#a new life out of the old one but ur boots are shaking with every step you take | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkykeiji · 4 years ago

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i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰ ✰ ✰

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

✰ ✰ ✰

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

#todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya x reader #dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma #tomura baby i’m so sorry #promise u don’t horrify me at all oof #pls come horrify me more #christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools #a buncha clowns #anyway this is my first time posting something like this #n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time #so pls be nice #actually u should always be nice #so pls be extra nice #no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn #the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge #prone to monologuing this boy is #also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas #apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences #idk i still kinda like em tho #i like oscar #tw pseudo-incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw emotional manipulation #tw somnophilia #tw drugs

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hrina · 4 years ago

Text

1923, Pt. I - The Day

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: PG (for now) WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: nope

hi everyone! here is PART 1 of my historical AU featuring harry as a groundskeeper/farmhand (i know that those two professions are slightly different but just let me have this ok snfjsjfnsdsf)

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

this series will be composed of three parts altogether, so i hope u all enjoy this first one! as always, please reblog the fics that you like! and don’t hesitate to send in feedback, i promise that we, as writers, always love to witness your reactions :) anywayyyy now that we’ve covered all the bases, go stupid with 1920s harry! can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💌💌💌

~*~

July 5th, 1923

“What if he comes back with a beard that goes all the way down to his knees?”

You snort and shake your head. “He’s only been gone for a few months, Dee. I don’t think it’s possible for one’s whiskers to grow that quickly.”

Lydia shrugs, toying with the hem of her pale blue dress. “What if he met an evil witch in New York who cast a spell on him? And now he’s doomed to live out the rest of his life with horrifying facial hair!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. I don’t think that there are any witches in New York, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. Believing in magic is an integral part of childhood—you don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her. Soon enough, she’ll figure it out for herself.

You wind an elastic around your fingers, securing the end of her braid so that it doesn’t unravel. “That’s one,” you say, sighing quietly. “Turn to the side so that I can start on the other.”

She obeys, angling her head to the left. You gather her dark curls in a loose fist, skimming your nails against her scalp to collect every last strand.

Her hair has grown hot, absorbing the heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful day—there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The two of you are sitting on the front steps of your home, looking out over the paved circular driveway and waiting excitedly for Andrew’s car to pull up to the iron gate. Realistically, you know that he won’t be here for at least another few hours, but Lydia insisted that you unwind outside to pass the time.

Somehow, she persuaded you to fashion her hair into twin braids. And though you had groaned at the initial request, here you are.

“He’s bringing a friend, you know,” your sister suddenly pipes up. “He told me in his letter.”

“Oh, really,” you say wryly. “And who exactly is this friend of his?”

“Martin Russell,” Lydia says, as though she’s reciting lines for a play. “He graduated from Harvard and then built his own company with nothing but a nickel to his name. Drew says that they’re trying to merge and become an empire.”

“An empire,” you echo, humouring her. “That sounds awfully intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Not to me,” she boasts, lacing her fingers together in her lap and squaring her shoulders. “Drew told me that I’m a businesswoman in the making.”

“That, you are,” you agree. You tie your remaining elastic around her second braid, fastening it in place. “All done.”

Lydia jumps to her feet, tugging down the material of her dress and turning to face you. She strikes a pose, placing one hand on her waist and lifting the other above her head. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” you say, smiling up at her softly. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.”

At that, she frowns.

“I’m not little!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m thirteen and a half!”

“That’s little,” you say, laughing quietly. “Trust me. Once you get to my age, you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather be little than ancient,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. You scoff, bringing your fingers up to your forehead so that you can shield your eyes from the sun.

“Twenty-three is not ancient!” you say, baffled.

Lydia just giggles, twirling around a few times and watching the skirt of her dress fan out handsomely. Once she looks up, however, she freezes in her tracks. Your eyebrows knit together as she extends her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hi, Harry!”

You stiffen, reflexively following her gaze.

Harry is about thirty feet from the steps, crossing the driveway with a heavy bag of soil slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he’s carrying a bucket filled with rusted gardening tools. You had been so caught up in your conversation with your sister that you failed to notice him. He’s making his way toward the pretty garden that separates the entry and exit of the driveway, tucked between the two strips of road and outlined with smooth grey stones.

You swallow forcefully when he pauses at the sound of Lydia’s voice. He turns, and you get a full view of his broad chest, tanned skin peeking out from underneath his white shirt. Brown trousers cover his legs, held up by matching suspenders. His black boots are speckled with dried mud—you guess that he’s just come from the stables in the back.

Upon catching sight of your sister, he smiles and begins to walk over. You shift quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—else.

“Good afternoon, little bug.” Harry’s tone is deep, slow, rough. It sends a shiver down your spine. “You alright?”

“Very much so,” Lydia replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Harry, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replies.

Your sister glances over at you, her brows arched high on her forehead. “He’s practically primeval.”

“Dee!” Her name leaves your lips as an admonishment, but you can’t stifle your laugh.

She just giggles and turns back to Harry; he’s smirking slightly, watching your interaction unfold. “Are you going to be planting more roses?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Yes.” He nods. He sets the bucket down and uses his free hand to realign the bag of soil on his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”

Lydia spins around to face you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“You’re supposed to take Artemis out for a ride,” you tell her, pursing your lips. “You know how antsy she gets when she’s cooped up all day.”

“Can’t you take her out?” Lydia asks, clasping her fingers together and bringing them up to her chest.

“Dee,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Harry,” she says suddenly, glancing down at him from over her shoulder. “Have you been in the stables today? Did you see Artemis?”

Harry hums dutifully. His eyes fall to you—you look away.

“And did she seem anxious at all?” Lydia presses expectantly, placing her hands on her hips.

He hesitates. “Well…no. But if you need to take her out, please do. I’m perfectly capable of planting by myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away his words. She turns back to you, jutting her bottom lip out into an imploring pout. “Can’t you ask someone else to do it? What about Penelope? Or Beth?”

“Beth’s preparing lunch,” you say, scoffing quietly. “Besides, she refuses to work in a messy environment. What makes you think that she’ll willingly go down to the stables, of all places?”

