist, anyone who might be able to give him an answer about what was going on with you. He felt guilty, but that guilt began to slowly disappear as he pulled into the garage of a towering building, walking into the lobby and attempting to find someone who could help him. The secretary led him into a white room, a man sitting at a desk who smiled at him warmly, a kind gesture he was happy to receive.

“Jake? Sit down.” the man said, and Jake sat. “I’m Dr. Yang, but you can call me Jungwon if that makes you more comfortable.”

Jake nodded nervously, looking around the room, scared of the stale, white appearance. It was frightening, an unfamiliar territory that felt foreign to him. He felt like he was selling you out, like he was putting your fate into the hands of another person, but he couldn’t help it. He knew he had to do something.

“So,” Dr. Yang said, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. Jake gulped with anticipation, a mix of fear and guilt running through his veins as the psychologist’s judging eyes landed on him, narrowed. “Tell me about your girlfriend.”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You were wandering around town, as you had often been doing. It’s not like you had anything better to do, with Jake busy and your mind distracting you from getting any work done. There was a flurry of thoughts running through your head, a synthetic blur of fire, blood, and everything you wanted to suppress. It was overwhelming you.

You were on an empty street. You found that lately you wanted to avoid running into other people. You didn’t want to hear their conversations, see their judging eyes, no, you wanted to be alone.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Sunghoon said, and you nearly jumped in fright. His ability to seemingly come out of nowhere was jarring, and it was beginning to frighten you. Not only did he appear whenever you wanted to see him the least, he always knew exactly where you were. Every minute of the day, down to the exact location. How was that possible?

When you recognized him, you narrowed your eyes, turning away and walking as fast as you could. With long strides, he easily caught up to you.

“What? Are you ignoring me?

“I don’t want to see you ever again.” you spat back at him, and he seemed amused by your vitriolity, eyes crinkingly up into humorous crescents.

“Oh, don’t you get it?” he smiled, and you felt that same fear run up your spine, the fear you felt when you first confronted him about lighting the fire. With every day, he was becoming more like the man you saw in your dream and less like your best friend. “You can’t get rid of me.”

“Please, just go away.” you said, your angry voice tinged with desperation, pleading with him to leave you alone so you could return to the peaceful life you used to have, and for a moment, it looked like he almost pitied you.

“Why? Did I cause problems between you and Jake?” You whipped around, furious that he was still able to read your mind in moments like this.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“So I was right. I am causing issues between the two of you.” he seemed happy at the prospect of his meddling, and that only made you more concerned, watching the way his smile grew. “Exactly as I expected.”

“Stay away from him.”

“I can’t guarantee that.” He was the exact vision you saw in your dream, smiling with malice and hatred like you had never seen in a human face. You feared for Jake’s life. If Sunghoon had managed to make your fiery nightmare come to life, who was to say he wouldn’t kill Jake as well? Maybe your mind was trying to warn you about him, to tell you what he was going to do next.

“Please, don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t worry. If he dies, it won’t be me that kills him.” You didn’t understand what he was saying and you didn’t want to, so you walked away, refusing to speak as tears began running down your face. Luckily, this time he didn’t follow. You turned to see him staring at you, that smile on his face.

Maybe you were to blame, for blindly trusting a stranger. Sunghoon had managed to worm his way into your brain. He knew you inside out; your behavior, your thoughts, he almost knew you better than you knew yourself. He was living inside your mind. He had infected every part of your life, even your dreams, and you were suddenly wishing that you had never let him sit down next to you on that bench a year ago.

When you looked back at him again, he was gone.

You ran back to your apartment as quickly as you could, praying that Jake was back from his drive. You were relieved to see him safe and sound, sitting on the couch. But something was off; he was staring at the wall, completely silent, his eyes glazed as he clutched a half-empty beer in his hand.

“Jake?” He turned to the sound of your voice. “Is everything alright?” He didn’t respond for a minute, like his brain was processing your question.

“I’m fine.” he said after a moment, turning back to the wall, staring at the peeling wallpaper with rigor. Unable to turn his attention to you.

That night, you went to bed with a heavy heart and a buzzing brain. You were grateful to see that Jake had climbed into bed next to you as usual, but you were much too scared to sleep, no, you were afraid to even close your eyes. You watched the new clock beside your bed as the hours flew by, and suddenly it was 2:30 am. You still hadn’t fallen asleep.

You buried yourself further under the covers, Jake’s light snoring comforting you as you tried desperately to get to sleep. But your mind was racing. It was a flurry of images, most of them Sunghoon. You rolled over towards your bedside table, reaching for the bottle of sleeping pills your boyfriend had bought you in hopes of easing your vivid nightmares. You popped one in your mouth, swallowing it dry before you closed your eyes, praying for the sweet feeling of sleep.

As you drifted off, you stared into the image of Sunghoon’s bloody face carved into the back of your eyelids.

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

You awoke with a start. The house was completely silent, no evidence of anything that could’ve woken you from your sleep, but you were on high alert. Your heart raced as you looked around the room, falling on the empty space next to you in bed. You immediately sat up in bed, searching the room with your eyes.

“Jake?” you whispered, and heard no response. You slowly got up, your feet padding softly across the floor as you came around the bed. As you stepped forward, you felt your skin grow wet. When you looked down, you were horrified to see the source.

Blood. Red and thick streaks of it running across the floor, leading from your bed to the door to your bedroom, which was slightly ajar. The door you remembered firmly shutting before you went to sleep.

Your heart felt like it was burning in your chest, buzzing with fear as you followed the trail of blood, a sob escaping you when you saw it ran down the staircase, and you clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Jake?” you said again, calling out for him, your voice breaking as it rang empty in the night. He didn’t reply. You dialled 119 on your phone, your hands shaking as it rang. “Hello?”

“119, what’s your emergency?” a voice answered on the other side, and you trembled, slowly descending the blood soaked stairs.

“There’s blood all over my house. I…I think someone killed my boyfriend.” you said, your voice cracking as you broke into a sob, clapping a hand over your mouth to silence yourself. “Please, please hurry.” You followed the blood further, a horrible, debilitating sense of deja vu striking you as it led to the front yard. You prayed this wasn’t true, that it was just another cruel dream, but it felt as real as anything.

“We’re sending units to your location. Stay where you are, we’ll be there soon.” You wanted to listen, to follow instructions, but you dropped your phone, the call ending when you saw what was waiting for you in the front yard.

The closer you got, the more you could see that it was Jake, laying in the grass, his mouth and eyes open in a silent plea. His right fist was clenched shut, and he was covered in blood, and you abandoned all caution to run to him, collapsing onto the ground, blood wetting your dress and your hands as you cradled him in your arms.

This couldn’t be true. You’d had this dream over and over, night after night, but you never thought it would become your reality. You felt like your entire world was shattering. You had lost Jake, you had lost him permanently, and it was all your fault, for welcoming a stranger.

“I told you.” Sunghoon said, his voice quiet as he stood behind you, watching you hold Jake’s body as you sobbed. You could barely address him, too concerned with grief. “I told you he’d die.”

“This is all your fault.” you said, your voice shaking with fear, anger, grief, all the emotions you could imagine were running through you at one time. “I never should’ve befriended you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have a choice.” Sunghoon said, kneeling next to you, his hands resting on his knees. The sound of sirens began to ring through the air, blue and red light shining across the street as cop cars pulled up in front of your house. “We didn’t meet that day. I’ve always been with you.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, but he didn’t respond.

He got to his feet, his eyes dark and filled with pity as police officers ran out of their cars and towards you, straight past Sunghoon. You pointed to him, eyes wild as they looked at you, then the direction of your finger.

“That’s him! He killed my boyfriend!”

“Ma’am, we’re going to need you to let go of the body.” They ignored you, prying Jake out of your hands. Sunghoon watched as they dragged you away from Jake, inspecting his body while you screamed at them, pleading with them to catch the killer, to arrest him for what he had done to your boyfriend. You still didn’t understand. It was almost pitiful.

You were still screaming and pleading when an officer approached you, a note in his hand, almost illegible through the sheen of blood that covered it.

“Are you y/n?” he asked, and you only cried harder, which seemed to confirm his question. He raised the note, displaying it to you, and you attempted to read it through your tears, your eyes going dry when you processed it.

Y/n killed me.

It was Jake’s handwriting, you knew it. After two years, you’d recognize his handwriting anywhere, the distinctive scribble, the way the letter y looped at the tail. Your heart felt like it would stop in your chest as the officer stared at you scrutinizingly.

“You’re under arrest.”

“What? No, you don’t understand.” you said desperately, struggling against the rough hands of the officer as he attempted to cuff you, wriggling desperately. “I didn’t kill him, Sunghoon did! He killed him!” you screamed, pointing at the dark haired man standing in the shadows, watching.

The more you looked at him, the more you realized that you didn’t know anything about him. Sunghoon always had the ability to read your mind, but you couldn’t name a single thing about him apart from what you had in common. Where did he live? What was his last name? What was his family like? Where did he go to school, where did he work? You couldn’t recall anything, and your eyes widened in terror as he stared at you from the sidewalk, casting no shadow on the pavement.

Then, he smiled, that bloody, horrible smile, the one that haunted you in every sleeping and waking moment.

“Sunghoon killed him!” you cried desperately, the officer staring in confusion at the empty space you were pointing to, the only thing in the silent night being the trees and bloody sidewalks. He turned back to you, and the next three words he spoke made you feel like you could die on the spot, you were so filled with dread and fear.

“Who is Sunghoon?”

𖣂 𖣂 𖣂

back to the masterlist.

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777heavengirl · 1 day ago

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the one with Pobol y cwm

sirius black x reader ! - 1,091 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: HAPPY BDAY SIRIUS BLACK MY BELOVED- SURPRISE UPDATE IN HONOR OF HIM TODAY- oh dear pls dont look at this too in detail i am very sick and exhausted but i wanted to put something out for his bday...

Sirius had never been a crier. Yet as his nimble fingers dug into the soft material of your sweater, and his body shook with sobs— it became clear to you that he had just been holding it in.

He hadn’t said much after he walked through his door, red-eyed and ready to crumble.

But you knew.

You had always been this way. Just knowing, him. Knowing somehow, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. You could tell, most of the time anyway.

You knew he felt sorry, and you knew he felt frustratingly heartbroken. Angry and furious, but deeply blue. The little boy inside of him had lost his mother, and there was nothing he could say to himself that would make it better.

Because through all her faults, her disgusting vile words, and even worse behavior. Through her hexes and unforgivable curses, through every bit of torture that Walburga had subjected Sirius through, it was still his mother.

She would always be his mother.

Disowned or not, abuser or not, the owner of his nightmares, the person he hated most. Nothing could ever erase the fact that for at least the first sixteen years of his life, she had been his mother, and in a way, in a deeply hurtful, and grief-ridden way, she would always be.

So he cried. For the mother he had until age ten, for the mother he had been subjected to until sixteen, for the mother he never had in the first place.

It didn’t matter how many times Sirius told himself to not cry over her, it didn’t matter that he truly hated her. It didn’t matter he once had half a mind to kill her himself. He realized that he’d never get the good relationship he had always secretly wanted. As long as she was alive, even though Sirius would rather die himself than admit it, the stupidest goddamn part of him was still holding on to that chance.

He had never realized he was still clutching onto that.

Until the chance got ripped away.

So you sat, with his face buried in your stomach as he kneeled in front of his bed, in front of you. Sobbing. His arms around your torso and clutching at the material of your jumper with white-hot fists.

You didn't know what else to do besides hug him back, trying not to cry. Your hands pet his hair, strong and steady, because you knew that was what he needed the most right now.

Your reliability, your care, your unconditional love for him.

And you did, love him that is.

From the bottom of your heart, you loved Sirius Orion Black.

Even if you hadn’t talked in weeks, even if you felt like a ghost in the house, even if you had been planning your move out no less than thirty minutes ago in a fit of anxious desperation.

“I’m sorry Sirius” you didn’t think he heard you over his earth-shattering sobs, but he shook his head slightly, almost as if wanting to say no, don’t be. “I am sorry, I know she was horrid-”

“I hate her-” his words were hoarse and raw, he didn’t look up. “I still hate her, I need her to wake up so I can tell her- god I can’t tell her-” You could feel his words reverberating through his throat,

“I hate her so much, I hoped she’d die in some- in some disgusting gruesome death, I just-” he took a deep breath, his breath ragged and shaky “I hoped it would be something ironic and karmic like getting hit by a muggle bus but that goddamn bitch had the audacity to go in peace- in her sleep no less merlin- I- I- just keep hoping that I’m dreaming and that she’s… there and rotting alive in that awful house”

“I’m sorry-”

His voice was calmer now, still buried in your sweater, still embracing you. “I hate her and I am glad she’s dead, she doesn’t deserve to be alive and well after everything she put me and my brother through- but the stupidest part of me- is still mourning”

He loosened his hold on you, and he slumped between your legs, his face now only half-buried in your torso. You could see the red splotches that had bloomed on his porcelain skin.

“I don't know what I feel any more love, I feel out of control”

“I know”

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you”

“I’m sorry too-”

“Please don’t leave me… don’t leave me alone”

“I don’t think I could leave even if I wanted to Sirius- not that I do… don’t worry-” Your fingers carded through his hair “I will always be here”

“I’m sorry-”

“You don’t have to apologize- we can talk about that later… do you want to go for a walk?”

He lifted his head up slightly, enough to steal glances of your face as he wiped his face with his fingers.

“Can we just watch Pobol y cwm-” his voice was low and gloomy, it broke your heart.

“Yeah, we can watch Pobol…” You tried smiling at him, it was a sad one, but he mirrored it nonetheless. It was hard not to get emotional while seeing him this way.

Shattered and somber.

Irrevocably burdened with the knowledge that while yes he mourned his mother, just some idolized version of her he buried deep within the confines of his mind— he would never get justice either.

Sirius Black was relieved, he realized, as he laid his head on your shoulder and watched the advertisements on TV. His abuser was dead, it was more than he could ask for. Yes, he’d have to talk to you eventually, tell you how he feels, even simply explain why he got so upset. He’d have to write to his brother and not repeat the cycle of anger that was embedded deep within their veins. He’d eventually have to face his father. He’d have to face the fact that he, did indeed, have grief over the death of Walburga.

But all of that could wait for tonight, he had you right now.

With your arm around him, tucking his much larger form into your side, with his legs over your thighs and Pobol y cwm playing in the back. The soft of your sweater, and the sweet soft scent of your hair, the warmth from your hand drawing circles on his back. It was all that mattered right now.

It was just you and Pobol y cwm.

taglist ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth

let me know if you wanna be added ! or if i missed you

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rakiah · 15 hours ago

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So I just watched this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGhWfZj7TNI

Here's a LeoVil prompt: the TWST gang is up against a super big baddie and its all up to the first year squad to save everyone. Leona and Vil stayed behind to deal with mob enemies and are bloody, bruised, and exhausted. They know they might die, the castle is literally crumbling around them.

Leona is laying his head down on Vil's lap as they wait. They bicker and what not, Vil pulls out some lipstick and puts it on. Leona makes fun of him for still being a diva when suddenly Vil kisses him.

Vil: Thank you for loving me as you did.

Leona is confused until he suddenly starts feeling extremely sleepy. He's like "god fucking damn it Vil" as he tries to lift his hand out to him. The last thing Leona sees is Vil lovingly kissing his hand.

Of course they survive in the end, they get found, and Leona confronts Vil on WTF he did. And then Vil just lets out that he wouldn't be able to stand it if Leona died while in pain.

Cue Leona proposing right then and there.

Long, very long overdue answer, I’m so sorry for this! 🙏

I had kept this prompt really close to my heart and drew that from time to time cause I definitely can’t say no to some good angst with happy ending~ (just big good angst is fine too but not now xD)

Btw, here the happy ending <3

Such a way for your proposal Leona

#twisted wonderland #answer #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #leovil #again sorry for the wait…#But well #l i f e #(and I’m really slow sigh)#anyway speechless comic to be more dramatic [thumb up]

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pursuitseternal · 3 days ago

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✨⚡️ “Magical” ✨⚡️

Act 3 UA Astarion x f!Reader | E | 2.6 K

🎨 by @marimosalad | A gift for @nyx-knox 🎈

Summary: Lost in the vault of Sorcerers’ Sundries, you and your Vampire are trapped, not just in the maze of rooms, but by your many unspoken feelings. It’s time to get free

CW: Implied break up with Gale, act 3 romance AU, Yearning and pining and feelings oh my, unrequited love, angst with a happy ending, biting feeding, first time as a couple, vaginal sex, creampie

Ao3 Link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

“Fucking hells, we’ve been here before!” that usual silken voice cracks with pissed off frustration.

Not that you blame him. Every room in this vault looks the fucking same. Sorcerers’ Sundries. Of course every g would be magically complicated.

“It might be…” you waver in your confidence. “Ugh, if only Gale hadn’t hurried ahead,” it pains you to say, to even mention your… well, your former lover.

“It’s his fucking fault we are in this mess,” Astarion huffs, cocking his hips as he scans the room. You can tell, it’s a forced air of calm. A thin veneer of that charm and fuck-all attitude you have grown increasingly dependent upon, especially with your mending heart.

Gale’s blind pursuit of ambition, of showing Mystra he was, in fact, worthy, had grown too much for your relationship to bear. So, days ago, you had ended it. Even still, you had to take him here to find the Annals of Karsus. At least Astarion had volunteered to stay by your side. His carefree approach to his problems had soothed your nerves… until you had learned more about his past, those details that had slipped past you, back when Gale had been your world. The vampire’s hunger, his suffering, his Master, his scars… his abuse.