Lydia frowns, blowing out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” she acquiesces at last, rolling her eyes. She spins around, hopping down the remaining steps and fixing Harry with an accusatory glare. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes! Don’t you dare start without me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bug,” he replies, his lips twitching. You watch as Lydia takes off, her braids whipping in the wind as she sprints toward the side of the house. Once she disappears around the corner and out of your sight, you press your palms to your face, sighing loudly.

“She’s too much,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Harry chuckles quietly from the bottom of the stairs; you freeze suddenly, remembering that he’s still there.

“I should—” You clear your throat, climbing to your feet. The light material of your dress tickles the skin just below your knees. “I should probably go. There’s still so much to do before Drew returns.”

You’re lying, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure there is.” Harry nods, running his fingers through his hair. The dark strands curl beautifully behind his ears. You allow yourself to study them for only a moment before diverting your gaze up to the sky.

“It’s hot—are you thirsty?” you ask, squinted eyes trained on miles of cerulean blue. “I can get Beth to bring you some water, if you’d like.”

“That’d be lovely,” he says. “Thank you.”

You simply hum in response. Your hands are abnormally clammy when you wipe them across the thin petticoat covering your thighs.

“Right,” you say, chancing a glance back down at him. “Well…have a nice day.”

“You too, miss.”

You pause, fiddling with the satin bow tied at the small of your back. “You—you don’t have to call me that, Harry,” you remind him, shaking your head. “How many times must I tell you?”

“My apologies,” he says, shrugging. “Force of habit.”

“It’s alright,” you say, intent on avoiding his gaze. “It just—it makes me feel as though I’m your—your—”

You break off, uncertain of how to proceed. Thankfully, though, Harry seems to understand. He chuckles softly, bowing his chin in agreement. “I know.”

Embarrassment festers in your chest, creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks. You straighten, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat and retreating toward the door. “Lydia will be back soon, I’m sure. Good day.”

When Harry lifts his head again, his green eyes teem with an emotion that is somehow unrecognizable yet familiar all at once. The gruff timbre of his response makes your stomach churn nervously, flipping your breakfast of fresh fruits and toast. You hate it more than anything else in the world.

You don’t hate him, though.

No…you could never hate him.

“Good day, miss. Ah, I mean—” His face collapses into a grimace. He grunts at the thoughtless error, shaking his head. “—good day.”

~*~

It’s just past three in the afternoon when a car horn honks from outside. Lydia’s shrill squeal of excitement follows soon thereafter.

“Drew!” she cries. She rushes into the front foyer, white shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The bottom of her dress is dotted with faded spots of mud, a testament to her time spent in the garden earlier today.

“Dee,” you scold her, frowning. “I told you to change once you had finished planting.”

“Sorry!” she says, though her tone suggests that she isn’t sorry at all—not in the slightest. “Got distracted!”

She grabs your hand, and you yelp when she gives a mighty tug, towing you outside. You dust off the skirt of your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears and staring at the iron gate in the distance—it’s closing back up, metal spines glinting alluringly in the sunlight. On one side of the driveway, a bright red car rolls along the pavement, tires bumping merrily against the ground. Two silhouettes sit in the front; the man behind the wheel honks the horn again and extends his arm through the window, sweeping it upward in a triumphant greeting.

“Drew!” Lydia repeats. She charges down the front steps, her hands outstretched.

“Be careful!” you call after her, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

The sun is still high in the sky. You crane your neck, surveying your surroundings. Heat rises from the driveway in murky waves, blurring the scenery. The large portico that spans nearly the entire width of your home is lined with bushels of potted plants—roses and peonies and daffodils. The lawn is bright and healthy, spearmint-green grass trimmed to perfection.

Something shifts in the periphery of your vision. Your head snaps to the left.

Harry is there, leaning against the corner of the house. He’s still sporting the same outfit as before, except it’s even more sullied, now. You’re not surprised. Gardening is grubby work, but gardening with Lydia…it’s a miracle that he’s not caked in mud, soiled from head to toe.

On cue, Harry reaches for a dirty rag dangling over his shoulder. He grasps the material with strong fingers, lifting it to his face and wiping down his forehead and his cheeks. You watch him closely, fascinated by the thin sheen of sweat sparkling on his skin.

As though sensing your stare, his eyes dart over, locking squarely with yours.

A soft gasp falls from your lips. You clench your jaw, incontrovertibly caught, and quickly look away.

As soon as Andrew steps out of the car, Lydia launches herself into his arms. He laughs gleefully, catching her with ease and spinning her around. He’s dressed in a cream-coloured suit, the collar of his periwinkle button-up peeking out beneath the lapels. His loafers are shiny and brown; a matching hat is perched atop his head, hiding his dark hair from view. The cap makes his ears stick out even more than usual—upon realising this, you smile.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Andrew grunts, setting Lydia back down on the ground. He puts his hand next to her shoulder, as though measuring her against an invisible wall. “The last time I saw you, I could’ve sworn you were only this tall.”

She beams before standing on her tiptoes and poking at his chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be gone for so long next time!”

“Touché,” he chuckles, nodding in assent. His fingers find the ends of her braids, fiddling with them absentmindedly. “And who’s responsible for these pretty things, hm?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” you interject, making your way down the steps.

Andrew looks up at you and grins widely. You hold out your arms as you approach, and he accepts your invitation with a happy call of your name. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet, if you had to guess. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his shoulder and flattening your palms against his back.

“You look very handsome,” you tell him when you break apart. “I like this colour on you.”

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you? I was on the fence about it, truthfully.”

“You shouldn’t have been—it looks good,” you assure him, smoothing your knuckles over his collar. “What took you so long? You’re late.”

“Stopped off at the cemetery to visit mum and dad,” he explains. “Changed their flowers, too—calla lilies, this time.”

You nod grimly, pursing your lips. “Mum’s favourite. Excellent choice.”

One of the car’s doors slams shut; the noise pulls your attention away from your brother. You peer past him, eyes landing on the man who has just exited the passenger side of the vehicle. His skin is a fair shade of olive, complimented beautifully by the beige jacket slung over his shoulders. Checkered brown pants cover his legs, and he’s clutching a sturdy briefcase in one hand. Andrew retreats, keeping a palm on the small of your back as he leads you over to his companion.

“Girls,” he says, tipping his cap, “this is my business partner, Martin Russell. Martin, these are my sisters.”

Martin bows his head. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Are you tired, Mister Russell?” you ask. “It’s been a long journey, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite alright, miss, thank you,” he replies.

You don’t miss the way his amber eyes trail along your figure as he straightens up. You step back before you even have the chance to register what you’re doing.

“Hello!” Lydia—much to your relief—butts in, grabbing Martin’s hand and shaking it frantically. “I’m Lydia. Say, how would you describe your time at Harvard? Did you enjoy it? Was it a lot of work?”

Martin chuckles nervously, taken aback by your sister’s blathering. “Er,” he starts, “I—”

“Dee,” Andrew says, snickering quietly. “At least let the man get settled in before you begin interrogating him.”

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbles, shrinking away.

“That’s alright,” Andrew says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with him over dinner tonight, won’t you? Is it true that Beth is preparing my favourite?”

Your sister beams and nods. “I asked her to!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Andrew smiles. He looks up at the house, his forlorn gaze running over the plethora of pale bricks and clear windows. Abruptly, he pauses, squinting and lifting his fingers to shield his face from the sun. “Is that…?”

Your blood runs cold.

Andrew raises an arm high above his head. “Harry!”

And suddenly, staring down at the ground becomes your most pressing concern of the day. Harry makes his way over, a mountain of handsome grime. It’s unfair, really, you think. How does he manage to look so fetching, even beneath a thin layer of soot?

“How have you been?” Andrew asks, surging forward and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replies, grinning. “I’ve been alright. Keeping the garden tame, keeping the stables clean.” He tosses a pointed look in Lydia’s direction. “Keeping this little bug out of trouble.”

“Hey!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry just chuckles.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Andrew says, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s nice knowing that there’s still a man around the house to take care of these two.”

You bristle at his words, scowling in mock-offense. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Your brother shoots you a mischievous wink, and only then do you realise that he’s merely trying to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes, though you can’t quell the fond smile that creeps onto your face.

“Let’s go in,” you suggest. “You can say hello to the rest of the staff, and then we can all wash up before dinner.”

Andrew hums in agreement. He tilts his head to the side, attention fixed almost exclusively on Harry. “You should come, H,” he says swiftly. “It’s been too long; we need to catch up.”

“Drew—” Your shoulders tense, and your nostrils flare. “I don’t think—”

“I’d love to,” Harry interrupts. He hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his suspenders. “Thank you for the invite, Drew.”

“Of course.” Your brother nods before turning back to Lydia and Martin. “Shall we, then?”

The three of them push between you and Harry, climbing up the steps and disappearing through the front door. Inside, your sister unleashes a stream of fleeting questions: What’s it like in New York? Are the people nice? How was the food? Did you see the Statue of Liberty?

Gradually, her inquiries fade away. You stand there, chest inflated with a held breath and fingers fidgeting anxiously with the skirt of your dress. The sun beats down against the crown of your head, triggering a mild fit of dizziness.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“So…,” he begins, blowing out an awkward sigh. “What shall we be eating tonight?”

You scoff, unable to help yourself. “You accepted the offer without knowing exactly what it was?”

“Should I know?”

You swallow heavily, pinning your gaze on the scarlet vehicle still parked only a few feet away. “Minestrone,” you say. The word is clipped. “Drew loves it.”

“I’ve had it,” he tells you. “Beth always saves me a bit if there’s some left over.”

You nod wordlessly.

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

“As do I.”

“Right.” You avoid his gaze. “Goodbye, then.” You whip around, hurrying up the steps.

“Goodbye,” Harry replies from behind you. The smile in his voice is painfully conspicuous. “See you at dinner.”

~*~

You’ve just pinned a final clip into your hair when Lydia comes barrelling through your bedroom door with no warning whatsoever. You’ve long since given up on reprimanding her for it. She always forgets to knock.

“Can you button me up?” she requests, spinning around and exposing her bare back.

“Did you run down the hall like that?” you ask, laughing at her eccentricity.

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry—I made sure that the coast was clear.”

“Brilliant. Your reconnaissance skills are truly a sight to behold.”

She scoffs, smiling at you from over her shoulder. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Patience, Dee,” you say. You turn back to your own reflection, twirling your finger through a loose strand of hair and letting it fall picturesquely against your temple. “There.”

Her feet scuffle absentmindedly against the floor as you approach her. She’s wearing a pastel pink dress with short, puffy sleeves that cinch at her skinny biceps. The bottom hem of her petticoat tickles her knees, which strain against transparent white tights. You remember wearing something nearly identical when you were her age. The outfit isn’t a hand-me-down, though. The stitching is brand-new, and the fabric is crisp and fresh, like it’s never once seen the inside of a washtub.

“It’s nice having Drew back home, wouldn’t you agree?” you ask your sister. She squeals when the nail of your index finger ghosts playfully up her spine.

“It is,” she concurs as you begin to fasten the clasps at the small of her back. “I’ve missed him terribly.”

“So have I,” you hum, pressing your mouth into a thin line. “There are some things that I could do without, though. Like that comment he made about us not being able to take care of ourselves.”

“He was only teasing,” Lydia says. “You know that. Besides—” She shrugs, puckering her lips idly. “—he was right. Harry does take care of us, even though we may not always need it.”

At that, you pause.

“‘Harry takes care of us’?” you parrot, your brows knitting together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she starts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who trims the lawn and tends to the flowers early in the morning? And who cleans out the stables when they get messy?”

“We pay him to do those things, Dee,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It’s his job.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But he does so much more, don’t you think?”

You say nothing. She takes your silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“For example,” she says—declares, “he never gets irritated with me whenever I prattle on about my day.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So you are aware of your tendency to talk too much.”

“Not funny,” she deadpans. You giggle.