And then, last night, his so-called siblings had come in the night. You won’t ever forget the way you woke to find Astarion prowling between you and their glowing red eyes. Protecting you. It was after fighting them off that something had… shifted in your companionship.

Since then, he had been your shadow, never more than a step away from you. Those crimson eyes always keeping you in their sights, or at least his periphery. And then, once the party got split in this labyrinthine mess of doors and trapped rooms, you were immeasurably thankful for his vigilance.

But it still means you are now lost in a room of glowing walls and identical doors.

Astarion snarls, fangs bared. “Why can’t I just stab something and get us out of here!” He is exasperated, and perhaps a bit… trapped.

You see it in the way his neck muscles strain, the way his chest rises and falls faster even if he doesn’t need to breathe.

“Astarion,” you speak softly, your voices bouncing strangely around in the glowing walls. You can feel the very foundations of this vault built with magic, it’s in the air, in your lungs, and in your fingers. Made from the Weave itself. It calls to your sorcery, your magic.

He looks… almost helpless, those wide wet eyes that scan the glowing walls, the sweat that clings to his face.

“Astarion, speak to me,” you say gently. “It’s alright, we will find our way out, get back to the others.”

Astarion rounds on you, chest heaving as something snaps into place… or is it out of place. “Yes I’m sure you’re most eager to get back to the others… some unfulfilled need to yet prove yourself to Gale, darling? Hearts are far more fragile than necks,” he sneers, walking into the next room through a random door. You, heart aching at the accusation and mention of your old flame, hurry after him.

It’s a large, octangular room, a chest on one side, display cases all around, shelves of scrolls all just waiting to be looted. But Astarion freezes, eyes vacant as he looks in disbelief. “I really thought this was the way back… that we’d get out of this maze from the hells…”

“Astarion, what’s wrong?” You speak softly, drawing up and touching his arm. “Maybe…. Would blood help?” you ask, quivering on the inside and shaking on the out as you pull at the forest green collar of your shirt. “Tell me how to help you,” you watch as his crimson gaze darts over you until they look into your eyes. Then, he settles on your vein, and you can almost hear him counting your heartbeats without the tadpole connecting your brains.

You laugh gently. “It’s been a few nights since you asked or I offered to feed you…”

“I mean… I didn’t want to intrude. You’ve had a lot going on,” his voice sounds dry, his jaw clenching as you know he fights the hunger he struggles with daily.

“And you haven’t?” You tease, gently and carefully making mention of the night's events. “What I went through pales in comparison. Gale and I,” you give an aggrieved sigh. “I only wish I hadn’t given him as much as I did just to get him to see that he doesn’t need this crown, he doesn’t need to defy Mystra when he has me.” You pause, chewing your lip. “Had… me.”

You look into his face, those firm lines don’t smile, his gaze is guarded and… for once you see his mouth still. He’s listening carefully, not quipping or flirting or smiling.

“I’m… I’m glad to be done with Gale in that way. Now I can just take my heart out of the mess and help him find this book.” You chew your lip again, those scarlet eyes darting from your gaze the instant your mouth worries on itself to watch.

But you keep talking. “Your strife is so much bigger, lest we forget that your siblings made a mess in our rooms… I’m glad we could stave them off and…” you keep biting your lip, dropping your gaze to the weird glowing pink floor, hesitating to say the next thing on your mind, “you told me about what it was like for you as his spawn… about that year you spent in the coffin. It’s no wonder you’re a bit frantic in here, feeling trapped…”

You feel cool air on your neck first, his body drawing up behind you. Lips press on your vein then suck it to the surface. “I think I will indulge if you offered,” he says the words so quickly, it’s hard to make them out.

There is then, the icy breaking of your skin as he bites. A gasp slips from your lips, and you’re almost dead certain his bite is harder this time just to shut you up.

But it doesn’t matter. Not the way your body instantly shivers with repressed pleasure as his lips pull your crimson, as his hands grip your shoulders back against him so you don’t squirm out of reach.

“Darling,” he breathes, and that familiar moniker sounds more… pleading. “I’ve been trapped for longer than you’ve seen…” You feel his hands tighten on your arms for a moment, then loosen… then roam up and down them.

You know he can taste it, hear it. The way your heart just jumped into your throat and the way your belly just lurched like you almost fell headlong over a cliff.

“T-trapped?” you clench your hands to keep them from shaking.

“Oh yes, and it’s your fault, you know,” his lips lift from your wounds to press bloodied kisses along your shoulder. “I’ve watched you and the wizard, my eyes following your every move, as your eyes followed his. I watched as your magics wove together, only to sunder apart now. At first, I didn’t care…”

He trailed off, moving his mouth to caress your other shoulder, nipping, not biting, the sensitive places near your short-pointed ear.

“But the more you still cared for me, even though you and I were not…”

“Romantic?” You guess.

“Fucking,” he corrects with a slow, deep-bellied chuckle.

That word makes your body jolt out of control again, your own magic almost sizzling in your veins.

His laughter crescendo. “So, you see, I’ve been trapped for a long while now. Watching you… waiting for you to care just a little more. Waiting for you to see yourself as worth more than being the next-best-thing that wizard could hope for. You’re too good for that, too powerful for that.”

Gripping your waist, he spins you, and the hunger in his eyes makes you shiver, even as your blood is smeared from feeding. “Do… you still feel trapped?” you whisper, voice rough in your throat. As your gaze darts to his red and sticky lips. You wonder how you taste…

“Do you? Feel trapped that is?” he purrs down at you, hands winding to your back to pull you flush against him.

“No, I feel free,” you swiftly reply, standing on your tippy toes to kiss those conceited lips. You taste metal, your blood is sticky and a bit sweet, but he barely lets the taste register before his tongue floods your mouth with it. Those movements of his mouth are familiar, nearly the same that have fed on you nightly on the road, but now… now they are transcendent.

You move your lips to match his, your tongue dueling with him until your head grows light. Vampires don’t need to breathe, and he knows it. It’s dizzying the way he consumes you, fierce and demanding. Like a starved man at a banquet.

Light headed, your knees buckle, and instantly his hands lock firmly to support you, bracing you against his chest. His scent fills your nose; that heady scent swallows you whole. Crisp and bright and sensual. Just like him.

He lifts you, and you jump into his arms. That well-fed vampiric strength is now a personal boon, one you’re eager to take advantage of. Magic tingles down your spine as he presses you into a column, his face pulling away, breaking the kiss, and making you whine.

“Tell me you want this, darling,” he murmurs in sultry tones, those crimson eyes wide and pleading and brimming with unspoken feelings. “Tell me it’s not an illusion, that you also feel the mag—”

“If you say magic right now, I might bite you back,” you tease, his obvious humor and tawdry flirtation making you giggle.

Astarion just gives that rakish smirk as he shuts his mouth and grinds his hips against your sex.

You suddenly flush, head to toe, hot and thrumming with instant need. Your mind whirs, not recalling the last time you had been with Ga… anyone else… you push the thought from your mind.

“Darling, don’t wander from me in your thoughts. Just speak the magic words and I’m yours,” he drops his voice into his chest, into that purr that makes you wet, “and you’re all mine.” Thumb and finger, so cool and callused, tenderly pinches your chin and brings your mouth to his.

You nod furiously, tears in your eyes as his mouth moves on yours, a sensuous dance that leaves you breathless. He lifts you, cradling you as your bodies lower to the floor, the shining sparkles of magic feel like static on your back. You arch, and not because of the strange floor. The way his hips lower into yours, his arms wrap around you. He’s everywhere, the perfect crush of sinew and bone you had dreamed he would be when you weren’t lying to yourself about your heart. This was right… this was what you craved.

“My sweet, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you,” he growls into your mouth. Then he lifts away, breathless and sweating, his flawless silver curls mussed over his forehead. “Typically, I pride myself on a long first conquest, lengthy sessions of… stimulation… and…”

“Shut up,” you laugh, “I don’t care if this last two minutes.” He swallows your giggle and girlish shrieks as he pulls down pants. “It’ll be the most magical two minutes of my life.”

Astsrion tugs into your waistband and something tears slightly as he pulls them confidently and zealously to your ankles. “I promise you, little love, I’ll last longer than two minutes…”

You reach to do the same for him, hand brushing the straining bulge in his leathers, making him hiss and whisper shockingly loudly.

“….Well maybe not much longer than two minutes.”

You giggle, freeing him from the fastened front. And your mouth salivates as your hand closes around it. You’d seen his cock before, accidentally or slightly on purpose. Smooth and flaccid but definitely beautiful. But now…

“Hells,” you groan, your fingers closing around it to feel just how smooth and veined and disgustingly hard it is.

“All yours, my sweet…” he chuckles, thrusting into your grip with the slightest push of his hips.

A wanton moan escapes you, unprepared as you are for that feeling.

It makes his smirk twist even more wickedly and only makes him thrust his hips again. Harder. With his eyes locked onto your face to watch the way yours flutter shut and your mouth part in another breathy moan. You open your eyes, and something seems to snap into place between you, his lips crash into yours, his hand gripping his cock at the base, teasing that flushed and leaking head against your folds.

Inch by sweet inch, he fills you, your breathing so quick and your eye so watery with unshed tears of bliss. It’s all consuming, the way you meld into one another. You glance between your thighs, watching where his cock enters you. In… and out… every little roll of his body as you adjust to the feeling of him makes your nerves burn with static and your blood race at a gallop. Mesmerized, you lose all sense of time as he takes you, fixated on the sight of you two becoming one.

With a growl, his control slips, and he picks up the pace, lowering his body to crush you again. Faster, he drives thrust after thrust, making your vision swim. Not that you can keep your eyes open, too afraid you’ll lose the feeling of him finally taking you. His lips press to your ear, rasping and husky as he speaks. “Hells, you’re perfect. Tight and warm… better than I’ve dreamed of it.”

His words alone push you to the brink. You feel it, or orgasm, faster and harder and more insistent than any you’ve ever felt before. The tightening of your belly and the blast of heat and wet that rages through you. You buck your hips, chasing it, catching the ridged head of his cock on your bundle of nerves just right.

You scream so loudly, you’re sure that these magic walls would crumble if they could. Back arching, voice breaking, you gush around him. And every thrust squelches loudly, even as they grow deeper and more erratic.

He lifts his head, those crimson eyes two pitch black centers as he growls a single worded question: “Where?”

Lust clouds your head, thoughts too scattered by the delicious drag of him inside you for it to make sense right away. So his hands squeeze your ass, your hip.

“Where?!” his voice breaks in desperation.

You answer, pulling him by his back to thrust into you deeper, harder, fuller. “Here,” you rasp.

The slacked-mouth smile on his face is burned forever in your memory as he lowers his head and pummels slower, more deliberate. He grunts, he gasps, louder and higher, the slightest whimper breaking from his throat as you feel him stutter and come inside you. It’s wet and full, the way he throbs with every pulse of his cum to flood you.

A few slower drags in your walls, and all you are is wet… and happy.

And whole.

He kisses you gently, plush lips sucking and working yours as he grins like a fool. “Dare I say… that was magical?”

You swat his arm, but laugh. For it was exactly that.

My lovely Nyx, thank you for trusting me your beloved Evelyn, for she’s my spawn girlie and a treasure to write for, implied reader 💛⚡️

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cutieebabyy · 3 days ago

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i miss you, i’m sorry - k.b

summary: you and katsuki broke up due to his upcoming career as a hero. you’ve just released your debut album and got invited to a well-known event to sing and discuss the new album. little do you know, your classmates would be there with your one and only ex-boyfriend.

pairings: aged up!katsuki x singer!reader (they’re in like their last year of hs.)

“so, y/n, about your upcoming album, we’ve just been dying to ask, but is this inspired by a certain someone?” i narrow my eyes at the question the interviewer asks. i was expecting this, but i still can’t hide the shock on my face. what is it with nosy people wanting to constantly butt into my life? i’m not stupid. i know exactly what she’s implying. she wants to know if my debut album is inspired by my breakup with katsuki. technically, it is, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“more or less. i guess that’s for me to know and for you to find out.” the audience “ooh”’s and i smirk. “well, there you have it, folks! now, while we go on a little break, i dare you to jam out to y/n’s single, ‘i miss you, i’m sorry!’”

the cameras temporarily shut off as an ad plays and i get up prepare on stage with my band. “you guys ready?” i ask them. one of them chuckles, “nervous, but definitely ready.”

“it’s okay to be nervous. i am too.”

“we all know why.” he winks. “i’m nervous because this is one of my first times singing in front of an audience like this and this is live, not because of him.”

“yeah, right.” he replies. i’m about to come up with a snarky reply when my manager walks up to all of us. “you all ready? cameras turn back in 20.”

“minutes?”

“seconds.”

“crap.” i mutter. i plaster a smile on my face and turn around towards the cheering crowd. i grasp the mic and then i hear my manager in my ear piece, counting down the seconds left to start.

“3, 2, 1…aaaaand, we’re live.”

the interview grins. “as you all know, we’ve got the y/n l/n here, ready to perform a single from her debut album, so here goes nothing! break a leg, y/n.” she laughs before the cameras turn to me and the lights dim enough for them to see me and my band.

i inhale a shaky breath, scanning the crowd. “do you remember happy together? i do, don’t you? then, all of a sudden, you’re sick to your stomach. is that still true?” me and everybody here knows exactly who this song is directed to and as the lyrics flee my throat, i don’t dare to hide my anger, but most of all, my heartbreak and love that i somehow still have for him.

katsuki and i were perfect together. we were always together, no matter what. he didn’t care what people thought of us. he didn’t care that his friends teased him for being in love. he didn’t care about how different our goals were in life…until he did.

we broke up last year. or, well, he broke up with me last year. spewed some lies about us not seeing things the same and it wouldn’t work out in the long run. i just don’t understand. he always knew that my long life goal was to pursue a career in the music industry. i made it clear from the very beginning. sure, i was in the hero course and everything, but i didn’t want to be a hero. i did it so my parents would lay off of me already. and, well, it’s too late to back out now since we graduate this year.

and even though, he broke my heart and stepped all over it, i still have immense love for him.

“you said forever, in the end, i fought it. please, be honest, are we better for it? thought you’d hate me, but instead you called and said, i miss you, i caught it…”

a little bit after we broke up, he called me in the late hours of the night. for some reason, i picked up. i couldn’t decline the call, knowing he’d been on a mission that night with best jeanist. i was worried something had happened to him. the moment i heard him utter those words, that he missed me, i was shook to my core. i was frozen. it’s like i couldn’t breath and the words wouldn’t escape my throat. i wanted to, so badly, beg him to come back to me— that i missed him too.

instead, i hung up on him. i begged for him to come back once and he still left, i made a vow to myself that i’d never do it again— no matter how much i wanted to.

“good to each other, give it the summer. i knew, you too. but i only saw you once in december. i’m still confused.”

my heart clenches as the words spill from my mouth. i remember writing this song, a few months after we broke up. i remember sitting up against my bed, every night, wondering why he broke up with me, and i couldn’t control myself as i picked up my songbook and wrote every single thing i felt. this entire album is exactly how i felt when he broke up with me.

my eyes don’t leave the crowd once. i’m about to open my mouth to sing the next verse, but the words get clogged in my throat when my eyes connect with the burning ones i dream about. the ones that belong in distant memories and not in the present. he’s not alone, though. he’s with our— his friends. denki, kirishima, mina, and sero.

“you said, forever, and i almost bought it. i miss fightin’ in your dorm, breakin’ things when you’re disappointed. i still love you, i promise. nothin’ happened in the way i wanted. every corner of this school is haunted. and i know you said that we’re not talkin’, but i miss you, i’m sorry.” i don’t take my eyes off of him, making sure that i mean every single word that leaves my mouth. i still love him and i miss him.

i wish i was good enough for him. was i not pretty enough? he used to tell me i was beautiful. he used to whisper sweet nothings into my ear after our limbs entangled in our sheets. he used to stare at me and smile when i caught him. he used to play with my hair when he was bored or when he was reading.

“i don’t wanna go, think i’ll make it worse. everything i know brings me back to us. i don’t wanna go, we’ve been here before. everywhere i go leads me back to you.”

as i keep repeating the lyrics, my mind drifts to all the times he’d wrap his arms around me and told me i was the greatest thing that ever happened to him— how he promised to love me forever. i remember our shared kisses— how we’d lay down on our sides and stare at each other until the other grew tired. and now, he’s just a stranger i know everything about.

i know how his eyes crinkle when he laughs. i know he’s not as cruel as everybody makes him out to be. i know how bad his anxiety gets and how he needs to go on walks sometimes to calm down. i know how he secretly like chamomile tea and listens to conan gray when he trains.

i know everything about him.

i finally tear my eyes away from him as the audience cheers. i bow and wave before heading backstage to my dressing room.

the next few days are a blur. millions of tweets are being posted about my album and my performance, but more specifically, the look katsuki and i shared as i performed.

a few days ago i was performing in one of the most popular venues, getting interviewed by one of the most famous interviewers, and now i’m sitting in class, studying to be a hero. my friends congratulate me and sing their favorite songs off of the album. and i grin.

my eyes drift to the boy in the corner of the classroom who’s staring right back at me. he doesn’t hide it either. instead, he throws his his head back and continues to stare at me through half-lidded eyes.