“He always lets me follow him around whenever I get bored,” she adds, her eyes glazing over. “And he likes to make sure that you’re alright, too.”

Your fingers fumble with the last button at the top of her dress. You pray that she doesn’t detect the sudden blunder. “How so?” you probe, trying to keep your voice level.

“You know,” she indicates, even though you most certainly do not. “Like today, as we were planting the roses. He asked me how you were doing—if you were eating well, if you were getting enough sleep. Those are fairly standard inquiries regarding one’s wellbeing, I’d say. Do you disagree?”

“No,” you murmur, gnawing on your painted bottom lip. “I don’t.”

You finish your task, fastening the final clasp on her dress and smoothing your fingers down her sides. “There you go,” you say softly, your throat dry. “All done.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs, twirling around to face you. She studies you closely, soaking in the black floor-length gown cascading down your figure. “You look beautiful,” she says, her tone sincere. “Martin’s going to be utterly speechless when he sees you!”

A weak chuckle falls from your mouth. “Shall we go down?” you suggest, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she replies. She places a palm over her stomach, features crumpling into a theatrical scowl. “I’m famished.”

You smile.

And as you exit your bedroom with your sister in tow, you realise that she may have been wrong about which man you’re hoping to impress.

~*~

Dinner is full of surprises, many of which present themselves in the form of Martin Russell. It’s astonishing, you think, because the man who had barely spoken ten words upon first meeting you is now commanding the table at which you’re sat. Andrew is perched at the head, with Martin just off to his right. Lydia is next to him, and you’re directly across from him. And that means that Harry…

Harry is right next to you.

You do everything in your power to avoid looking in his direction. Thankfully, it proves to be easier than expected, considering the fact that Martin has been droning on about his company for the past fifteen minutes. You don’t believe that anyone else has managed to squeeze in a single word.

There’s wine, candles, and the finest china your family owns. But all of that pales in comparison to the man sitting beside you.

Harry cleans up exquisitely. Upon first entering the dining room, you were shocked to find him in a black tuxedo with a white bowtie resting just below his throat. It appears that he even combed and gelled his hair, though some strands have fallen free from the style and now hang down over his forehead. You don’t mind it, though—if anything, it’s a hint of the man you know peeking through. And the man you know is handsome—alarmingly so.

Drew had whistled as you descended the stairs. He then offered you his arm, patting your hand and telling you that you looked wonderful. Martin hadn’t been able to control his reaction, his eyes raking up and down your figure like you were a lavish meal on a silver platter. It had taken everything in you to hide your distaste.

But Harry…

Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d fixed his face perfectly, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. You’d been hoping for something—anything—indicative of his opinion toward your outfit, but you observed no such consequence. He’d only acknowledged you with a curt nod before settling into his chair and pointedly looking away.

And now, here you are—a bowl of minestrone in front of you, a wineglass inches away from your lips, and an irritated groan simmering on the back of your tongue. Martin’s voice is growing more and more irksome by the minute.

“And then, it was as though they couldn’t get enough—”

“I had assured them that I would bring in at least twice the revenue—”

“It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it—”

You polish off the rest of your wine, reaching across the table for the half-empty bottle. No one notices as you pour a bit more of the alcohol into your glass, sneakily surpassing what would be considered appropriate for a lady to consume. You set the bottle back down with a silent huff, lifting the goblet to your lips and letting your attention wander.

You freeze when you catch Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eye. The edges of his mouth are curled up ever-so-slightly, nearly imperceptible. Heat rushes to your cheeks; you gulp down a large sip of wine, averting your gaze.

You deposit your drink onto the pristine white tablecloth, glaring intently at your food. You can feel Harry’s playful stare burning a hole into the side of your head; you suspect that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

Your soup has cooled substantially. You shovel a spoonful past your lips, swallowing it with a considerable amount of difficulty. Everyone else has nearly finished their dinner, save for Martin. You want to thrust his face into his bowl—maybe then, he’ll finally shut up.

You lift your wine back up to your mouth. The action draws Martin’s focus. His eyes flit down to your minestrone, and then jump to the other empty dishes around the table. At last, he seems to realise the disparity between your meals, because a small, sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“Lord,” he chuckles, settling into the cushion of his chair. “You all must’ve been ravenous. I’ve hardly touched my food.”

“It’s hard to eat whilst boasting, I’d imagine,” you mutter into your glass.

A loud, hacking cough breaks you out of your little bubble. Your head snaps to the left. Harry is choking on his own wine, chiseled cheeks growing red with exertion. He curls his fingers into a firm fist, pounding a few times on his chest to dislodge the liquid stuck in his windpipe. Reflexively, you place a hand on his arm, your forehead wrinkling in concern.

“You alright, H?” Andrew asks, leaning forward over his plate.

“Fine!” Harry croaks. He makes an indiscernible gesture with his hand, waving your brother’s worries away. “I’m fine, thanks. Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

He coughs again, burying the sound into the crook of his elbow.

You watch him with troubled eyes. When your gazes lock, only then do you realise that your palm is still splayed out over his bicep. You pull away quickly, recoiling as though you’ve just passed your knuckles through an open flame. Harry’s body rumbles as he clears his throat. He hooks two fingers into the collar of his button-up, loosening it from where it’s secured tightly around his neck.

Lydia is talking, now, but her declarations fade into the background. You wish that you could concentrate on them—you really do—but you have more far more pressing matters at hand.

Like Harry shooting you a swift, secretive smile, and every piece of the puzzle clicking perfectly into place.

His unassuming sip…your quiet quip…

He’d heard you.

You sit back in your seat, your ears ringing. Harry places one of his hands on the wooden arm of his chair; his knuckles flex painstakingly. Across the table, Andrew and Lydia have resumed their lively conversation. Martin scarfs down the rest of his soup, trying to catch up. The candlesticks perched between your plates melt slowly, a mess of waxy dribbles and drops.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you become aware that—for the first time tonight—no one is paying you any attention. The realisation makes you feel giddy, drunk on power and anonymity.

Or maybe that’s just the wine.

You peer down at Harry’s nails, studying them absentmindedly—they’ve been scrubbed clean.