“y/n, you’re, like, crazy famous now!” mina exclaims. “no, i’m not.” i chuckle, shyly. “girl, do not play with me! look at this. you’re blowing up!”

she scrolls through a few of the posts until she lands on one of katsuki. it’s a picture of him at the venue. i think he’s looking at me. the photo is captioned, no way he’s looking at her like that when he was the one who broke her heart.

ochaco gasps. “is that…bakugo?”

mina rapidly nods. “yeah, we tricked him into going. he didn’t know y/n was performing and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.”

“ha, bakugo has haters now. it’s about time. i’ve seen too many edits of him. he’s stealing all the chicks, man.” denki says.

“he can’t help that he’s so manly!” kirishima cries, clutching a hand to his chest. “right, bakubro?” he yells.

katsuki rolls his eyes. “shut up.”

“when are you performing again, y/n?!” mina asks, excitedly. luckily, no one brings katsuki up again and nobody mentions anything about the break up. after katsuki and i broke up, everybody was extremely shocked and they didn’t get over it for months— they still aren’t— but i couldn’t take them talking about how cute we were all the time, so i made them swear not to talk about our relationship around me anymore.

luckily, they listened.

“probably after graduation. might be going on tour. i dunno.” i shrug.

“tour?!?!?! our precious y/n is getting out there. you better remember us when you’re all rich and famous!” mina says.

“i will.” i tell them. and i mean it.

hours later, when the sun sets and everybody is asleep, i make my way toward the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. i can’t sleep tonight for some reason. my heart aches and i feel like i can’t breathe. i wish i could be in his arms again. i wish i could feel what it’s like to be loved again— truly loved.

as i’m preparing my tea, i hear a soft grumble behind me. his soft grumble. “that song was about me, wasn’t it?”

i freeze. “what?”

“the one from the other day.” he says. i feel him take a step closer, his shadow looming over me. my back is turned to him, so i can’t see him, but i can feel him. “it is, isn’t it?”

“what do you care if it is?” i don’t mean to snap at him, but the anger i’ve held in for so long— i’m unable to stop it.

“you miss me. and you still love me. i know you do because i love you.” my breath hitches. “katsuki, please, don’t do this to me.” i turn around and push him away from me so i can escape his suffocating presence.

“y/n.” his voice breaks and i feel my walls crumbling. his rough, calloused hand wraps around my wrist. “please.” that one word is what has me turning around and finally looking at him. he looks everything but okay and i just want to wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything will be okay and that i’m here for him.

“what do you want me to say to that, katsuki? i still love you? because i do! with everything in me! but you left me! you left me when i needed you most. because of what— my career choice? sorry, i’m not good enough for you.” i scoff.

his grip tightens around my wrist. “i broke up with you because it wasn’t going to work out. you know that.”

“how the hell do i know that if we never even tried?!”

“it wasn’t going to work. i’m not good enough for you, i was going to end up breaking your heart sooner or later— we both know that.”

“no, because before you did what you did, i never thought that you’d be the one to break my heart. you told me you loved me.��

“i did— i do.” he corrects.

“then, why did you do it? why did you break up with me? and don’t give me that stupid excuse about it not working out.”

he sighs. “come on, y/n. you know me. i’m messed up. i always have been and i always will be. there’s nothing good about me. and you? you’re perfect. look at you. you’re blossoming and you’re growing and i can’t be the one to hold you back.”

and this is where my anger ends. i take a step closer. “‘suki, you’re not messed up. and even if you are, who cares? we all are. even our perfect little class president iida is messed up. i love you— perfect or imperfect, good or bad. i love you. you’re not going to hold me back because you’re growing too. katsuki, you’re going to be a hero soon. you’re already going on missions. hell, you’ve even got fan pages for you. my point is that you’re everything i ever wanted. all i want is you.”

he doesn’t say anything.

neither do i.

i place my hands on his biceps and reach up to peck his lips. it’s awkward at first and he doesn’t kiss me back. but when i pull away, his hand wraps around the back of my neck and his lips crash onto mine. and it’s then that i realize that katsuki and i’s story never ended, and it never will because for as long as i live, i will love this man like breathing. his tongue delves into my mouth and i gasp at the fierceness he doesn’t dare to hold back. i feel the pain he’s held in for so long and i also feel the time we lost.

“i love you.” he mumbles softly as he pulls away.

#Spotify #bakugo x reader #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #katsuki x reader #mha #romance #trending #imagines #bakugo imagine #bakugo oneshot #oneshot #x reader

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librababe99 · 19 hours ago

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When They're All Home

Tags: Fluff, Bruce Wayne x Wife Reader, Batkids, Batfamily goodness WC: 910 words Summary: Surrounded by laughter and love, you cherish this fleeting moment of peace, knowing your family is finally home—even if just for tonight.

A/N: Hello! It's been a few weeks since I've last posted. I was feeling very burnt out with writing and didn't feel like I was providing the quality you all deserve. School and life also really started to pick up for me.... Buttttt I hope that this little fluffy one shot makes up for my absence!

| Masterlist |

The halls of Wayne Manor were bustling in a way that hadn’t happened in ages. The grand old house seemed to come alive with the unmistakable hum of voices, footsteps, and laughter—yes, even laughter. The rare symphony of the entire Wayne family being home at once.

You paused at the top of the grand staircase, gazing down as everyone settled in, a soft smile gracing your lips. Bruce came up behind you, placing a warm hand on your back, and for a moment, the two of you watched in contented silence.

“They’re all here,” you murmured, a soft warmth filling your chest. It didn’t happen often, not with the unique and sometimes complicated lives they each led. But tonight? Tonight, they were all home.

“Feels like the old days, doesn’t it?” Bruce whispered back, his deep voice low and gentle in your ear.

“Better,” you replied, eyes still taking in the sight below. Dick was laughing, arm around Tim’s shoulder as he animatedly recounted a story. Jason was by the window, looking like he might want to bolt but staying all the same, an amused smirk as he watched his brothers. Damian, his usual stoic self, pretended not to care but stuck close to you, his hand brushing yours as he leaned on the banister. Even Alfred was here, his dignified smile softened by the rare moment of togetherness.

“I just can’t believe they’re all here. All of them under one roof again.” You leaned into Bruce, letting yourself feel the happiness that filled your heart as you saw each of your boys together.

Downstairs, Dick was the first to catch sight of you both, his grin brightening as he waved you over. “Hey! Are you guys just gonna stand there all night, or are you going to come down and join us?”

Bruce smirked, giving you a look. “Duty calls.”

Hand in hand, the two of you descended the stairs, and as soon as you hit the landing, Dick pulled you both into a bear hug, one arm slung over each of you. "Glad you two decided to grace us with your presence,” he teased.

“Oh, we wouldn't miss this for the world,” you replied, hugging him back tightly. "I’m so glad you’re all here. It feels like…home.”

Jason scoffed from his spot by the window. “Getting sentimental already, huh?” But the hint of a smile softened his usual bravado.

You walked over, gently taking his hand. “If I didn’t know better, Jason, I’d say you missed us.”

He rolled his eyes, but the way he squeezed your hand back let you know he felt it, too. “Don’t push your luck…Ma.”

Your heart skipped, warmth spreading as you smiled at him. “Noted, Jason.”

The evening passed in a blur of laughter, memories, and everyone catching up on life. Tim and Damian found themselves in a surprising truce as they argued over strategy in one of their favorite board games. Dick made a dramatic performance of acting out stories from his latest missions, keeping everyone in stitches. Even Jason relaxed, offering up a few quips that had everyone laughing.

After dinner, you found yourself in the kitchen, tidying up while everyone was in the living room. You paused, leaning against the counter, letting the warmth of the night settle over you. They weren’t all your biological kids, but they were yours all the same. Your family, each of them so different yet so loved.

Bruce walked in, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m perfect,” you said, reaching up to lace your fingers through his. “I just… I love them so much, Bruce. Seeing them all together like this makes me feel…” You trailed off, unsure if there was even a word for how full your heart felt.

He gave you a rare, gentle smile. “They love you too. More than you know.” And then, after a pause, he added, “You’re the reason they’re all here. You’re what brought us all together.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” Bruce said, pulling you into his arms. “They’re home because of you.”

The two of you lingered in the kitchen, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until you heard Tim’s voice call from the living room. “Are you two planning on hiding in there all night, or are we actually going to watch this movie, Mom?”

With a laugh, you and Bruce rejoined the group, taking your place among them. As the evening wore on, the boys began to drift off one by one, settling into the manor’s rooms or simply crashing on the couches. Jason fell asleep in an armchair, Damian nestled himself into a corner of the sofa with a book, and Dick was sprawled on the floor next to Tim, both of them talking quietly until their voices faded into the night.

When you and Bruce finally retired to your room, you glanced out the door one last time, your heart so full it ached.

“They’ll be off saving the world again tomorrow,” you murmured as you slipped under the covers, feeling Bruce’s arm wrap around you.

“But tonight, they’re home,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. And with that, you drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the comfort of knowing that, for this one night, you had your whole family right where they belonged.

#Bruce Wayne x Wife Reader #batfamily fic #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #Jason Todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #alfred pennyworth #batfam imagine #fluff #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #dc fandom #dc fanfic #dcu #fem reader

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penkura · 16 hours ago

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PENKURAAAAA

I love your writing, especially for Law and Zoro. I'm also a sucker for the parent fics you do. What if reader and Law/Zoris kids were to surprise reader on their birthday? What would they do? How would they do it? Maybe reader thinks everyone forgot their birthday but the crew is actually just in on the surprise? Thanks for reading friend, I would love to see what you think ^^♡

HIII THANK YOUUUU I'm so glad you like the parent fics, they're some of favorite to write. 😊

I didn't think I'd finish this in time to post on my birthday but I did!! I wasn't sure where to go at first so I just started typing and this is what I've got!! I'm pretty happy with it myself, so I hope you like it too!! 😄

Law

Law has never forgotten a birthday or anniversary ever since you first got together. His ability to remember every date leaves you impresses every time, especially after your son and daughter were born, he kept every important date in the front of his mind so her never forgot. He intended to celebrate every important, special day so you and your kids knew how much he loved you. You make sure to do the same for Law, even if he’d rather you not celebrate his birthday, the grins he gets from your children every year make it worth remembering the day.

That’s why it’s very strange to wake up on your birthday without Law in your bed with you, or even your son Rosinante yelling ‘happy birthday’ to wake you. Your daughter Cora is still learning to talk, but even she would already be in your bed and giggling to help get you up for the day. It’s odd, you’re not sure what to think as you start getting ready for the day, still no sign of your family or the other Heart Pirates around. Once you leave your room, it’s oddly quiet but you pass by a few of your crewmates on your way to Law’s office, expecting him to be there at least. None of them say anything about your birthday, Bepo and Ikkaku seem a little antsy when you greet them, though you don’t think anything of it, even when they try to guide you to the kitchen instead.

You don’t go with them, saying you’d like to see your family first, opening the door to Law’s office and being surprised at what you see. Law at his desk is normal, even with your daughter sitting in his lap, but what’s different is the amount of streamers across the walls and floor, wrapping paper pieces mixed in, your children busy scribbling away on paper likely making cards for you.

It's so early you can’t believe the two are awake, especially seeing how Law appears to he asleep, his hat over this face and leaning back in his chair, but still holding little Cora so she can sit up and continue coloring.

Of course he wouldn’t forget, he was probably trying to surprise you, keeping things a secret and bringing your children to his office so you could sleep in while he got things together. That would also explain why most of your crewmates seemed anxious around you, they didn’t want you to figure it out too soon.

“Mama!”

When Rosi sees you, he’s torn between excited and upset, you weren’t supposed to see anything yet and the five-year-old was doing his best to keep everything secret after Law brought up your birthday and making cards for you. He pouts a little, but still jumps up to hug you, which you return.

“You weren’t s’pposed to see yet…”

Quietly laughing, to not wake Law even though Cora is starting to whine when she sees you, you hug Rosi a bit tighter before kissing the top of his head.

“You’re so sweet! I’m sorry I saw everything, sweetie!”

Rosi whines this time, telling you that you’re hugging him too tight, before you let him go and move to pick up Cora, who squeals when you do so and kiss her cheeks. Law doesn’t even wake at that, you wonder if he actually slept last night or not.

“You’re all so wonderful, I’m so blessed to have you guys.”

Rosi makes you promise not to tell anyone that you know, and you’re still surprised later that day at how big the party is. Law tells you later that your son thought it up, he just helped put it all together with the rest of your crew. No one finds out that you knew, Rosi keeps it a secret too and even when your daughter nearly drops her piece of cake on your shirt, it’s still the best birthday you’ve had in a while.

Zoro

While Zoro isn’t the best at remembering dates, your birthday is one he never forgets, no matter how long you’ve been together or how many other important days come and go. You know your captain and crew well enough that anything worth celebrating gets a huge party, birthdays are no exception, especially so after your daughter’s birth a few years ago. Every first for little Kuina was celebrated as only the Straw Hats could, food and drinks galore, even though she’d be confused by what was happening.

When she’s four-years-old and your birthday comes around again, Kuina is adamant on you having a big surprise party, even when Zoro tells her you aren’t the biggest fan of surprises (your unexpected pregnancy with her being an exception). She’ll pout and fuss until Zoro finally agrees, enlisting Nami and Sanji to get everything planned but not tell him the details. He trusts them to get everything planned, Kuina being their biggest help, but Zoro doesn’t want to know anything, so he doesn’t potentially spoil you on the surprise.

Kuina is better at keeping the secret than anyone else. If you ask her what she’s doing, when she grabs all her paper and coloring supplies, she just tell you she’s going to make a map with aunt Nami. That’s not unusual so you don’t question it, she does bring you her own map later that day anyway.

When your birthday finally comes around, neither Zoro nor Kuina says anything, they aren’t even around when you wake up that morning. Not uncommon though, everyone normally lets you sleep in on your birthday, but usually Zoro is there and Kuina comes running in after a few minutes to wake you both.

Once you’ve dressed and gotten ready for the day, you head for the kitchen, but you’re confused when no one you pass says anything to you apart from a good morning. Usopp just grins and says it, Franky does the same. Luffy is barely audible as he runs off to wherever, dragging Jinbei along with him. It really makes you wonder if they’ve all forgotten what today is. You don’t see anyone else until you get to the kitchen, only to have streamers from party poppers hit you in the face, hearing Kuina say ‘oops’.

“You weren’t supposed to do it in her face, Kuina!”

“Sorry, daddy!” Kuina gives you an apologetic look before she smiles, “Sorry, mommy! Happy birthday!!”

Once you’re able to see the kitchen better, there’s streamers and balloons round the room, your favorite breakfast all made and ready, a cake in the middle of the table, and every member of your crew there, you figure Luffy and Jinbei had slipped in behind you. They all give you their birthday wishes, and it nearly makes you cry which makes Zoro smirk at you.

“Now don’t cry about it. It was all your daughter’s idea.”

“Shut up, Zoro.” You may be near tears but the smile you have tells everyone you’re happy, as Kuina comes out and hugs you with a pout.

“Mommy, don’t cry! I made you a picture!!”

It’s childish work of course, she’s only four, but it’s still an adorable picture she’s drawn of the two of you, making you hug her back and lift her off the ground.

“Thank you so much, Kuina. I love it!”

You never question if any of them have forgotten your birthday again, expecting it to be due to Kuina having her own little plans for your special day. You’ll have to do the same for her next year now.

#one piece x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #zoro x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #request

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writtenwhalien · 2 days ago

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a lover's redemption | chapter 2

chapter 2. before the storm

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 4k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and share xo this chapter is slower than chapter 1 but crucial nonetheless! ;)

14th September 2003

“This is my friend, Jihoon, and his son, Jimin.”

At first you felt nervous, looking between your dad and the big stern looking man beside him. Glancing at your grandma, you eased up when she nudged you and smiled.

“Why don’t you say hello, Y/N?” she said.

Your dad kneeled down as you looked up at the man. “You can say hello if you want, sweetie.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N,” the man said, his lips curving into what must’ve meant to have been a smile — you thought it made him look scarier. “I’m your uncle Jihoon.” He extended his hand.

Timidly, you shook it. Then your gaze fell to the boy standing behind him.

“Jimin.” Jihoon’s voice was suddenly sharp as he summoned his son to come forward.

Looking up at his father in what you could only interpret as fear, he took a few steps forward and stopped in front of you. “Hello, I’m Jimin,” he said quietly, putting his hand forward just like his father did.

“Hi, Jimin,” you said, reaching for his hand and shaking it once. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, why don’t you show Jimin some of your books while I talk to his dad for a bit, hm?” your dad asked, looking at you and smiling as he rubbed your back reassuringly.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Feeling braver, you stepped forward and took Jimin’s hand to lead him out of the room and upstairs to your bedroom. You could hear your parents and Jimin’s dad chuckling at your little action. Jimin and you walked in silence to your room, and when you got there, you turned to him and smiled.

He smiled back, nervously.

“Do you like reading?” you asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do you want to read with me?”

“Um, okay.”

Satisfied, you led Jimin over to the reading corner in your room. “I have lots of books,” you boasted, pulling him down onto the rug and pulling out your biggest books to try to impress him. “These are my favourite. We can read them if you want.”

Jimin smiled, taking the book from you. “I’ve read this one already.”

“How?” you questioned, frowning in disappointment. “My teacher told me this is a third grade book.”

“I am in third grade,” Jimin said, putting the book down. “I’m eight.”

“Oh, I’m six,” you said, slightly downcast as you realised that Jimin was older than you. “Have you read this one?” you asked, picking up another one of the longer books.

Jimin nodded.

“Oh…” you sighed, looking down. You weren’t sure how else to impress your new friend.

Then Jimin spoke up nervously. “C—can I read these ones?”

You frowned when you saw the books he was pointing at. You read those when you were four; they’re all very short, but beautiful picture books.

“They’re kiddy books,” you stated, picking one up.

“I like the pictures,” Jimin said, smiling as he looked at it. But this slowly disappeared as he muttered, “My dad doesn’t let me read them but I like them.”

Even as a six year old, you could tell something was upsetting Jimin and you didn’t like seeing the little boy in front of you look so sad. So you pulled the rest of them out and smiled.

“Okay. Here, this is my favourite one” — you placed the book in his hand. Two animated bears gracing the cover, a father and son. Can’t You Sleep, Little Bear?

Jimin’s eyes lit up as he stared at the cover. It made you happy to see.

“Shall we read it together?” he asked, looking up at you.

“Okay,” you grinned, moving on your knees to sit beside him.

You picked up two of your stuffed animal toys from the corner and gave one to him while you cuddled one to your chest — something you always used to do when reading. Jimin took it with a shy smile, copying you and bringing the stuffed puppy toy to his chest before holding the book out in between you.

He would read one page, and you would read the next, with both of you taking time to admire the pictures on every page.

After the first one, you read another, and another the same way with both of you alternating pages. However, half an hour passed with different books and you both got bored, so you decided to take advantage of the fact that no one had come to put you to bed yet considering it was nearly 9pm and your usual bedtime was 8pm.

“Shall we play tag?” you asked Jimin.

He chewed on his bottom lip, looking at you in worry. “My dad will tell me off.”

“But it’s my house,” you said confidently, taking his hand and walking with him towards your bedroom door. “We can tell him it was my idea, I know my dad won’t tell me off.”

You pulled open the door and stepped out into the wide hallway. “Pretty please,” you pouted, still holding his hand.

A smile found its way to Jimin’s lips, a big one. It made his eyes transform into little crescents and you decided then that you liked this new friend of yours. He nodded. “Okay.”

“Yay!” Your arms flung around his neck for a brief hug before you moved back and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Tag, you’re it!” you yelled, running down the hall away from Jimin who followed right on your heel with the biggest smile on his face.

You played together freely, running in and out of the many rooms of your mansion home, winding around the furniture and crawling under beds. Then, after what felt like an hour, you heard your housemaid calling your name as she looked for you and you immediately grabbed Jimin’s arm and pulled him into one of the guest bedrooms.

“I think you’re gonna go home now,” you breathed, heart beating hard in your chest.

“I don’t wanna go,” Jimin frowned, breathing just as hard.

“We can hide in here,” you said, pulling on his hand to hide under the bed.

Both of you shuffled in, listening to the footsteps of your housemaid getting closer as she still called your name, and Jimin’s too. You giggled together, thrilled to be hiding from a grown-up, until the housemaid called again…

“Jimin, your dad is waiting for you.”

Jimin’s face dropped and the same fear you saw in him earlier returned. “I should go,” he said quietly, not even waiting for your answer as he belly crawled out from under the bed.

You followed him, frowning as he walked with drooped shoulders out into the hall.

“Ah, Jimin, there you are, sweetheart, your dad is ready to go now, have you got all your things?”

“Yes,” he said, turning around to face you. “Thank you for reading and playing with me, Y/N, I had lots of fun.”

“Me too,” you smiled, hoping he would too. And he did.

“Come on, kids,” your housemaid said, leading you back down the hall together.

As you passed your bedroom, the door had been left open and you could see your reading corner from here with the books laid out. “Wait,” you blurted, grabbing Jimin’s hand and pulling him into the room. “Which one was your favourite?” you asked, pointing at the picture books you’d read together.

“The same as yours,” Jimin smiled, pointing at Can’t You Sleep, Little Bear?

You picked it up and held it out with a smile. “You can keep it.”

Jimin looked puzzled. “But it’s your favourite?”

“I know, but my mommy said it’s nice to give people things they like, so I want to give it to you.”

“Are you sure?” Jimin asked tentatively, fingers fiddling.

“Yes, you’re my friend now,” you said, grinning and pushing the book forward again.

Jimin smiled shyly, taking it from you. “You’re my friend too.”

“Kids, your parents are waiting,” your housemaid reminded you again from the door.

Jimin and you listened this time, following her downstairs with smiles on your faces. Although you noticed how Jimin’s faded as he approached both of your dads in the main entryway.

“There you are,” your dad grinned, ruffling your hair and Jimin’s as you stood next to him.

Jihoon frowns. “We were looking for you, Jimin, why did you not come?”

“We were playing,” you answered boldly, remembering your promise earlier to say it was your idea, which it was. “I told Jimin to hide with me.”

“That’s cheeky, Y/N,” your dad says, raising a brow sternly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just wanted to play with Jimin because you said I can’t invite my school friends to the house, and now I’m friends with Jimin.”

“Alright,” your dad sighs. “But next time, at least come and ask us for more play time, hm? You know I get worried when you don’t answer, anything could’ve happened, Y/N.”

“I know,” you pouted, “I’m sorry, dad.”

“It’s okay, kid, just don’t do it again.”

You nodded, smiling as your dad took your hand. He always expressed his concern over you being careful even in the house. All you knew is what he had told you — there’s some bad people in the world and they might try to come into the house. You were awfully scared when he had told you that, but he cuddled you and reminded you of all the security he has in place for your home. He also told you that’s why it’s so important you listened to him, so you understood why he was stern with you just now.

As you held your dad’s hand, you looked towards Jimin and noticed how he stood stiffly next to his dad, cuddling the book you’d given him to his chest.

“Jimin, what is that you’re holding?” Jihoon asked, frowning at Jimin.

“Oh, um, it—it’s a book,” he stuttered. “Y/N gave it to me, she said I can keep it.”

Jihoon still didn’t seem pleased. “You don’t take things from people, Jimin, that’s rude, give it back.”

Again, Jimin’s face dropped as he held the book out towards you to take.

But you stepped forward and gently moved it back to his chest. “Uncle Jihoon, I want Jimin to have it. My mommy told me you should give your friends presents and I gave it to Jimin. He has to keep it because we’re friends now.” You looked up at Jimin’s dad with a big smile.

“Very well, Y/N,” he nodded, still seeming displeased. “If you insist.”

You nodded and he turned to your dad to say goodbye, while you looked at Jimin again and smiled.

This time, he barely returned the smile.

You didn’t see Jimin again until two months later.

“I won’t be long,” your father said, pulling away from the hug. “Your mother will be back tomorrow evening and until then, Jiyoung will be here to look after you.”

Shyly, you smiled at the older girl and she smiled back reassuringly. You’d only met her a few times before, but you knew her as Uncle Han-jae’s step daughter and since he’s a friend of your dad’s, you automatically considered her a friend to you too.

“Okay,” you nodded, trying your best to be brave in front of your father despite feeling anxious at the thought of him leaving. The last time he had to go away for a few days, your mom was with you the whole time, but like he said, she’ll be here soon.

“Good girl.” Your dad kissed your head once more before rising.

At the same time, a few familiar faces entered the room. You recognised Uncle Han-jae whose house you were in, and behind him came Uncle Jihoon – he looked different from when you last saw him, his face a little scarier to you as his features were more gaunt and hollowed.

Then, Jimin appeared. He looked miserable is what you first noticed, no brightness in his eyes which he kept downcast.

“Are we ready?” Jihoon asked.

“Yes,” your father answered. “Ah, Jimin, you’re here too, Y/N and you can spend some time together.”

Jimin, however, only looked up with his eyes rounding in apprehension as he glanced between your father and you.

“He’ll be coming with us,” Jihoon said curtly, patting Jimin’s shoulder to motion him to walk towards the door.

“Excuse me?” You looked up to see your father looking at Jihoon, astounded. “Jimin is coming with us?”

“Yes.” Jihoon seemed unaffected by your father’s tone. “He is getting old enough and the younger he starts, the better. I’ve already suggested Taemin accompany us as well, but he’s still in the States.”

Sehun looked at Han-jae who nodded to acknowledge the statement. “Perhaps next time.”

Taking another look at Jimin, Sehun frowned. He stepped forward, muttering something quietly. Then, he and Jihoon were walking out of the room and you caught the irritated expression on Jihoon’s face.

You don’t know what they said in those few moments of privacy, but when they returned to the room, Jihoon appeared even more annoyed, yet it seemed your father successfully convinced him to not bring Jimin along.

“You’ll stay here with Y/N,” Jihoon said abruptly, barely even sparing a glance at Jimin. “Do as you’re told and don’t cause any trouble.”

Jimin looked up, nodding quickly. “Yes, father.”

Even as the young girl you were, you could recognise the relief that flooded through him then.

Perhaps that’s why you spent the rest of the evening trying to cheer him up, letting him choose whatever activities Jiyoung offered to do and having him choose dinner and dessert. With your efforts, it didn’t take long for Jimin to be running around the halls with you, laughing and playing excitedly as Jiyoung chased you both down for bed.

24th August 2006

“Can we help, mom?”

Jimin held your hand as you stood together on the grass, messy hair, messy clothes but big grins on your faces from having spent the last hour playing freely in the expanse of the Park estate.

Jimin’s mom beamed, a smile you likened to the flowers she was planting for she had rosy cheeks and kind eyes, the same features you’d noticed in Jimin.

“Of course you can.”

She handed you a spade, and Jimin a fork. With simple instructions, she helped Jimin and you place the small flowers into the ground, guiding you as you used the tools to surround them in soil.

“What flowers are these called?” you asked, admiring the pretty petals.

“These are hydrangeas,” Jimin answered, looking just as delighted as you.

“That’s right,” Jimin’s mom nodded, taking off her gardening gloves and smoothing down Jimin’s hair. She looked at him with such fondness and it reminded you of your own mother.

Every time you saw moments between Jimin and his mom like this, it made you feel sad for him. You saw your own mom often, but for some reason, Mrs Park wasn’t always around despite her having such a good relationship with Jimin. You could see how different he was with her, especially when his dad was away on business, and after having seen Jimin downcast so many times before, this was something you wanted to see more of.

Jimin stood up, dusting off his knees. “Can we water the other plants too?”

“Yes, let’s do it.”

Together, Jimin and you helped Mrs Park tend to her garden. You didn’t get to come in here often as it was often locked, so on these rare occasions, you were happy to be able to help.

There were a lot of plants, small trees and flowers, spanning across the square and even growing all over the walls that secluded this beautiful space from the rest of the estate. In the centre was a beautiful fountain with a statue at the top. It was a woman sitting, draped in loose cloth and she looked down, a hand on her heart and a mournful expression on her face. She reminded you of Jimin’s mom.

“Y/N, honey, do you want to help Jimin dig out these weeds?”

You nodded, smiling as you walked over. Jimin looked up at you and grinned, shifting over to make space for you in front of the soil that needed clearing.

It took a while but eventually, Jimin and you managed to dig out all the weeds while his mom pruned some of the taller trees.

As the last of the weeds were pulled, Jimin’s mom came over and knelt beside him. She smiled, brushing a little dirt off his cheek.

“Ma’am.” The soft voice of their housekeeper, Ara, interrupted them. “The car is ready.”

Jimin’s mom went still and a shadow flickered across her face, though she quickly masked it with a gentle smile.

Jimin’s smile faded and he sat a little straighter. “Do you have to go?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She rested her hand softly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she replied, her eyes soft but distant, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she stood up. With one smile and nod your way, she walked towards the house.

As Jimin watched her go, his shoulders drooped and he clenched his small hands to keep his composure. You wondered why he didn’t at least hug her goodbye, but something about his stiff expression told you he was used to this, almost like it was his duty to not feel sad.

You nudged him and smiled. “Hey, we still have some flowers to water. She’ll want to see them all done when she’s back, right?”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he picked up the watering can again. “Yeah… let’s make them look perfect for her.”

Together, you set back to work in the garden, his laugh returning, filling the quiet space she'd left behind. Through a trace of sadness lingered, your playful banter slowly brought the light back to his face.

3rd September 2008

The last time you saw Jimin was when you were 11.

Despite having only seen him a handful of times over the past few years from when you first met him, you always had fun as the young kid you were, and every time, it seemed you had a subconscious mission of making Jimin smile and laugh as much as you could. You always succeeded.

However, the last time you saw him, you were struggling to get him to laugh as much. He had just turned thirteen two weeks earlier, and yet it felt as though he’d aged six years instead of one. You supposed that had something to do with the private conversation you’d accidentally heard earlier on in the evening.

While you were supposed to be helping your grandma and the house staff prepare dinner for the Lee’s and Park’s, you were too excited about giving Jimin the birthday gift you had prepared for him. As you finished tying the bow around the carefully wrapped gift, you felt as though something was missing and skipped downstairs, out of sight of any adults to sneak into the gardens and find a few flowers to decorate it with. After gathering a few (by recklessly breaking the stems – much to the dismay of the gardener and your grandmother), you snuck around the front of the house to avoid some of the family guards on their shift as they patrolled the house.

It was the sound of a sharp slap, followed by a harsh tone that had you pausing, instinctively treading lighter as you approached the source of the sound. You didn’t recognise it was Park Jihoon’s voice until you were met with the sight of him standing in front of Jimin just outside their car.

Your heart dropped when you saw Jimin standing with his head lowered, nodding with everything Jihoon said. You couldn’t make out what was being said yourself, but by now you had learned that Jimin’s father wasn’t like yours, so you could only imagine the conversation was one to scold or berate Jimin for something – not that it was deserved.

After a short moment, Jihoon turned to walk towards the house and Jimin followed wordlessly. Knowing you weren’t meant to be seeing it, let alone even being out, you ran back towards the back of the house, managing to avoid the guards as you dashed back to your room.

When Jimin and his father finally entered the house, you got yourself and Jimin excused as fast as you could, rushing upstairs to your room. He seemed wary as he entered, but you quickly pounced on him in a long hug.

“Happy late birthday, Jimin!” you beamed.

“Thank you,” he muttered in response, almost shyly.

As you pulled back, you saw the small smile on his lips. “Come on, I got you a present.”

Jimin followed you as you walked over to your bed, watching as you pulled the gift out from underneath it. You leapt on the bed, bringing Jimin down with you and motioning for him to open it. He smiled at the flowers you had stuck behind the bow, pulling them out first to admire them.

“Geraniums.”

“Huh?”

“Geraniums,” he repeated, lifting the flowers in his hand to look at you. He laughed softly when he saw your puzzled expression. “These flowers are called geraniums. My mom grows them in her garden.”

“Oh…” you paused. Jimin never spoke about his mom often when she wasn’t here, but you knew one of the ways they bonded was through her love of botany.

Jimin’s smile softened and he shifted, moving the gift out of the way from between you. Delicately, he pushed your hair out of the way and slid one of the stems behind your ear. “There, you look even prettier.”

You felt yourself growing shy but had no time to even dwell on it as Jimin picked up the present and placed it on his lap. A few seconds later, he had unwrapped the gift, revealing a board game which you loved so much, you wanted him to have one too.

As his hand slid down the edge of the box, Jimin’s smile faltered.

“You don’t like it?” you asked immediately, lips pouting in a frown – you weren’t offended that he didn’t like it, only upset that he wouldn’t be able to have fun with the only gift you’d prepared for him. Just as you began to wonder what else you could ask your dad to buy him instead, Jimin shook his head.

“No, it’s not that..” he hesitated, still looking down at the game.

“Oh,” you realised he just turned thirteen – maybe some teenagers don’t like to play board games anymore. “You’re too big for games now?”

“No,” Jimin shook his head again, sighing. “I do.” He looked up and you could see the apprehension in his expression again. “It’s just that my father doesn’t like me playing games.”

You didn’t understand it, and it only added to the dislike you already felt towards the man, but you knew not to question it. So instead, you proposed an idea.” Well, if you still want it, we can keep it here and play when you come?”

The corners of his mouth turned up again, and he nodded.

That was enough to satisfy you, and you smiled back even brighter, wanting to see him do the same.

He did, enough that his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. “Thank you.”

note. thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and if you have any questions, let me know! <3

#pjm #jimin x reader #park jimin #park jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin masterlist #jimin x you #jimin series #bts masterlist #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin smut #jimin imagine #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts fanfiction

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leezlelatch · 22 hours ago

Note

I love your writing and style. It's been a hard week and it's made me happy after discovering it. Just wondering if you, if you had the time, could write a slightly smutty drabble. I love your take on protective doll baby Copia. He's perfect.

With the last few months I'd love to read a ficlette where he discovers the reader almost in tears after being torn down by people, told that she's worthless, and now doubting herself because of the complete lack of self esteem which is even worse after this. Copia goes into DarkCopia mode while loving her like the badass he is. He doesn't like it when people hurt his gal. And he makes sure she knows how much worth he sees in her.

Truly though, even if you don't have time...your stuff has made me happy. <3

Hello, my friend. I'm so sorry this week has been hard. I hope it has improved, and I am so happy that my writing has made a difference! Here is a little something for you from me, and Copia. <3

Copia x Reader - hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive, a little smutty, protective Copia, suggestively Dark!Copia.