And before you can even begin to register what on earth you’re doing, you reach out, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with one finger. Harry tenses; his concentration immediately falls to where you’re touching him. When you finally muster enough confidence to meet his gaze, you find him watching you with wide, awestruck eyes.

A small part of you is smug—that’s the reaction you’d been searching for at the beginning of the evening. That’s how you’d wanted him to look at you when you made your entrance, wrapped up in a pretty black gown and layers of opaque red lipstick.

You cease your movements and retract your arm, tucking it back against your side as you turn your interest elsewhere. In the periphery of your vision, Harry has pinned you with an unwavering, stunned expression, his body rooted in place. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart, you keep your gaze trained ahead and your chin held high, pride swelling in your abdomen like a hot-air balloon.

Lydia laughs at something that Andrew says. Martin tugs haughtily at the lapels of his suit. You release a heavy exhale and nudge your bowl a few inches away from your chest, completely sated.

~*~

Once everyone retires to their rooms for the evening, you wait approximately an hour before slipping out. You’re light on your feet, sneaking past Lydia’s quarters and the guestroom that was given to Martin for the duration of his stay. He snores—quite loudly, too. You can hear him as though he’s right next to you, even from where you’re hovering out in the hall.

You make your way down the spiral staircase, heading toward the large double doors leading to the backyard. You quickly tug on a delicate pair of slippers before sneaking out into darkness’ cool embrace. Midnight is only a few minutes away.

You pull your wool cardigan a bit tighter around your torso. The hem of your silk nightgown is shorter than that of a standard dress. The wind nips teasingly at your knees, making you shiver. Blades of grass tickle your ankles as you march toward the stables. There’s a single light hanging above the entrance, bathing the wooden panes in a faint yellow glow. Green grass gives way to dry soil and the odd piece of straw littered across the dirt.

Inside the stables, only two of the six pens are occupied. The first one houses Apollo, Andrew’s stallion. His skin is like chestnuts, his mane the colour of the sun. You’re sure that your brother will take him out early tomorrow morning—you doubt that he was able to find many docile steeds in the bustling streets of New York.

You bypass Apollo completely, stopping in front of your horse—Artemis.

She’s a sight to behold, white skin and jet-black hair. She reminds you of the first snowfall of the season: crisp and pure, untainted by footprints and pollution and everything else in between. She’s been your partner in crime for the past decade, even though you’ve spent the last few years simply guiding her along with your feet on the ground and a hand tangled in her reins.

Somewhere beneath the rational layer of your brain, you like to think that she sympathizes with your hesitation to get back on the saddle.

“Psst!” you hiss, leaning against the wooden gate of her pen. “Artemis! Come here, my love.”

She lifts her head up from the floor, chewing on a handful of hay. You dig your fingers into the material of your cardigan, producing a sugar cube from the depths of your left pocket. Artemis’ nostrils flare as you hold it out in your palm; she trots over happily, drawn to the sweet treat.

“Haven’t come to visit you in a few days,” you murmur as she dips her mouth against your hand. You stroke your knuckles down the side of her neck, petting her softly. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been so chaotic back at the house. I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe.”

She whinnies quietly.

“Did you miss me?” you ask. When she nuzzles her nose into your arm, you smile. “I missed you, too. I thought that maybe you were developing a preference for Lydia. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m your favourite.”

Someone clears their throat from behind you. You gasp and whip around, hands flying to your chest. Your gaze locks onto an amused smirk and a pair of impish green eyes, and your stomach lurches uneasily.

“Hello,” you stammer, air caught in your lungs.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

He’s still dressed in his attire from dinner, though his appearance is significantly more relaxed. He’s abandoned the white bowtie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, allowing his collarbones to peek out from beneath the pallid fabric. The cuffs of his suit have been rolled up, and his hair has completely fallen from its acute coif. Glossy strands tumble down around his temples, curling in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch them.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You hope that he doesn’t hear the twinge of embarrassment in your voice. He caught you in the middle of a one-sided conversation with your horse, after all.

Harry holds up his hand. There’s a pale pink envelope clutched between his fingers.

“Post,” he says, like it’s the only reasonable explanation. It is, you suppose. “I was on my way home when I spotted you.”

Home. The little cottage just down the trail—the groundskeeper’s residence. It was built years ago, only a few acres away from the main house. You pass it sometimes when you take Artemis out for a walk. More often than not, you’ve found yourself studying its red bricks and white windowsills, yearning for a peek inside.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, wrenching you from your thoughts.

“Yes.” You nod, blinking twice. “Your letter—,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “—who is it from?”

And you immediately want to sink into the earth, because it’s none of your bloody business, is it? You have no right to be poking around and questioning him about his personal life. A slight grimace tugs at the corners of your lips, smearing a pained expression across your features.

But Harry just hums, unperturbed by your inquiry.

“My sister,” he tells you, shrugging. “She writes to me from Paris.”

He has a sister?

“Paris,” you echo dumbly. “France?”

His lips twitch. You want to set yourself on fire.

“Does she like it?”

“I think so,” he says, watching you with twinkling eyes. “She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m—” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

And though he hadn’t let the words slip out, you know exactly what he meant to say.

She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m stuck here.

A pang of guilt ricochets through your chest. Blood thunders in your ears as you direct your attention to the ground, kicking at the dirt below your slippers. You suddenly realise that whilst Harry is fully clothed, you’re dressed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown. You wrap your arms around your torso, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your knuckles.

“Er—”

You glance up at Harry when the awkward noise falls from his mouth. “Yes?”

He lifts his chin and gestures toward Artemis, who has returned to her tasty pile of hay. “She belongs to Lydia, does she not?”

“No, actually,” you reply. “Lydia takes her out, typically, but…she’s mine.”

“I see.” His face renders an innocent type of curiosity, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Do you ride?”

You balk, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I beg your pardon?”

And just like that, the innocence is gone. Harry’s features melt into a portrait of wicked mirth. His irises glint roguishly as he fixes you with a shrewd, crafty smirk.

“The horse,” he says slowly, his tone ripe with amusement. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” you croak. “Sorry, I—”

Your nostrils flare as you avert your eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. He’s aware of the way in which you interpreted his question. He understands why you were so appalled. He knows exactly where your mind went.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confused.