The old key slipping into the lock rouses you from your light doze, and your eyes feel heavy as you turn over, watching as Copia steps into his quarters, his gaze lowered as he shifts his takeout bag from one hand to the other, depositing the key back into his pocket. He raises his head, and you make eye contact. Two things happen in that moment that makes the hair raise on your arms, and your heart warm with affection at the same time. Copia takes in the sight of you, curled up like a burrito in his blanket, your nose tucked into the fabric, eyes red. He knows it’s because you’re trying to find comfort in his scent. He knows you, in and out. His expression freezes in a ghastly stare, his eyes narrowed, lips set in a deep frown which accentuates the wrinkles around his mouth. His brows are pulled down, and he appears paler than he usually does. In short, he looks ready to hurt someone.

But then it falls away. Cold fury melting into concern, and he drops his bag at the door, uncaring as the takeout boxes tumble and rest on their sides in his haste to reach you. Gloved hands pull you from the blankets, settling you across his lap, his arms cradling you. His face grows very close to yours, searching your eyes with a certain desperation. Copia is another person when it comes to you. The endearing, funny Papa is gone and replaced by someone who is calculating, smart, one step ahead. The real him. The one he hides, the clergy unaware that the puppet is actually the puppet master. You’re precious to him, and there is nothing this man would not do to keep you happy and safe.

“Baby,” he says very softly, his accent curling around the endearment. “Tell Papa what happened, eh?” His thumb rubs beneath your eye. “What are the tears for?”

“I had a hard day,” you respond, your voice a little hoarse. His brow furrows, and one of his hands slides its way down your body, feeling, prodding gently, as if he were checking for some external injury. “I’m okay, Copia.”

“Okay is not finding il mio amore all wrapped up and crying.” He works at removing a glove, slipping each finger out of the leather. He flexes his hand once it’s removed, and it makes you smile, even if just a little. Copia said to you before that he was used to it, but you know the constricting leather became a little much after a long day.

“Somebody said something to me today,” you murmur, taking his hand and holding it to your face. His fingers cradle your jaw, the warmth of his skin encouraging you to speak. “And I feel like I just…can’t do right. That I’m not right. I can’t even face myself in the mirror because I’m afraid of what I’ll see.” You pause, gathering your thoughts. “I’m afraid to see that they’re right.”

Copia sucks in a shaky breath when you finish, and you can already see his mind working. “My love, I don’t want you going after anyone,” you say, reaching to grasp his chin, squeezing it gently. “I’m not telling you this to make you angry.”

He stares down at you, and then he nods slowly. Copia shifts back onto the bed so his back is against the wall and he adjusts his hold on you, looking thoughtful as his fingers pick up a soothing rhythm against your cheek. “There are a few things I need to be correcting, amore. And I need you to be good for your Papa, and listen. I will never allow a single soul in this building or elsewhere to hurt you. That goes for all our Siblings, but you are not just a Sibling, sì? You are my amore. Also,” he clicks his tongue. “The peoples are wrong. They will learn that they are wrong. And you, vita mia, also need to be corrected.”

You’re listening intently, your eyes trained on his features, adoring how expressive his features are when he speaks, but his last words make you pause. “I have to be corrected?” That was the last thing you expected to hear.

“Yes,” Copia says, drawing out the word, his expression set. You’re bewildered when he doesn’t elaborate, letting out a sound of surprise as he firmly guides you up and out of the bed.

“Copia, no-,” you begin to protest as he approaches the full length mirror near his dresser, your hand tightly wrapped in his grip. Copia pins you with a look that shuts your mouth, and he takes you by the shoulders, setting you directly in the reflection of the mirror.

“We shall start here,” he says, his fingers tapping beneath your chin. “You will watch, and listen.” Copia circles you like a vulture, his hands clasped behind his back. “When you smile, I want to smile too.” His voice has lowered, tender and affectionate. “I am not so proud of my teeth, but I would smile ear to ear just to match your joy. That is healing for me, amore. You do that.”

Fingers brush your cheek. “You blush at the sight of me. At the sight of me. So beautiful and sweet, and I am sure that I have seen the depths of paradise. And the way your eyes light up when you’re excited, oh…,” he laughs softly to himself, his voice almost a coo. “Do you realize how lucky I am to know your eyes? To watch your brow furrow or rise. To see emotion pass over your face. To read the story of your life through every blemish and line.”

Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you’re already crying. Copia’s hands shake as they grasp your hips, standing now close behind you, his voice a gentle whisper in your ear. His breath makes you shiver, and you feel his hips shift against your backside. “You’re biased,” you whisper, and he laughs.

“I am very proud of this, amore. It is a gift to be biased,” he murmurs, his eyes catching yours in the mirror. “It is a gift to have you.” His hands slip beneath your shirt, grasping and kneading at soft skin. You make a breathless noise, leaning back against him, and Copia almost purrs. “Hmm, you are liking your Papa’s touches?”

They slip higher, fingers grazing your nipples, and he pauses there. You whimper, caught between your emotions and your arousal, and Copia knows how to play you like the finest instrument. When to touch, and when to pause, letting it all wash over you, giving you the time you need to feel safe in his arms. “Your body,” he says, pressing his hips firmly into the curve of your ass. “Ignites a fire inside of me, you know? I am incomplete when I am not joined with you.” He’s almost growling now, a rough edge to his voice.

You’re spun around in his arms and he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue thoroughly plundering your mouth and rendering you incapable of any thought. Copia has a talent at making you forget, and suddenly the cruel words from today have all but vanished from your mind. “I love you,” he hisses, nipping at your bottom lip. His hand grasps your chin, raising your eyes to his, and his tone softens. “I love you.”

He kisses you softly now, his lips curling into a smile. “You are worth everything. You don’t need to look into the mirror, amore, just look into my eyes. I see you. I see the glory in you. And you will always have a home with me. You are safe with me.”

Another tear falls down your cheek and he kisses it away. “I love you, too,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his. Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his trousers, and he gasps, arching into your touch.

“Do not think,” he murmurs, his voice a little strained as he pushes you toward the bed. “That this does not mean they will be…removed. Papa protects what is his.”

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #copia emeritus #papa copia #papa iv #cardinal copia #papa emeritus 4 #copia #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #mildly suggestive

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schoenpepper · 7 hours ago

Text

Midnight pumpkins and mirrors

Intro: A countdown to midnight, when the dark mirror can finally send you back to your own home. Tick tock, Cinderella!

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, angst-ish, reader is yuu, open ending, gory descriptions just a bit

A/N: This one's a little longer than the others, but hey, a finale's gotta be grand, right? Happy birthday to my baby darling sweetheart babygirl love of my life Jade!!! and floyd too ig idk. The extras will all be posted at 6, I just have to link them up so if you want a working navigation system, maybe wait til 6:15 or something. Taglist will start after this event.

Masterlist

Jade's Birthday Countdown

Extras: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

[2:00 pm. 10 hours to 12.]

“Y/N! There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

Now that’s a voice you don’t hear everyday. You take a deep breath in preparation for his bullshit and swivel on your heels. Crowley seems happy as he waves his cane and the thick tome in his other hand, decorated with jewels and black velvet. “I have excellent news!” he exclaims, and you ready yourself for yet another task to fulfill in his name, “I’ve found a way to send you home!”

…That was not what you expected him to say.

There’s happiness, of course. You miss your parents, your family. You almost miss normalcy. There’s a little bit of relief, as if your soul itself is sighing that finally, you could go home. But more evident than all of those feelings is your heart falling to your stomach—so heavily weighing you down with such little words. Because as much as you miss your family, you have family here too, right? You belong here as much as you belonged in your old world.

But it’s not like you can choose to stay.

This isn’t the place you’re supposed to be, even if it feels right.

You’re weak, and you’re magicless, and you stir up so much trouble and danger on a daily basis unlike you’ve ever known. But earth is all you’ve ever known. Crowley waves the book again, right in front of your face, as if to pull you back down to reality. “I’ll set the coordinates in the Dark Mirror. At exactly 12 am tonight, the portal will open, but until then,” his smile widens, “my benevolent and kind self will allow you to say goodbye to your friends. Just remember to be there at 12, okay? It’s very difficult—almost impossible—to open a second portal, so don’t miss this chance.”

Right. Don’t miss it.

You’ll say goodbye. And maybe, leave your boyfriend and Grim for last.

[2:30 pm. 9 hours 30 minutes to 12]

Heartslabyul always smells like roses and baked goods. You hate to interrupt the gathering, but you wave to your friends with a small smile on your face. Even if you’re devastated, you need to seem happy. Because it’s right to smile. Because it’s right to be excited to go home.

“I’m leaving.”

Ace and Deuce seem confused, questioning you about it, Cater’s eyes are wide with surprise as he drops his fork back onto his plate with a loud clatter. Trey is quiet. But Riddle looks like he immediately understood what you meant, an expression of hurt on his face.

“Where are you going?” Deuce asks.

“Home.”

The silence is deafeningly loud.

“I came to say goodbye. Thank you for taking care of me.”

You can’t even find it in yourself to look at them as you walk away. Riddle, Cater, and Trey were like your older siblings, while Ace and Deuce were the first people to befriend you in this strange place. At this point, they’re already a part of you.

It feels like your flesh has been ripped out, your organs trailing behind you as you walk out of Heartslabyul.

[3:00 pm. 9 hours to 12]

The sun is beating down on your back at Savanaclaw, and you push through despite the tears running down your cheeks and the sweat dripping down your back. In any case, you’re soaked. Ruggie sees you first, and he drags you over worriedly to Leona.

“Oy, herbivore, who did this to you?” Leona sounds so harsh even when he’s gently wiping your tears away with a handkerchief.

Ruggie is folding laundry, watching you, and Jack is patting your back as you sob.

“No one,” you hiccup.

“Then why’re you crying so much?”

“I’m sad,” you mumble, and Leona rolls his eyes. Still, the lion beastman takes you into his arms and hugs you tight.

“That’s a stupid reason to be crying.”

“Leona,” it hurts, but it has to be done, “I’m leaving. Forever.”

Your trek to Scarabia is accompanied by an echo of growls and the vivid illusions of animal ears pressed flat in an instinctive sadness.

[3:30 pm. 8 hours 30 minutes to 12]

There’s a distinct lack of music and confetti and frills when you step foot into the decorated dorm lounge of the Sorcerer of the Sands. It seems like the whole place and all its occupants are entranced in gorgeous dreams, with a lot of students napping on the carpets like cats. Jamil and Kalim are sitting at the corner of the room with a small tray of snacks, the former stitching a piece of cloth and the latter staring hard at a textbook. The sunny red-eyed housewarden positively beams when he notices your presence, and Jamil has to tug on his arm to remind him not to wake up the sleeping Scarabia students.

“Y/N! Want a cracker?”

You deny Kalim’s enthusiastic offer and sit down.

The happiness seems to drain right out of him when he notices your eyes swollen with tears. “Kalim, Jamil,” you take a deep breath. The day’s already tired you out enough, but it hasn’t numbed you to the point that you could so easily do the thing you set out to do. “I’m here to say goodbye.”

There’s a look of quiet shock and disappointment, but Kalim’s sadness is loud.

You can still hear it as you leave the desert.

[4:00 pm. 8 hours to 12]

Rook already knows. Of course he does. You can tell.

He’s looking at you with a scarily blank expression, as if he’s trying his best not to let his emotions leak out of him from the very moment you stepped into the grandeur of Pomefiore. Epel is standing beside Vil who was sitting elegantly atop his throne. The atmosphere is one of an execution.

But it’s unknown who holds the ax.

“Rook said you had something to tell me?”

“Something to say to all three of you,” you correct him, “I’m here to say goodbye. Crowley found a way for me to go home.”

As expected, like most of your other friends, Vil and Epel stay silent at your declaration.

“Wait,” the beautiful housewarden signals, “let me pack you a few things to go.”

Epel chimes in with teary eyes that he forces back, “I’ll grab you some apple juice that you can take home with you.”

[5:00 pm. 7 hours to 12]

You walk into Ignihyde with your arms stuffed full of self care products and apple snacks and juice. The halls are empty as usual, so you make your way to Idia’s room and kick at it gently to make noise, sniffling. It’s opened by Ortho.

“Y/N L/N! What a nice surprise,” Ortho pulls you in, and you see Idia passed out on his bed, almost suffocating underneath a pile of blankets, “I can wake him up for you if it’s urgent.”

“Um, I can wake him up myself.”

You sit down on the mattress.

“Idia,” you poke at his face, “wake up. I’m here to say goodbye.”

“Mmh…where are you…going…?”

“Home. Forever.”

His golden yellow eyes flutter open, expression blank as he looks at you sleepily. “Forever?”

“Forever.”

[6:00 pm. 6 hours to 12]

By the time you get to the castle of Diasomnia, you’re already lugging a high-tech suitcase around. In it are the things that Vil and Epel forced on you, while Idia passed his favorite anime figure into your hands and told you to take care of it well. Ortho gave you the suitcase so you didn’t have to walk around with an armful of stuff.

To be honest, you dreaded this goodbye almost as much as you hated it when you had to give your farewell to Heartslabyul. If only because Malleus had also become one of the most important friends you’ve had in this place. And he has no other friends besides you. It’s less that you’re fearful of his reaction and more worried about this strange fae companion of yours. With you leaving, who would come on long walks with him through abandoned ruins in search of gargoyles? Who would patiently attempt to teach him the ways of modern technology?

It can no longer be you.

In any case, only Lilia takes it well.

You feel like shit when Malleus is looking at you with teary eyes, like a puppy abandoned by its owner. Sebek doesn’t make it any better when he’s yelling at you for making his liege upset. Silver is looking at the floor, but you can see the tension on his shoulders and the harsh grip he’s keeping on his mug. Lilia smiles at you so joyfully and it’s the only one you’d seen all day.

“We all say goodbye someday,” he takes you in an embrace, “yours is just a bit earlier, hm? Go home. Your parents must miss you a lot.”

You nod.

Green lightning crackles in the distance as you walk back to the mirror.

[6:30 pm. 5 hours 30 minutes to 12]

Ramshackle is quiet. Even the ghosts seem to have realized the severity of your situation—shying away from you and the tears that haven't stopped falling since several hours ago. You leave the suitcase at the door and head towards your room.

Grim’s taking a nap.

“Grim,” you whisper as you wake him up, cradling him in your arms, “I have something to tell you.”

“Hench human?”

“I’m leaving.”

You leave for the last dorm with your suitcase and scratches littering your arms, your shoulder soaked with the direbeast’s tears.

He promised to meet you again in the Hall of Mirrors before 12.

[7:00 pm. 5 hours to 12]

Saying goodbye to Floyd and Azul was okay. It wasn’t any harder than saying goodbye to any of your other friends. Still, they share a look with each other that you take as a warning to yourself.

You sit down at one of the tables.

Floyd promises to drag Jade over.

Azul picks up an apron and a notepad to help run orders.

“I was given a sudden break,” your boyfriend sits beside you with a grin after a few minutes, “and I was wondering what you told Azul that made him so willing to cover for me.”

You take his hand.

And take a breath.

And still, you don’t have enough courage. Not yet. You give him a smile past tears that blurred your vision, and he worriedly wipes them away. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“I’ll tell you,” you press a kiss to the back of his hand, “but will you spend a few hours with me? Let’s just…cuddle, maybe.”

Jade agrees and pulls you to his room.

[8:00 pm. 4 hours to 12]

It feels so warm within his embrace. Draped in his blankets, wrapped in his arms—it feels right.

[9:00 pm. 3 hours to 12]

“And there’s a special flower that’ll bloom on that day. Will you come with me to see it?”

“...Maybe not.”

“Then I will take many pictures for you. And perhaps bring one back as a specimen.”

[10:00 pm. 2 hours to 12]

“My parents have mentioned wanting to meet you. Could you spare me some time for the next holiday?”

“They want to meet me?”

“They do.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

[11:00 pm. 1 hour to 12]

“I have to go.”

The smile fades from Jade’s expression. He holds on tight to your wrist, speaking lightly, “Where are you going? How long will you be gone?”

He’s so unreasonably perceptive.

“Why are you unable to make plans with me? Do you wish to end our relationship?”

You don’t want to.

“Y/N. What are you hiding from me?”

But you must.

“Jade,” you break out into sobs, “I’m going home. I’m never coming back. I’m so sorry, I just, I wanted to spend more time with you. Just a little more time.”

There’s anger in his eyes, disappointment and shock and irritation. He’s so scarily still. Until he lets your wrist go and turns away. “Then leave,” he says quietly, “I bid you farewell.”

[11:10]

The lounge is already closed.

[11:20]

The roads are deserted.

[11:30]

The Hall of Mirrors, however, is crowded. You see all of your friends waiting for you, some smiling, some sobbing.

[11:40]

You hug Grim to your chest. You can’t cry anymore. All your tears are dried up.

[11:50]

“Not even a second thought? I tell you to leave and you do?”

You freeze when Jade enters the hall. He’s still in his dorm uniform, unchanged from when you’d whisked him away from work hours ago. You can say that he’s mad, but more than that, he looks so hurt. Not a single person says anything as he walks towards you.

[10 seconds]

“Were you lying when you said you loved me?”

“No, Jade, I love you—”

“Just not enough to stay?”

[9]

“I have family waiting for me. My parents are waiting for me!”

“And so you betray my trust. You leave me behind.”

[8]

“I can’t stay.”

[7]

“Or you don’t want to.”

[6]

“Jade, I don’t want to leave you.”

[5]

For the first time since the day you met him, Jade Leech seems to be crying. He doesn’t acknowledge the tears as they fall.

“Then don’t leave.”

[4]

“Please…just stay…”

[3]

“I’ll give you everything.”

[2]

“Stay with me. With us. I beg you.”

[1]

#disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #twst x reader #x reader #jade leech x reader #jade leech #jade x reader

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hippolotamus · 16 hours ago

Note

When will I see you again? - Eddietommy

My love, my darling. I need you to know that real tears were shed in the making of this snippet. May I present WW2 Staff Sgts Diaz and Kindard (partially under the cut to save your dash):

“When will I see you again?” Eddie asks. The tremble in his voice betrays the stoic persona he needs right now. No matter how much his heart leaps every time he sees Tommy, it doesn’t change the fact that they’re both still owned by the US Army and Uncle Sam. That if anyone knew the nature of their relationship, they’d be dishonorably discharged and run out of town. Assuming they weren’t beaten to death first.

“Not sure.” Tommy shrugs. Like none of this means a damn thing. “Shit, I don’t even know where I’m headed.”

“No girl waiting for you at home?” It’s meant to be joking, to ease the tension, but it falls flat like Eddie should have known it would.

“You know damn well there’s not,” Tommy murmurs, sending him an icy glare. He quickly schools his features. “But I’m sure they’ll make me find one. Not like a guy can just be a bachelor and live his life.”

And that’s the thing that rips Eddie into a thousand pieces more than having to say goodbye. Knowing that they’ll both have to transition into some sort of domestic life. Pretend they didn’t just endure three years of pure hell fighting off the Axis powers. That they aren’t at least a little fucked from the neck up. Pretend that they never fell in love.

The first time Tommy kissed him, Eddie froze, unsure whether to kiss him back or run like hell. He knew what he wanted to do. The thing he’d been wanting to do since he first laid eyes on Staff Sgt Kinard of the US Army Air Forces division. So he did. He grabbed Tommy by the shirt and hauled him in for a bruising kiss. Not unlike the one they had shared barely ten minutes before, in the secrecy of an abandoned office. Like they’ll never share again, it seems.

“Staff Sergeant Diaz!”

Eddie whips around toward the voice, standing ramrod straight and saluting when he sees it’s a superior officer. “Sir, yes, Sir!”

“Bus is heading out in five. Your ass better be on it if you don’t want to be left in this godforsaken hellhole.”

“Yes, Sir, Master Sergeant!” The officer walks away and Eddie relaxes his body. He swallows hard, forcing himself to look at Tommy. He wants to memorize every goddamn line on his face, like he hasn’t done it dozens of times before in the cover of darkness. “I guess this is it.”

Something passes over Tommy’s face so quickly, there and gone before Eddie can parse what it means. “Yeah, guess it is.”

Tommy searches the crowd, calling out when he finds who he’s looking for. “Deluca! Over here.”

Jealousy, vicious and green, rears its ugly head and snaps its jaws in the confines of Eddie’s ribcage as Deluca jogs over.

“What?” Sal snaps. In lieu of an answer, Tommy grabs the cigarette pack from Sal’s jacket pocket. He takes one for himself, lights it and shoves the pack back at Sal.

“Beat it, Deluca,” Tommy says on an exhale. Eddie can’t pretend he isn’t happy when Sal huffs and storms off.

He turns to Tommy and raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” Tommy answers. He meets Eddie’s gaze with those bright sky blue eyes that Eddie wants to stay lost in. Tommy’s voice drops low for his next words. If only it were possible to lower their accompanying intensity and heartbreak. “Just needed something to get the taste of you out of my mouth. Can’t very well watch you leave and still have that behind. May as well cut my losses all at once.”

Eddie thinks Tommy could have cut his heart out and it would have hurt less. He starts to tell him so when there’s another bellow from the bus, reminding Eddie that he’s out of time.

“When you figure out where home is, maybe don’t forget to write?” It’s a desperate plea and a long shot, but Eddie has to try for something.

“Don’t miss your bus, Diaz.”

There are so many things Eddie could say or do. The only ones he can follow through on are giving Tommy a tight nod before he walks away.

He purposely finds a window seat where he won’t be able to watch as Tommy fades from view. From his life. Because they both know damn well Tommy’s not gonna write. And Eddie doesn’t trust himself to stay composed if he sees Tommy’s stupidly gorgeous face. From here on out Staff Sergeant Thomas Kinard is just a memory. Has to be. One more piece of this stupid war that Eddie would rather never have to think of again.

*****

Tommy watches Eddie’s bus pull away. He should have turned around the second Eddie did and gone back to checking his effects. But he didn’t because he’s stupid that way. Because he’s been a sucker for Edmundo Diaz since he kissed Tommy back in that underground club. The one Eddie claimed that he didn’t know why he was there. Tommy did. He knew as soon as Eddie stepped inside, wide-eyed and scared like a newborn fawn.

He also knew he had to get to him first because he wasn’t going to let just anyone claim then Corporal Diaz. If anyone tried, Tommy couldn’t be held responsible for what happened. Eddie was his, even if neither of them were ready to admit it yet.

He thinks again of Eddie’s parting words, asking Tommy to write when he figures out where home is. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? The secret he’ll carry to his grave. Because he doesn’t have to figure it out. Home hasn’t been a geographical location in years. Of course he knows exactly what address he’ll go to when he gets dumped back in California, and it sure as shit isn’t home.

Home is in encoded conversations. It’s in stolen moments and glances. Bits of time they took for themselves because nobody was ever going to give it to them. It’s in hushed whispers about a future that’s never going to come true. In biting truths and scared, too honest confessions. Home just walked out of Tommy’s life and left on a shitty army bus bound for Texas.

send me an angsty prompt

#hippo writes #hippo cries #hippo gets mail #james tag 💍#historical au #period typical homophobia #angsty prompts #eddietommy #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #teddie #ww2 army au #oh look hippo’s answering her asks

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foggynelsonslucioushair2 · 2 days ago

Text

Bagginshield 2024: Khuzdûl

It was a typical evening in Bag End.

Young Frodo had run off to the pub, leaving Bilbo and Thorin to “totter around the house like a pair of ancient wizards,” as Bilbo was fond of putting it. He was currently at his writing desk, quill in hand and fingertips stained in ink as he scribbled on his latest project, a Sindarin to Westron dictionary that would be useful for Shire-folk. From the fireside seat where he sat idly plucking at his harp, Thorin could see the ink smudges on his dear hobbit’s lips and cheek, sure signs that Bilbo was deep in thought.

Thorin’s fingers froze on the harp strings when Bilbo suddenly turned to him and, with a bright smile, called out “Thîr vain chîn darn thulen!”

“What… What was that, my love?” said Thorin, sitting back from the harp and turning towards Bilbo.

“Thîr vain chîn darn thulen,” said Bilbo a bit slower, although it still meant less than a bit of rock in a miner’s hand to Thorin. “It’s a Sindarin phrase meaning ‘you are so lovely you stop my breath,’ or perhaps ‘you are a breathtaking beauty.’ But that translation still doesn’t perfectly convey the awe in the original Sindarin…”

Bilbo began muttering, once again turning back to his writing, and Thorin watched him for a moment, bemusement warring with affection in his heart. He supposed Bilbo’s love for words was similar to his own love for jewels and skillful craftsmanship, but flowery language wasn’t anything he himself understood. Words should be practical, solid, and useful, like those in Khuzdûl: Ibinê, my gem. Bunnel, Treasure above all treasures. Âzyungal, my One. How lovely and straightforward these words were, and so fitting for one as precious to him as Bilbo.

Thorin was startled from his thoughts as Bilbo whirled around in his chair again. “I’ll bet in Khuzdûl, you call those you love something like ‘precious gems.’”

Thorin tensed, wondering for a brief moment if Bilbo had somehow acquired the ability to read his mind somewhere along their travels.

Bilbo evidently took his tension another way, chuckling as he said “I suspect I’m right, but don’t worry, my dear. I won’t let this knowledge slip to anyone. I swear it on the fullness of my pantry and the hairiness of my toes. And that’s a promise that means something to a Hobbit, just so you know.”

Thorin’s shoulders untensed slightly. “Of course I trust you, Bilbo, and it’s not as if you actually know the Khuzdul word. I just hope you can understand that this is the one thing I cannot share with you, even though everything else is freely yours.”

“Oh, hush, Thorin. Of course I understand. I wouldn’t want you to speak your secret language to me any more than I’d expect you to ask me to freely give away my mother’s spoons. I may be your husband but I’m not a dwarf, and it just won’t do.”

“Well, I may not be able to speak Khuzdul with you, but may I sometimes call you ‘Treasure of my treasure’?”

Bilbo’s teasing grin turned soft. “That will do very well, my dear.”

I'm late!!! Oh, well. Here's the first of a series of mini-fics I've been working on, trying to get motivated to write something again. Since dwarves keep their language a secret from anyone who's not dwarvish, I wondered how Bilbo would deal with that. And of course, domestic fic because I want these two to be happy!

#the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #bilbo x thorin #bagginshield #bagginshield2024 #bagginshieldtober

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artyandink · 2 days ago

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𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 | 𝟏

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You were the only one Sherlock ever truly loved, and it was true. No lady ever caught his eye, no woman stole his attention the way your wit and charm did. He supposed it was his own fault for losing you, his own fault that you walked out his door, leaving a young child with him that was now old enough. Old enough to want to find her mother. He wanted to find you. But he also didn’t want to. It meant to face his own truth.

𝐓𝐖: angst, set after Enola Holmes 2, bad father-daughter relationships, child abandonment, heartbreak, stubborn Sherlock, oc!daughter, stubborn daughter so the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, identity concealment

𝐀/𝐍: surprise! Decided to post early ;)

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓/𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: I MISS YOU, I’M SORRY BY GRACIE ABRAMS

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘, 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐀𝐃 no one learnt their lesson yet?

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He groaned, stepping past the burly police guards to get into the scene of the bank robbery— oh, now they’re stopping Watson, what was it with these blasted, bloody policemen? Guess nobody had bothered to even instate smarter policemen after Grail and his cronies got fired (in Grail’s case, a very broken neck). “Didn’t I tell you not to be ridiculous? He’s with me. Holmes and Watson.”

“Sorry, Mr Holmes, sir.” One of the policemen muttered, gesturing for Watson to pass through, the man looking a little bemused and unfamiliar with his surroundings. Ah. Right, Watson wasn’t acquainted with the life of a detective.

He stepped up beside Sherlock, looking around at the bustling room of policemen who were trampling all over the crime scene, which made his job that much more frustrating. “What are we looking for, exactly?”

“Clues.” Sherlock replied, rubbing his chin for a moment then spotting an approaching Lestrade from across the room. Oh, bother. Lestrade. “Act busy, Watson.”

The question seemed to baffle Watson, as he raised his eyebrows in confusion and bewilderment. “What? Why—”

An obnoxious laugh, followed by— “Mr Holmes? Or is there still an invitation for Sherlock?” The lack of laughter clearly told him no. “Ah. Well, apologies for the bother,” yes, you are a bother, Lestrade, “but we have someone claiming to be your daughter.”

Oh, bother. Again.

“I’ll handle it.” Sherlock muttered, knowing exactly who Lestrade was talking about. With heavy footsteps — and heart — he made his way across the room, seeing a girl who looked startlingly like her mother, something which tugged at her heartstrings. She had a scrutinising look that mirrored his often as she looked at the crime scene, but she was not meant to be here. Not at all, not now, not any day. “Clara.”

She turned around, huffing slightly at the stern tone, an eyebrow raising in response to his short and sweet sentence. “You could sound happier, you know.”

“I’ll sound happy when you’re not trodding on my crime scene.” He grimaced, gesturing around at the marbled bank. Really, what was it with people making his day more difficult? Even if Clara was his daughter, yes, he could give her more favour, but he wasn’t in the mood today.

That was the excuse he’d given for the past sixteen years of your life.

The deceivingly polite hum she gave in return mocked him, he knew it, he’d been hearing it more times than now. “I don’t see your name on it.”

“You don’t need to.” He took her arm, giving her a stern look once more, because why on this green Earth does his daughter have to trouble him so? “Clara, I highly advise that you return home. It isn’t safe to do my job.”

“And yet you let Enola do it.” Ah, that was true, but Enola was a rather frustratingly free spirit and he had less control and watch over her than he did you. So he could make that odd excuse for himself.

Couldn’t he?

Watson approached the two, which gave him the chance to divert from the rather valid point, gesturing between the two. “Ah, Watson. This is my daughter, Clara.”

“Dr John Watson.” Watson offered a friendly smile, to which Clara did too and shook his hand— this man seemed amicable, to say the least.

“Pleasure.” She replied warmly, feeling rather friendly towards this man. The firm handshake ended as Clara turned her attention back to Sherlock, a smirk playing at her lips. “Alright, Sherlock,” she began, voice laced with a playful defiance. “If it’s so unsafe, why don’t you show me? Let me see what you’re so keen on keeping me away from.” She glanced at the scattered, chaotic scene. “Maybe you need a fresher pair of eyes on this anyway.”

Sherlock’s expression tightened. He’d managed to avoid bringing her into his world all these years, and now, in the middle of a chaotic crime scene, she was pushing him to let her in. “This isn’t the time or place for amateur eyes, Clara,” he said in a low tone, already feeling the familiar pulse of frustration beginning to rise. “And I would advise you to stop before you make a fool of yourself.”

Clara shrugged, undeterred. “Just thought I’d offer. You never know, I might surprise you.”

Holmes bit back a retort as Watson watched the exchange with bemused curiosity, clearly amused by the sight of someone matching Sherlock’s intensity without a hint of deference. “I see stubbornness is a family trait,” he muttered, folding his arms as he leaned in beside Sherlock.

Lestrade, who had been standing off to the side and soaking in the drama, took the opportunity to interject. “Mr. Holmes,” he drawled, crossing his arms as he looked between father and daughter with raised eyebrows, “are we here to solve the crime or conduct a family reunion?”

Holmes’s mouth twitched in irritation, but he let it pass. “Right. Watson, you’re with me. Clara—” he pointedly ignored her expectant expression— “you’re waiting here with Lestrade.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Oh, wonderful. I’ll stay here and learn all about the art of loitering from Inspector Lestrade.”

Lestrade opened his mouth, but Sherlock cut him off, heading toward the center of the room with Watson in tow. “Now,” he murmured as they stopped beside the broken bank vault, “let’s have a look.”

Watson peered inside the gaping vault door. “They took quite a haul, didn’t they?”

“Not just any haul,” Holmes murmured, narrowing his eyes as he took in the disturbed items, the displaced dust, the carelessly strewn stacks of paper. “This was messy—too messy.” He crouched down, scrutinizing a particular set of footprints in the dust. “It’s almost as if they wanted us to believe they were inexperienced.”

Watson frowned. “But why would they do that?”

Holmes traced a hand over the edge of the vault’s interior. “The more time we spend looking for amateurs, the less time we spend looking for professionals.”

Watson nodded thoughtfully. “So they’ve planted a false trail, hoping to throw us off their scent.”

“Precisely.” Sherlock straightened, his mind churning through the details. His gaze flicked back toward the corner of the room, where Clara stood. Against his better judgment, he motioned her over. “Alright, Clara. Since you insist on staying, why don’t you tell me what you see?”

Clara’s eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across her face before she schooled it into an air of composed observation. She glanced around the vault, taking in the state of the room as her father had done moments before. After a few seconds, she looked back at Sherlock with a wry smile. “They’re trying to lead you down the wrong path, aren’t they?”

Holmes’s eyes widened, just slightly. “And what makes you say that?”

Clara pointed at the shoeprints left in the vault. “The prints are too heavy-handed, too deliberate. Someone’s been stomping around as if they wanted to make sure every detail would be noticed.” Her gaze shifted to the scattered papers on the floor, arranged just a bit too carelessly. “Almost as if they’d never done this before—and wanted to make sure we knew it.”

A proud smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth despite himself. “Not bad, Clara. Not bad at all.”

Lestrade, who had wandered over to listen, snorted. “A chip off the old block, eh, Holmes?”

Holmes ignored him. Instead, he glanced at Clara, a faint glint of approval in his eyes. “Very well. Since you’ve already inserted yourself into this, let’s see how much you can keep up.”

“Gladly,” Clara replied with a smirk, her tone far more confident now that she’d received a sliver of approval.

Watson chuckled, nudging Holmes with his elbow. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a new apprentice, Holmes.”

Sherlock groaned, but there was a resigned acceptance in his expression. “Don’t remind me.” He turned, leading the trio out of the vault. “Lestrade, call in the forensics team, and see if they can track down anything unusual with those footprints. Watson, Clara—let’s move.”

As they began to exit the bank, Watson glanced sideways at Clara. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him that rattled,” he whispered, grinning. “You’ve a knack for keeping him on his toes.”

Clara shrugged, the glimmer of pride unmistakable in her eyes. “Someone’s got to.”

Clara adjusted her bonnet in the small, gilded mirror in the parlor, smiling at her reflection with a touch of nerves. She rarely dressed up, but today was different. She was meeting Enola—her aunt, yes, but more than that, her friend, her confidante. Enola understood Clara like no one else in her family, and Clara had looked forward to this afternoon, knowing it would be a rare moment of laughter, freedom, and truth. Besides, she had an idea that her sharp-eyed aunt wouldn’t mind a bit of teasing about her newest friendship with the charming Lord Tewkesbury.

Peeking out the window, she saw Enola striding down the street with a familiar energy, her chin tilted high and her gaze direct. Enola moved as if she belonged to no one and nothing, and watching her always made Clara feel a thrill of admiration. Moments later, her aunt burst through the parlor door, her face lighting up when she saw Clara.

“Clara, darling, you look radiant! Has something thrilling happened?” Enola asked, her tone teasing, but her gaze keen.