“How long has it been?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mount.”

“I stopped a few months before you came to work for us,” you say, playing with a loose thread hanging from your cardigan. After a beat of silence, you add, “There was…an incident. I fell.”

“Oh.” He recoils slightly, taken aback by your revelation. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Your feet scuffle against the dusty ground. “Sometimes, I catch myself longing for it, but I just—” You shrug. “I can never seem to get back on.”

“I understand.” His response is excruciatingly sincere.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He takes an experimental step forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t make a move to retreat, he does it again. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he draws nearer, and your heart stutters beneath your ribs when he angles his body to the side, offering you his arm.

“May I walk you back?”

Is there a hint of fondness in his voice, or is it merely your imagination?

“You may,” you concede weakly.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and bid Artemis goodnight. The two of you stroll back up to the estate in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the evening. The wind whistles through the thicket of trees lining the edge of the property. Crickets chirp loudly, seeking shelter between blades of grass. Harry’s body is unbelievably warm, radiating heat despite the slight chill carried by nightfall.

You release his arm once you reach the steps of the back porch. He studies you carefully as you climb the first two stairs, a divot digging into the space between his brows.

All of a sudden, you pause, brought to a standstill by an invisible string. You spin back around, looking down and finding a pair of bright jade eyes in the dark.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you say softly, hands dropping to your sides.

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, he seizes your fingers between his. A faint gasp leaves your mouth when he bows forward and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Harry peers up at you innocuously, pulling his lips away from your skin after a long moment of stillness.

“Goodnight, miss,” he says. The words flow over you like molasses, viscous and warm and inconceivably sweet. “Sleep tight.”

~*~

PART II: The Week

PART III: The Month

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #there's not a single curse word in this fic holy shit.............i think this is a first for me snfsjsdnsfsjfsn #ANYWAY i hope u like it!!!!! i'll be here if yall wanna chat after lol #farmhandrry #harry writing

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inkedtae · 4 years ago

Text

rupture; rapture ⇾ kth. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ex-boyfriend!taehyung x reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ one shot, angst, smut, f2l(?), e2l(?), ex lovers au, rekindled lovers(?), sculptor au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ responding to a late night call for help forces you to revisit truths you so skillfully ignored. was it always meant to fall apart to fall back into place?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 13.2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ slight upsetting themes, mentions of a new relationship, mentions of infidelity (tae thinks reader used him to each on her date), vague mention of consuming alcohol, switch!Taehyung, mullet!taehyung, sub!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, clay/paint/art sex(?), hate-love sex(?), makeup sex(?), size kink, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms (f.), creampie, overstimulation, a lil degradation, a lil face-licking, body worshipping, clit worshipping, a lil clit biting, choking, spanking, motorboating, begging, teasing, swearing, breath play, breast play

anon asked: taehyung19angst asghjkll. U have a prompt list ? So for that. Maybe. If u want to. WOW. Ur awesome. The bestest. Okay. Bye. Love. Me.

#19 ⇝ “You said you knew how to do this.”

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i am aware this is supposed to be a drabble but that never seems to be even for taehyung so here’s a one shot instead. also sorry for writing this so late

☾ banner by ⇾ @editingverse (thank you so so so much dear~ please go give her all your love!! this banner is beautiful!!)

☾ beta’d by ⇾ @kkulmoon (luff you, my soulmate crackhead~)

☾ le playlist

◖send me a prompt from dabble drabble. i will try to get to it as soon as i can. please note that i have the right to refuse any request i find uncomfortable.◗

Navigating to the chipped yellow door is second nature. Four months of distance does not change how easy it is for you to find your way to his place from across town. Your most haunting regret, however, is accepting his call. You sat around your apartment for months, fantasizing about how powerful you’d feel when your phone rings and you see his name flash only to decline the call. You told yourself that is how you will regain your dignity, how you will reclaim your life. He’s been a big part of it since freshman year. Best friends instantly, lovers only a year down the line. Clicking that red button, rejecting his apologies is how you believed you’d be able to move on and fully erase him from your life for good.

But, in the midst of a drink with someone else’s company, he calls and you do not refuse. Your heart flips only to fall and shatter in the pit of your stomach. You press the green button without much thought and bring the phone to your ear. He sounds so unsure, so nervous. A relieved sigh you didn’t realize you were holding escapes you. Eyes watering, you whisper his name.

The shame creeps upon you, condescendingly soothing your ego. Where’s your dignity now? It’s as nonexistent as when you stormed out of this very door and swore never to return. You can hear the fates snickering, watching your pathetic self stand outside of the door. Shaking out a shiver, you gather up the scattered pieces of your courage and knock on the door.

The screech of metal on metal echoes as he unlocks the door. The sound is more comforting than you expected it to be. You can’t remember the amount of times you’ve nagged him to replace the damned thing. It’s old, rusted, and the scratches of the metal make you cringe as though your bones are rotting. It used to make your jaw ache, now it only comforts you. Little things already undress your confidence. What will seeing him again do? What emotions will it beckon?

Misery leaks from your bones and into your bloodstream. The door opens to a vision of grace. In his clay-smeared jumpsuit, the sleeves wrapped around his waist and his bare chest exposed, he stares back at you. Though frozen from the winter air, you feel your face grow hot. Eyes shaking, you don’t know where to look. You’re not even sure if you can meet his gaze. It intensifies with every ticking second his long bangs fall over his lashes. He let it grow out? You’ve begged him to do so for months and once you’re apart he finally gives in? You knew he’d look good, maybe even better than his shorter cut.

The sight only confirms that you’ll never understand him. But, you suppose, you don’t have to. He’s not yours to understand anymore, not even as a friend. That statement should give you a sense of relief, but it only resurfaces the loneliness you’ve been ignoring for months.

Shakily sighing, you plaster a polite smile and greet, “Hey Tae.”