“Oh, nothing terribly exciting,” Clara replied, unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “But I could say the same for you, couldn’t I? You’ve that certain glow… perhaps from all the secret meetings with Lord Tewkesbury?”

The smile flickered from Enola’s face for just a heartbeat before she laughed it off with a wave of her hand. “Honestly, you’re incorrigible.”

They settled into the cushioned armchairs around the tea service, with the delicate china cups and a plate of scones, but Clara could see that her words had struck something in Enola. As her aunt poured tea, her movements were brisk and efficient, but Clara noticed the faintest blush on her cheeks, a telltale sign she was rarely allowed to show.

Clara let the silence linger for a beat, sipping her tea with a knowing look, until Enola finally laughed, giving in. “I ought to know better than to try hiding anything from you. Sherlock may be the great detective, but you’re the most observant one in this family, Clara.”

“Guilty as charged,” Clara replied, grinning. “And it’s hardly my fault—you’ve hardly hidden the signs. I’ve noticed that particular look in your eyes each time someone mentions his name.”

Enola’s fingers tightened slightly on her teacup, her lips pressing together for a moment as if unsure of how much to say. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. He’s just… interesting. He treats me like a person, you know? Not like I’m some delicate flower to be admired from afar.”

Clara raised her eyebrow, refusing to let her aunt off so easily. “Interesting, hmm? That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. He’s called on you half a dozen times in the last fortnight. Are you certain it’s ‘nothing’?”

A faint, wistful smile touched Enola’s lips, though she tried to disguise it with a sip of tea. “Fine, if you must know—he has expressed a certain… interest. He asked if he might call on me more formally, in fact.” Her voice softened, and Clara could see a flicker of uncertainty there that she’d rarely seen before.

Clara bit back a smile, hiding her excitement behind her teacup. “Oh, Enola! And what did you say?”

“I told him I’d… consider it,” Enola admitted, looking away for a moment, clearly conflicted. “But, Clara, it feels so dreadfully conventional, doesn’t it? I’ve never wanted to be one of those women, sitting pretty at someone’s side and pretending I’m satisfied with needlework and society visits. But… there’s something about him that feels different.”

Clara’s smile softened, and she reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Enola’s. “You’re not one of those women, Enola. You’re extraordinary. And if he’s calling on you, knowing exactly who you are, then maybe he sees that too. I don’t think you’d have to change a thing.”

Enola looked down at Clara’s hand on hers, her expression thoughtful. “You really think so? I’ve always told myself there was no room in my life for courtships, for the expectations that come with it all. But with him… I feel as though I could just be myself.”

“Exactly,” Clara said softly. “Maybe he’s more than just ‘interesting,’ after all.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. Clara watched her aunt carefully, seeing the subtle changes in her face as she considered her words. She’d never seen Enola uncertain about anything before; her aunt had always been fiercely independent, but there was a tenderness in her expression that was new.

After a moment, Enola broke the silence, smiling at Clara with a touch of mischief. “But enough about me. What about you, Clara? Surely there must be some gentleman interested in the great Sherlock Holmes’s daughter?”

Clara nearly choked on her tea, laughing. “Oh, absolutely not. For one, I doubt any man in his right mind would willingly subject himself to Father’s scrutiny. He’d investigate everything about him before we’d even finished tea.”

Enola chuckled, nodding. “I can only imagine. Sherlock would be positively unbearable if he suspected someone was pursuing his daughter. But you mustn’t let that stop you from living, Clara. I can tell he’s proud of you, even if he doesn’t say it outright.”

Clara’s gaze softened, and she let out a small sigh. “I know he is, in his way. But sometimes I feel like he’s more protective than proud, almost possessive. As if he’s afraid I’ll leave him somehow.”

Enola’s face softened, and she reached out, squeezing Clara’s hand gently. “I understand. Sherlock has always struggled with connecting to people, even family. But you’ve done more than anyone to draw him out of himself. Even if it is merely an inch.”

Clara looked down, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotion. “It’s comforting to hear that. And it’s a relief to talk to you about these things, Enola. I can’t say them to anyone else.”

For a moment, they sat in quiet understanding, sipping their tea and watching the afternoon light filter through the lace curtains. Finally, Enola’s voice broke the silence, her tone soft.

“You know, I’ve often wondered what it must have been like, growing up as Sherlock’s daughter,” she said gently. “Did you ever feel lonely?”

Clara hesitated, letting the question settle around her. “Sometimes, yes,” she admitted. “Sherlock’s mind is always working, and it was hard to reach him. I grew up thinking that was normal, that fathers were supposed to be distant and distracted. But it wasn’t until I grew older that I realized how unique he is—and how much I love him for it, even if it’s difficult at times.”

Enola smiled, understanding. “You’re right to love him. He’s a complicated man, but I think he knows he has something precious in you.”

Clara returned the smile, feeling a warmth in her chest. She leaned back, looking at her aunt with a thoughtful expression. “Sometimes I wonder if we women of the Holmes family are destined to lead lives more complicated than most.”

Enola chuckled, raising her teacup in a playful toast. “Perhaps so. But we’re Holmes women—we’ve always known how to rise to a challenge.”

“To the Holmes women,” Clara echoed, tapping her cup against Enola’s. They drank, sharing a smile that held years of understanding and unspoken support.

The dim, late-afternoon light was fading through the frosted windows of Clara’s modest flat as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting out a long sigh. Her day had gone from thrilling to exhausting in a matter of hours, thanks to her father’s stubbornness and the chaotic mess at the bank. She barely had time to set down her bag when she heard a faint knock at her door. Opening it, she found the postman standing there with a single letter in hand.

“Afternoon, Miss Holmes,” he said, tipping his cap.

She accepted the letter, thanking him politely, and shut the door, examining the envelope in her hand. It was thicker than usual, her name written in swirling emerald ink. Something about it felt… unusual. She moved to her small kitchen table, where she gently broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

My dearest Clara,

You must be wondering who I am. I am your mother, and this letter is long overdue. I left when you were only a year old—not out of a lack of love, but out of circumstances I could not control. It has been one of the deepest regrets of my life, and not a day has passed without thoughts of you.

I am certain you have many questions, perhaps even anger, and I will understand if you do. But know this, Clara: I loved you then, and I love you now. Your father and I… well, things grew complicated, but I miss him as well, even though I know his heart is not easily won back.

With all my love,

Your mother.

Clara read the letter twice, her hands still. She was unsure how to process the surge of emotions. Her mother… a woman she had no memory of, yet had spent years wondering about, had suddenly reappeared in her life with only this brief, tantalizing message.

Her mother was alive. And she missed her.

Her fingers traced the elegant, swirling letters as her mind raced. She felt a strange mix of excitement, anger, and wariness that left her stomach knotted. She’d spent her entire life wondering about this mysterious figure, and here was the chance to finally know more. But, at the same time, there was a gnawing sense of resentment—the feeling of abandonment, the ache of growing up without even the smallest memory of her mother.

But this was not a decision she could make lightly. Sherlock had always been tight-lipped on the subject, dismissing questions or deflecting with wit or cold silence. Now, she’d received more about her mother in a few sentences than her father had given in sixteen years.

Clara’s thoughts were interrupted as she realized she hadn’t moved in nearly ten minutes, still clutching the letter as if it might vanish. She quickly slid it back into the envelope, setting it down on the table. Then she paced back and forth in her cramped flat, glancing every so often at the envelope as though it might hold all the answers she needed.

Finally, she sank into a chair, the letter held in both hands as she tried to calm her mind. She recalled moments over the years—questions she’d asked Sherlock, the clipped answers, the discomfort that shadowed his otherwise composed demeanor whenever the subject of her mother arose. A part of her wanted to storm back to Baker Street and demand answers, but she knew he’d only retreat behind a wall of indifference.

For now, she’d have to rely on the letter itself, on the words her mother had chosen so carefully.

The hours slipped by as Clara turned the letter over in her mind, running her fingers over the rich green ink and wondering if the faint scent of lavender clinging to the page was intentional or a mere coincidence. When she finally managed to pull herself away from the letter, it was nearly dusk, and the world outside her window was settling into the quiet hum of evening.

There was something raw and earnest there, a vulnerability that felt deeply out of place in her life—something almost… foreign.

She was almost startled when the knock at the door echoed again. Her mind raced, wondering if somehow her mother was on the other side. Heart pounding, she went to open it, but it was only Mrs. Donahue, the elderly woman from down the hall, who’d come to check in on her, as she often did.

Clara managed a smile, exchanging small talk and listening patiently to the latest updates on Mrs. Donahue’s collection of pet cats. All the while, though, her mind drifted back to the letter. Once her neighbor had left, she sat down with her notebook and pen, beginning to draft a response.

Dear Mother,

Thank you for reaching out to me. I must admit, receiving your letter has been… unexpected. I have questions, certainly, and perhaps even some anger that I cannot yet name. I grew up knowing only my father, and while he was… well, Sherlock, he raised me alone, and I had few memories or even stories of you.

I don’t know what to think about your leaving or how I’m supposed to feel now that you want to see me. You’ve said you miss me, but I need to know more—about you, about the circumstances that led to your departure.

I really do want to meet you again.

Yours sincerely,

Clara.

As she finished, Clara took a deep breath, sealing the letter and addressing it to the return address her mother had provided in the countryside. It felt surreal, sending a reply out into the unknown, as though reaching through a foggy past. She didn’t know what would come of it, or even if she wanted a relationship with this woman who had so suddenly re-entered her life. But she did want answers—and she knew she couldn’t ignore this chance, however strange it felt.

With her reply tucked away, Clara took one last glance at her mother’s letter before extinguishing the light and preparing for bed. She lay awake, the darkness only sharpening the conflicted feelings swirling within her. It was a strange mixture of curiosity and trepidation, mingled with the faintest glimmer of hope she was almost afraid to acknowledge.

The morning was cold and gray as Sherlock stepped out into the brisk London air, tugging the collar of his coat up against the biting wind. He’d been summoned by Mycroft, and, though he didn’t care much for such meetings, he’d decided it was best to comply this time. The man never summoned anyone without purpose—especially not his own brother.

Arriving at Whitehall, he was ushered through the labyrinthine halls with all the formalities expected of government offices. The building loomed around him, its thick stone walls and tall, narrow windows giving the place a sense of unyielding authority. Everything here was impeccably neat, everything in its place—a stark contrast to the chaos of Baker Street, with its cluttered stacks of books, scattered notes, and curious relics from cases past.

Sherlock reached the last corridor, a long, dimly lit stretch of polished wood and brass fixtures. Mycroft’s office lay at the end, an austere and intimidating corner of the building, its large oak door carved with intricate designs. Sherlock paused, his hand on the brass doorknob, glancing at his own reflection in the polished surface. His face was calm, but there was a hint of weariness around his eyes—a faint remnant of the sleepless nights spent on the latest string of cases. But here, he needed to wear the veneer of composure. Mycroft would tolerate nothing less.

He opened the door, stepping into his brother’s domain. The office was vast, with tall ceilings and large windows draped in heavy burgundy curtains that framed the muted gray light outside. Shelves lined the walls, filled with meticulously ordered files and ledgers, the dark wood glistening from years of polish. A massive mahogany desk dominated the room, its surface immaculate, save for a single crystal inkpot, a brass letter opener, and several neatly stacked documents.

Behind the desk sat Mycroft, every inch the imposing government official. His perfectly tailored suit, his carefully manicured hands folded on the desktop, and his steely, inscrutable gaze all contributed to an air of detached authority. He watched as Sherlock entered, his expression giving nothing away.

“Sherlock,” he greeted, his tone cool and measured.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock replied with a slight nod, crossing the room to stand before the desk.

For a moment, neither spoke, each studying the other. There was an old, familiar tension between them, a silent rivalry that had never quite faded. Though Sherlock prided himself on his ability to remain unfazed by most things, Mycroft’s scrutiny always had a peculiar effect on him, as if he were a schoolboy called to account.

“Sit,” Mycroft finally said, gesturing to the leather armchair opposite him.

Sherlock lowered himself into the chair, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together. He kept his gaze steady, waiting for Mycroft to state his purpose.

“I trust you know why you’re here,” Mycroft began, his voice carrying the quiet authority of a man used to being obeyed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “An assumption, Mycroft. I would have thought you’d know better.”

A flicker of annoyance passed over Mycroft’s face before he leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “I called you here because of Clara.”

The mention of his daughter’s name caused a subtle shift in Sherlock’s expression, though he quickly masked it. He inclined his head slightly, waiting for Mycroft to continue.

“I received reports that she recently received a… peculiar letter,” Mycroft said, his tone carefully neutral. “From her mother.”

The words struck Sherlock like a physical blow, though he refused to let it show. He had spent years building walls around that part of his life, shutting away the memories of his former wife with a determination that bordered on ruthless. Yet, here they were, dragged back into the light, as if the mere mention of her name could summon a past he had tried so diligently to bury.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, his voice cool, almost detached. “A letter arrived for Clara recently. Written in emerald ink, her mother’s handwriting unmistakable.” He paused, the memory of the letter fresh in his mind. The flowing, ornate script, the words carefully chosen yet laced with sentiments he had long since ceased to indulge. “It seems she wishes to reconnect.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, his gaze never wavering. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied. “The matter is for Clara to decide. She’s old enough to form her own judgments.”

A slight frown creased Mycroft’s brow, his expression hardening. “Sherlock, we both know that allowing Clara to engage with such… sentimentality would be unwise. You cannot afford to be swayed by remnants of a life you abandoned long ago. I need you to remember the person you are now, the clarity you’ve achieved. Falling back into old patterns would be… detrimental.”

Sherlock held his brother’s gaze, his own expression growing colder. “I’m not a fool, Mycroft. I’m aware of what’s at stake. I haven’t forgotten the reasons for that chapter’s closure.”

Mycroft studied him in silence, and in that silence, Sherlock could feel the weight of his brother’s unspoken expectations. He knew that Mycroft regarded sentiment as a weakness—a flaw that had no place in their carefully constructed lives. And Sherlock had once shared that view, perhaps even more fiercely than Mycroft himself. But Clara had changed things. Clara, with her sharp mind and fierce independence, was a constant reminder of the life he had built after severing ties with his past.

“My point,” Mycroft continued, his tone colder, “is that you have responsibilities—both to Clara and to yourself. Indulging her curiosity could lead to complications that neither of you are equipped to handle. And as for… her mother…” He paused, his face hardening, as if even the mention of the woman was distasteful. “Reopening that door would only invite chaos. I trust you haven’t forgotten that.”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “I am perfectly aware of the risks, Mycroft. But I won’t dictate Clara’s choices. She is her own person.”

“Her autonomy is not the issue here,” Mycroft countered sharply. “The issue is that she is a Holmes, and that comes with expectations. Emotions and nostalgia have no place in this family. We were raised to understand that.”

For a moment, a surge of resentment flared within Sherlock, memories of his own emotionally barren upbringing surfacing unbidden. He had learned early on that sentiment was something to be kept under lock and key, that any display of vulnerability was a liability. Yet he had fought against that conditioning for Clara’s sake, wanting to shield her from the colder aspects of the Holmes legacy.

But now, sitting across from Mycroft in this austere office, he felt the weight of that legacy press down on him once more, suffocating and inescapable.

“I understand your concerns,” Sherlock said finally, his tone measured, carefully devoid of emotion. “But I will handle this situation in my own way. Clara is not a child, and I refuse to impose limitations on her merely because they suit your sensibilities.”

Mycroft’s gaze grew colder still, but he remained silent, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface of the desk. The room felt heavy, the air thick with unspoken tensions that seemed to settle over them like a shroud.

“Very well,” Mycroft said at last, his tone clipped. “But consider this your only warning, Sherlock. I won’t tolerate any lapses in judgment where she is concerned. Sentiment is a distraction, and distractions lead to vulnerabilities. And vulnerabilities, in our line of work, can be fatal.”

Sherlock held his gaze, feeling a pang of resentment at the admonishment. He knew Mycroft’s words were rooted in a twisted sense of duty, but they grated against the part of him that wanted, however reluctantly, to trust Clara’s ability to navigate her own path.

“Understood,” he replied curtly, rising from the chair. He cast a final, lingering glance around the office—the shelves stacked with secrets, the air thick with the scent of leather and ink, the oppressive quiet that seemed to permeate every corner of this place. It was a stark reminder of the life he had chosen, of the sacrifices he had made, and of the distance that now separated him from the man he had once been.

As he turned to leave, Mycroft’s voice stopped him.

“Sherlock.” The tone was softer this time, almost a warning. “Don’t let sentiment blind you. You know what it cost you the last time.”

Sherlock paused, the words hanging heavily in the air. He knew, all too well, the price he had paid. And yet, for all his resolve, he felt a flicker of doubt—a faint, nagging whisper that refused to be silenced. But he crushed it down, turning his gaze to the door.

“Yes, Mycroft,” he said quietly, his voice a cold, measured echo in the stillness. “I remember.”

“Father.” It was one word which caught Sherlock’s attention as his daughter simply burst into his flat as he was working the details of the bank robbery with Watson the next day.

Oh, go ahead, just sweep into his apartment like a small tornado right when he’s busy. His daughter summarised in just one sentence. “Clara.”

“Clara.” Watson piped up, probably to not feel left out of the cold exchange and to make it a little more friendly.

Clara smiled at Watson, clearly more accustomed to him than Sherlock. “John.” That raised Sherlock’s brow, as what just happened? That wasn’t normal, that wasn’t ever normal.