Taehyung parts his lips, but his voice catches. He stares back at you, gaze dancing up and down your frame. He drinks in the way your black dress pants hug your curves, and how you dare to wear a tube-top under your coat in the freezing weather. Gulping, Taehyung flashes you a kind, tight lipped smile and moves aside to welcome you in. His chain looped earring dangles with his movements. It’s such a simple antic, but you cannot fight off the familiar comfort in your chest upon catching it.

Each step back into his apartment fogs your mind with memories of joy and despair alike. Sometimes, those emotions rise in tandem during the same memory, within the same five minute time span. But other times, those memories are saturated with one emotion or the other. You two could never find that balance; not as lovers anyway, not as you thought.

“Make yourself at hom-” he cuts himself off just as the door shuts.

You turn to face him, raising a brow at his slip up. Funny how things circle back no matter how much either of you try to suppress them. This place has always felt like home to you. In fact, revisiting it proves that it still does. He just never let you make it official.

The gloom of four months ago has followed you back in here as well, it would seem. You gulp down the little scratch in your throat and try your best to flash a smile. His brows raise at the gesture. You assume a teeth braced wince paints your features instead.

Clearing his throat, Taehyung corrects himself, “Comfortable. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab you a hot drink to warm you up.” His gaze shifts to the slanted window over his little studio sectioned in the corner of his apartment. “It’s really coming down out there.”

Setting your clutch down on his work table, you nod. He glares at your action before looking back at you. You are fully aware of his distaste for you to dump your things near his work, even if it happens to be your own sculpting supplies. However, he distrubed your date tonight and that little slip up of his recalls more anger than you care to accept right now. Playing into his pet peeves is the very least you can do to show him that you’re not here for anything else but fixing his sculpture.

With a pleasant smile plastered on your lips, you peel your jacket off and set it down on the table as well. Taehyung sarcastically smirks then makes his way to the kitchen. You know you shouldn’t but you let your eyes linger on his frame and follow him around the kitchen while he prepares something for you. His shoulder blades flex as he reaches for a mug from the top shelf - a detail you always found makes you anxious because the cups can easily slip out of his hand from such a height and break.

He must feel your gaze as he glances back at you. “You must be freezing,” he comments.

Looking down at your half top, you shrug. “Not really. That’s what a jacket is for.” You shouldn’t sass. It always gets on his nerves. But, the way he regards you with such tamed hostility and smirks all knowingly, switches something in you. You cannot hold yourself back and he cannot expect to call you over here in the dead of night for help only to glare and sneer at you.

Out of sheer spite, you sit on one of the stools by the table and bend down to untie your thick heeled boots. He absolutely hates this. Sloppy and messy, is what he tells you when you come into the apartment with your shoes on and take them off near his studio. Taehyung stirs the contents of your mug, tossing daggers at you in his stares.

It is only now, in the thick silence, do you hear the soft voice of Sinatra through the vinyl player. Glancing over at the source, you recognize the album cover immediately. It’s the same one you gifted him for his birthday last year. His next one is in a couple of weeks. The realization unexpectedly twinges your heart with guilt. You feel as though you should have already bought his gift, and planned his party. It’s not your responsibility to do that anymore, but you want to and that’s enough for your tongue to coat with disgusted remorse.

“Want me to get you a sweater?” Taehyung asks.

You sit up straight at the close sound of his voice. He stands in front of you with the mug in his hands, glaring down at your boots. Kicking them off by the heel, you stare down at the puddle you’ve made beneath the chair. You should apologize but, instead, you thank him for the drink, take it from his hands, and make your way to the project he’s been working on. He mutters curses under his breath before cleaning up the mess you’ve made… As he should.

You smirk into your cup before taking a sip. Hot chocolate. It’s all he can make, or cares to make. And though it is not your favourite drink, he still prepares it to your specifications. Extra sweet and creamy, with a dash of ginger. Could the habits of your past be muscle memory he cannot shake either?

The answer never arrives as your thoughts halt at the sight of his sculpture. Though returned back onto its pedestal, the torso seems to have endured a terrible fall. He’s so careful about things like this. How could he have let it happen? Was the inner wiring he used too heavy? Did he not use enough slip, otherwise known as wet clay, to keep additions in place?

You bite the inside of your cheeks to school your features. Still, there is no hiding the truth. Especially when it’s right in front of you. Redemption is nonexistent. The sculpture is ruined. Tilting your head, you stare at the unfinished molding and try to figure out how to fix it without adding more clay, since he claimed on the phone that he doesn’t have enough to start over.

“Well?” He asks behind you.

Looking back at him, you take another sip then hand him the cup to hold. Taehyung accepts it, bringing the mug to his lips. The gesture is so simple, so casual that you almost miss it. He did it a lot when you two were together. You did it too. It was never a pet peeve but rather something you were proud of. It proved how close you two were, how well you meshed. Sharing food is common between lovers. Only now, that’s not at all what you are.

You stare at him, mouth gape. He licks his lips before taking another sip. The action repairs your heart only for your reality to wreck it all over again. Catching your eye, he raises his brows in confusion. You flicker your gaze between him and the cup, hoping the silent gesture is enough to return his senses.

Eyes widening, he holds the cup away from his face. “Oh,” he hums under his breath. “I’ll, uh, get you a new one.”

“Don’t bother,” you shrug before he can even turn towards the kitchen. “It’s not that big a deal.”

It is. You’re not his and neither is that hot chocolate. He should know better. He should pay attention more. He can see this all in your eyes as you continue to silently judge him. It’s not that big a deal, you repeat to yourself. The way his large eyes soften, the way he pouts is not that big a deal. You have a job to do, feelings to ignore, and a person to never see again. All you have to do is remold the clay and be on your way.

Finally returning your attention to the sculpture, you approach it while pulling your hair back. It’s rather large since he scaled it to be life-sized, so you assume he has some structural wiring in there to keep it in place when molding. You might have to take it out and remold the entire section. But maybe you can simply push the wiring back in place? However, if your theory about the wiring being too heavy is correct, you might face another smash to the floor. So it seems easier to just pull it all out.

“Is the clay still wet?” You ask before poking the shoulder.