“John?” He repeated incredulously, glancing between the two of them to try and fathom the use of first names. “Since when was it John, pray tell?”

Clara rolled her eyes; trust her father to be a nosy busybody about all her business. She looked pointedly to Watson, who got the hint, gathering up his things. “I’ll have a cuppa with Mrs Hudson.” He muttered as he hurried.

“No, Watson, ask her to make me…” The door slammed shut, a heavy sigh from Sherlock fading into a pensive expression that spoke many volumes, his hand dropping to his side. “Mrs Hudson makes… wonderful tea.”

“I’m sure she does.” She replied dryly, inviting a glare of incredulity from Sherlock— Mrs Hudson deserved the world, she was an exemplary landlady, why the tone which sounded like it had been through a substantial drought. “Now, we have to talk.”

He frowned slightly, taking a puff from his pipe and setting it aside. What could you possibly want from him? “Yes? What about?”

“Mother.” The word stiffened him up, everything rushing back. He never thought he’d find the day, but he supposed you were inevitable.

You. It was always you, it always came back to you.

You were Sherlock’s one exception, his only mistake, but it was a mistake that he’d most likely make a million times over. It had felt like his vision was in dull noir before it burst into glorious colour the moment he laid eyes on you, the witty, oh-so-charming woman who’d stolen his heart so effortlessly. You were beauty in its finest form and good Lord, you had a brilliant mind that rivalled his own.

In truth, you were the enigma he took true pleasure in decoding.

He had been young, foolish, and he’d fallen for you, courted you, and you’d done the same. It had come to the point where even a few hours spent away from one another made your hearts ache and experience pain greater than the most devastating blow. So he’d married you, loved you, cherished you, and it felt like a whirlwind. His mind, his cases had become nothing more than a speck of dust and you had consumed him— mind, body and soul.

It wasn’t extensive to say that no matter who he saw or who attempted to have him, he’d always be yours.

Barely a few months after the marriage, you had turned out to be with child, and he had never been happier, never been more elated, more protective of you, abandoning all cases that came his way to keep you safe, to focus on you. And what’s more is that he became a new man once Clara was born. The second light of his life, and everything seemed so vibrant, so surreal, sublime, and he knew that he’d never find a love like this. A love that made him feel alive.

Good things were never meant to last, however, for a month after Clara’s first birthday, things had seemingly got too dangerous for you once you and Sherlock had resumed taking cases while Mrs Hudson cared for Clara. You’d left with only one conversation, not allowing room for him to plead with you, to tell you to stay, that you were his driving force.

To no avail, for you left, and you left him a broken man, unable to look at his child — your child — without seeing you. It hardened him, forced tunnel vision in front of his eyes as he no longer saw Clara, just the woman he’d loved and lost because he hadn’t fought hard enough. He couldn’t bear to see you in his daughter. Mycroft called it sentimentality.

Sentimentality was his sin.

He muttered your name, his thumb moving to rub over his wedding band, every small memory you both shared seared into his vision and into his being. Sometimes he wished he had a lesser mind, at least then he could forget you. Or stop loving you.

He couldn’t let Clara suffer the same.

“What about her?” His voice had gotten sharper, he noticed, almost like the dagger that had twisted in his heart the day you left. To this day, his heart still bled, like a dead man walking.

Clara showed him the letter, and yes, he immediately knew it was you. Your handwriting was unforgettable, the way you wrote the letter ‘S’, the small teardrop next to his name and the emerald green ink that had always stained your pointer finger on the page in beautiful lettering. “She wrote to me. I want to find her, Sherlock.”

Oh, dear Lord. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t have his heart broken again.

“No.” He shook his head.

The air in Sherlock’s flat felt thick, and every nerve in his body tensed as he faced his daughter, the letter clutched in her hand like a weapon ready to break open old wounds. Sherlock's fingers gripped the edge of his chair until his knuckles turned white, as if holding on for balance against an emotional tide that threatened to pull him under.

"No," he repeated, his tone colder than he intended. "I won’t allow it."

Clara’s eyes narrowed, and her face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and anger. "What do you mean, 'won’t allow it'? I’m not a child, Sherlock. I can make my own choices."

Sherlock felt the familiar pang of guilt gnawing at him. His gaze flickered to the letter, the one written in that all-too-familiar handwriting. It was as if just seeing her words, her distinctive, elegant hand, brought every memory flooding back, each one pressing down on him until he could hardly breathe. But he forced himself to maintain composure, his voice sharp and unwavering. “You don’t understand the implications, Clara. She left for a reason. Digging into that past—” He stopped himself, taking a steadying breath. “It’s not wise.”

Clara stared at him, eyes wide with anger and hurt. “Not wise?” she echoed, her voice thick with emotion. “What isn’t wise, Sherlock, is to keep avoiding this. She’s my mother, and you can’t just erase her from my life because you’re afraid of facing whatever it is that happened between you two.”

“Afraid?” Sherlock’s lips curled in an incredulous sneer, but it was a mask, thin and brittle. “You think this is fear? I am protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” Clara repeated, her tone scathing. “No, you’re protecting yourself. This has nothing to do with me, or what’s good for me. You’ve never even told me anything about her, Sherlock—not one detail. I know more about John and Mrs. Hudson than I do about my own mother, and that’s because of you. You never gave me the chance to know her.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched as Clara’s words hit him like a series of blows, each one harder than the last. He knew she was right—she deserved to know about her mother, about the woman who had left them both behind. But every time he’d considered it, his heart had balked, resisting the idea of opening himself to the pain he had buried so deeply. To speak of her was to relive the joy and the anguish, and it felt like reopening a wound that had never fully healed.

“This isn’t about denying you knowledge,” he said, but his voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. “Some things are better left in the past.”

“Because you say so?” Clara shot back, her hands shaking slightly. “I have the right to find her, Sherlock. She’s the one who reached out to me, not you, and I’m not going to let you stand in my way.”

He rose from his chair, the motion sudden and forceful. “Clara, you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Your mother isn’t the person you imagine her to be. You were a baby when she left. You don’t understand the complexity, the danger—”

“The danger?” Clara’s voice trembled, and she laughed bitterly. “There you go again, always shrouding everything in mystery and secrets. Do you ever think that maybe I’d be better equipped to handle things if you’d just told me the truth from the beginning?”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was filled with unspoken words, regrets, and the weight of years spent in avoidance. Sherlock’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and he considered, for the briefest of moments, telling her everything. But the years of habit, of training himself to keep his heart locked away, proved stronger.

“This discussion is over,” he said finally, the words cutting like ice. “I won’t permit it.”

Clara stared at him, disbelief and hurt flashing across her face. “You really are heartless, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “All that intelligence, all those brilliant deductions, and yet you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” She took a step back, shaking her head. “I thought, maybe, there was a part of you that could care… that there was some semblance of family left between us. But I was wrong.”

Without another word, Clara turned on her heel and stormed out of the flat, the door slamming behind her with a force that rattled the windows. Sherlock flinched, a rare, unguarded reaction breaking through his normally stoic expression.

For a moment, he stood there, the silence of the flat pressing in on him like a weight. The letter sat on the table, the emerald ink glistening faintly in the dim light, taunting him. He resisted the urge to reach for it, to read the words he knew would cut deeper than any blade.

“Sherlock?” The soft voice broke the silence, and he looked up to see Mrs. Hudson standing hesitantly in the doorway, having been drawn by the commotion. She took one look at his face, and her expression softened with concern.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, her eyes drifting toward the letter on the table. “Would you like some tea?”

Sherlock took a deep, steadying breath, forcing his composure back into place. He nodded, though his voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to someone else. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson… I think I would.”

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

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xkaidaxxxx · 3 days ago

Text

Hidden love?

Mentions: lies, NSFW, Fluff,etc.

enjoy the story. I apologize for any errors.

word count: 2.1k

“If you don’t tell us the last time you met with him we’re going to have to arrest you y/n.” Kakashi said.

You were about to go on stage to start your tour. You were skilled as a shinobi. You could be Hokage if you wanted to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Kakashi sensei.” you responded. You never thought you’d have to lie to someone who means a lot to you. “ I didn’t just come here to support you on your first tour. I need answers. I need you to cooperate.” he pleaded. “ Y/n in 10.” your stage director said. Kakashi looked at you with a disappointed look. How can you lie to your friends? How can you deny them help?

You went out on stage with a smile on your face. “ Hello Konoha!!” you said into the mic. The crowd went wild. “I’m very happy to start my tour at my home! Get ready !” you said excitedly and with that you started your first song, Bad Blood. Midway into the song you saw your friends finally sitting in the VIP section. They danced and sang along despite the fact you didn’t want to release any information on Sasuke and his whereabouts. That night was amazing. A great kick start! After that 3 hour concert you were drained out. As you entered your dressing room everyone else was already there. “You did amazing y/n, ya know!” Naruto complimented you. “Yeah the dances and quick outfit changes. Everything was literally perfect.” Sakura basically forces herself to be nice. You tried not taking it to heart. Naruto gave her a bitch face then looked back at you. “Everything was perfect,” he said. “ Look I’m done being fake and acting as if I’m here to support you. Let's get straight to the point alright. Where the hell is Sasuke and what is he doing?” she asked, making a fist threatening to cause a fight. You weren’t afraid of her. “I have information on him! God dammit! I haven’t seen him since Orochimaru tried killing me 2 years ago while heading to be a judge looking for the guy who featured in my song. Sasuke only saved me and told Orochimaru to not mess with me.” you respond. Jealousy coursed through her veins. She knew that you love Sasuke and held a part of you in his heart. You grew up with him. He lost all his family as you. Since then you lived and grew up together. “Do you remember which way he went?” Kakashi asked. You weren’t about to reveal where your only love went once again you lied. “He had gone south.” Everyone nodded and left.

When you got back to your place ready to rest. You saw him on the couch. “Hello Y/n.” he greeted. “They’re looking for you. You need to get out of here. They’ll take you under custody.” he clearly knew about that but didn’t care. He needed to see you. As he stood up he walked over to you placing a hand on your waist. “ I wanted to see you. I’ve been missing you like crazy.” “It’s been 2 years, Sasuke.” you responded. “I also wanted to see my son.” he placed a peck on your forehead. “I had to basically disappear during my pregnancy and up until he turned 5 months.” Sasuke held you feeling bad he wasn’t there. You heard baby Satoshi cry. Your best friend B/f/n took care of him when you were busy and needed rest. She kept your secret and you kept hers. You and sasuke walked into your room. “Looks just like his dada.” you commented carrying him. He immediately stopped crying. Sasuke tickled him. He giggled and had a bright smile on his face. He knew that the man he was looking at was his dad even though he wasn’t around. About an hour Satoshi went back to sleep. “He’s wonderful like you” sasuke said walking downstairs into the living room with you. He kissed you before sitting down on the couch. A simple kiss turned into a heated make out.

His hand placement was driving you insane. His hands on your waist which traveled to your ass. He squeezed it. You moaned out. “ I love you y/n. I’m sorry I haven’t been here.” he apologized. You nodded. His lips and kisses made you aroused. His “I love you and I’m sorry” made you hazy. You can feel how wet you are. “I love you too Sasuke.” he smiled and spanked your ass. He sat down and looked at your shorts. The way he looked at you signaled for you to remove them and you gladly obeyed like a good girl you are. He then patted his lap. You sat down. “A little gift for being nice.” he said, holding your hips, making your grind on it. Your body shivered in pleasure. You took his little gift and grinded on his thigh. Your body got hot and you started panting. He loved the expression on your face. You sped up acting like a freaking virgin experiencing intimacy for the first time. You whined and moaned cumming on his thigh. He smirked. You both undressed, ready to have a long night.

You were against the couch in doggystyle spreading your legs for him. Your pussy was dripping wet. He spread your lips, kitten licking you. “S-Sasuke” you said, gripping the couch. “ you taste so fucking good baby. Fuck baby.” he praised you. “ n-need you in me daddy.” you revealed honestly. He rubbed your cunt making sure he rubbed your clit and put pressure on it. The faster he went the more pleasure you got and moaned into your hand muffling your moans. Your son was upstairs and you had neighbors. “Yeah? You like that naughty girl?” you nodded cumming. He wants to push you over the edge. Seconds later you squirted. He got on his knees drinking the fluid that he got into his mouth. The thing about Sasuke was he’s a freak in the sheets. He loves drinking your squirting and making sure he got every drip of your cum. When he creampies you he makes sure the cum that came out goes back in. He makes sure it stays inside by using his thumb as a plug. “Daddy please. I-Need you in me.” he shook his head no. “ need to make sure you’re ready.” with that he carefully pressed 2 of his fingers into your whole. You forgot the feeling of his fingers inside you. The girth of his fingers inside you was nothing compared to his cock. “S-shit.” he smirked at your reaction. You shut your eyes tight. He slowly fingered you. You loved how deep his fingers reacted inside you. When he fingers you, he knows you like it nice and slow. You were trembling and moaning at the extra sudden pleasure. You felt him move his long fingers against your gummy walls. He then hooked them and pressed against your soft sweet spot that made you cum. You clenched around his fingers cumming around them. He then pulled them out. You looked behind you. You blushed as you witnessed him sucking and licking them clean. “Sweet and sour. I love it.” he commented. He then swiped a bit of your wetness and used it as lube to stroke his cock. Moments later he slammed into you. No warning. You let out a loud moan. A moan that sounded like it came out of a porn scene. He thrusted holding your waist keeping you in place. He grunted and fucked you nice and rough just how you both like it. The sound of skin slapping was bouncing off the walls along with the moans. “ d~daddy yes! Just like tha~ah!” you said aloud. Your breast were bouncing as he fucked you. He spanked you then yanked your hair back. “ feel so f~fucking good.” he said. Your eyes rolled back as he hit your cervix again and again and again. Non-stop. You groaned and your body shook lightly. You felt like your body was about to give up on you however he held you up. With one last thrust you both came together moaning out. He painted your walls white with his thick and hot cum. It took a bit to calm down. Once you both hit that state you knew he wasn't going to pull out just yet. “Give me a minute. I want to make sure you stay nice and full.” you loved how Sasuke is in bed. After about 10 minutes he pulled out and ate the cum that spilled out. He licked you clean carefully knowing how sensitive you were. You were done until the morning. That night included food play, Ice play, bondage,etc. His aftercare was perfect. Soft, affectionate and loving. Once he was done washing you clean with your favorite shampoo,conditioner and body wash he made sure to dry you ,change you, blow dry and put your hair in a braid he then took care of himself. As soon as you knocked out the baby, Satoshi decided to wake up with a cry. Sasuke carried him, grabbed his things and headed into the bathroom checking his diaper. He changed him which made him very comfy and pleased. He fed him his formula and played with him until he got tired and took him back to bed with the both of you. He decided to create a barrier of pillows so that Satoshi wouldn’t fall. He held you close, finally able to sleep peacfully.

You took that entire day to relax and rest. Sasuke took care of the rest. The next day you continued your tour. With your baby getting great care from his mommy’s best friend. A month and half later you found out you were pregnant once again. You sent sasuke a message

Hey love, I miss you and love you very much. Thank you for constantly communicating with me. I have a quick surprise for you…from the heated sex we had…we forgot protection. I’m pregnant. We’re having another baby. I’m nervous and excited! Love you. Hope to hear from you soon.

Ps,

Don’t forget to rest well and stay healthy. Love you!

You finished typing and set the message out. Thankfully you had finished the tour before you started actually showing a lot.

Sasuke’s Text:

Now that you’re done with the tour. Come to my hideout until I sort things out with Naruto and everything with Konoha.

I love you, stay safe okay.

Don’t overwork yourself while starting your journey. I need to head back as well. I think you’ll get there before I do.

Ps. The snake knows about you and our son so it won’t harm you.

The next message shows his address

As the years went on, you finally got to be back at Konoha with your friends. When Sakura found out about you with Sasuke she took it hard. “Hinata! Open up. It's important!” you yelled. She opened up and brought you inside her home. As you sat down you were so excited to tell her. “Come on, let it out. I’m here for you.” she said, setting the cup of tea down in front of you with some sugar cookies. “ I’m pregnant. Twins.” you revealed. She gasped. “Does he know?” she asked. You laughed nervously. “About being pregnant, yeah. We were trying for another one…I went to Sakura and she checked. I told her she’s lying just to make me go crazy or something but she showed me. I saw and heard their hearts beat.” you responded by rubbing your bump. “Your bump is bigger than normal.” Hinata drank her tea.

The following morning you woke up to Sasuke sleeping next to you. You were surprised at how you didn’t hear him. Then again you’re carrying twins. Extra drain of your energy. You did your daily routine and then cooked breakfast. “Morning sleepyheads.” you said as you saw your husband and two sons walking downstairs. Satoshi and Shiro smiled. “ You guys are just in time.” the plates we served and the juices were chosen.

“I have a surprise.” they all faced you eager to know what it might be. “I went to get my check up and found out I’m having twins.” Satoshi’s eyes widened, Shiro gasped and Sasuke held you close. “ Maybe we’ll finally have a little princess.” he commented. You smiled melting into his arms. “Get a room.” Satoshi complained. He did not want to see his parents get all lovey dovey with each other. You pulled away and everyone sat down to eat. Breakfast was nice, especially since Sasuke is finally home.

Everything turned out wonderfully for the Uchiha family.

#fanfiction #fanfic #anime #naruto fanfiction #sasuke uchiha #sasuke x reader #uchiha sasuke #sasuke x you #sasuke smut #naruto x you #naruto x sasuke

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