It’s tacky, but that’s not enough to keep it from drying. You scan the room for the spray bottle, finding it behind you. Being a sculptor yourself, you know that the clay has to stay wet enough to be able to continue to add and mold it. Your scan of the room reflects that he is close to finishing the project. He has the muse’s head and arms wrapped in air-tight bags to keep them from drying. They just need to be slipped, slid, and smoothed into place. The details also need to be added, but for the most part, he’s just about done.

“If you’re gonna figure it out yourself, why did you ask me?” He sighs as he sets the mug down near a cup of paint water.

His tone is uncalled for. Nothing seems to have changed. He still has a temper and makes no effort to readjust his attitude. You toss him a glare over your shoulder. After spraying some water over the sculpture, you start to dig your fingers into the molding. Taehyung sucks in a sharp breath behind you. You can’t blame him for such a reaction. It must be very disturbing to watch someone else dig through your hard work.

You take off the clay bit by bit, looking for the metal structure wires he must’ve used to keep it all shaped well. However, as you place another chunk on the table, you begin to realize that the sculpture is not hollow, meaning wires have not been used. He simply ventilated the slab of clay to help air bubbles escape when it comes time to fire it.

Furrowing your brows, you look over at him in confusion. He leans back against his work table with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you. Is this a joke? He doesn’t need your help. He could’ve dug through the smushed clay and remorphed it himself. He’s more experienced than you are; he should’ve known this.

Your anger begins to fester in your chest. He must’ve heard. You still share some mutual friends, so he must’ve heard down the line that you were going out with somebody else tonight. Your outfit of choice is a clear indicator as well. He found out about your date, your first date in the last four months you’ve been broken up, and just needed to ruin it for you. Fuck, you can’t believe you seriously bought his lies again. It’s that stupid voice of his. So deep and soulful, you can never resist it’s lulling temptations.

“What?” Taehyung pushes himself off the table and walks towards you. “You’re pouting like you always do just before you’re about to shout. Is it that bad?”

Is that what he’s doing now? He’s trying to remind you how well he knows you, how well he can read you? If this is just another reminder that no one is like him, you just might prove him right and scream out of frustration. Huffing, you roll your eyes at him. No matter how much your heart flips and flutters at his concern, you will not fall for his stupid games.

He watches in confusion as you clean your hands off with a cloth. “God, (Y/N), what is it? I thought you said you knew how to do this.”

With a dry chuckle, you shake your head and mumble, “You’re still the same liar you’ve always been, Taehyung.”

The perplexed sculptor narrows his eyes. “What did I tell you about mumbling?” He questions in a grumble. “And what the hell are you going on about anyways?”

His tendency to be a walking contradiction will never cease to irk you. He tells you not to mumble then does it himself. Just another pet peeve he’s instilled in you that you can never shake. Then there’s the continuous lies he can never seem to stop telling. For once, why can’t he just be honest?

You toss the dirty cloth at him and make your way to his precious work table only to find that he moved your things to the chair by the door. You rush in that direction instead, and Taehyung follows not too far behind. “I can’t believe you’re still pulling this shit even when it’s over,” you scoff with a shake of your head. “You made it seem like you had no idea what to do. You guilted me into coming back here and for what? To ruin the first night I stopped thinking about you? Well, congratulations,” you drily chuckle as you grab your clutch and turn to face him. “You’ve ruined my night and my date.”

Taehyung pauses mid stride. “Oh,” he rasps, eyes roaming over your body once more. “You had a date tonight?”

Eyes wide, softened, and wet, his next words catch in his throat. All you can make out is a quiet rasp. It’s a convincing act, but you know him well enough to spot his feigned innocence from a mile away. Setting your jaw, you shake your head and sigh, “Not any more.”

You reach for your jacket, but Taehyung is quicker. He snatches it first and holds it behind him. You open your mouth to curse at him when he rushes to say, “Wait, wait.” Hand on your waist, he holds you still.

You freeze under his palm. He’s barely used much force. It’s the simple touch itself that sends you into a trance. The memories of being pinned beneath him, or guided into grinding against his hips rush back to you. Breath hitching, you try to wipe the affection from your features. The searching look in his eyes tells you how bad of a job you’re doing.

“I could fix it myself, but not by myself,” he clarifies. “I just didn’t know how to get you here without making it seem like it’s a complete disaster. Be honest, (Y/N), if I told you I wanted you to sculpt with me you wouldn’t have shown up.”

Be honest. When the fuck have you ever lied to him? The question is tempting to ask, sitting right on the tip of your tongue actually, but you can already tell that you’ve made your annoyance known as concern swims in his eyes. He’s trying to find where he went wrong in his explanation. He’s never done that before. He never notices your discomfort during a fight, but always after the fact. That’s enough to have you consider his explanation, to consider the fact that maybe he has not changed completely, but he’s trying. Perhaps you should start trying too.

Besides, he’s not wrong. If he didn’t make it seem like it was irreversible, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation over or even thought about ditching your date. Chewing on your lip, you sigh and nod. “Fine, I’ll help you fix it.”

A relieved smile plays on his lips. He removes his hand from your waist, muttering a quiet apology then returns your jacket onto the chair. You set your clutch down on there as well, nowhere near his work, and follow him back to the sculpture. He sprays it down as you take another couple of sips from your hot chocolate.

“When is this due?” You ask as you set the mug down.

Taehyung’s gaze shakes. “At nine,” he reluctantly replies. He sets the spray bottle down. You stare at him in confusion.

The time is both seemingly vague and specific. You furrow your brows, blinking rapidly in hopes that you can reprocess the information for more clarity. When that doesn’t work, you ask, “Tonight?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Thirteen hours? That’s all you two have to remold and detail a life-sized sculpture. This information alone would’ve had you running to help as well. Why didn’t he just tell you this? Why did he have to lie? No, nevermind his lies. You both have thirteen hours to remold the base, attach the head and arms, and add all the details on all four pieces. It may seem like a lot of time but you also have to let the clay sit for a few hours before firing. However, with a sculpture this large, it might need at least three days to dry. How did he expect to finish the rest on his own?

Nothing is adding up. You know Taehyung very well. You’ve shared sculpting classes countless times. His work comes first; always. He sketches and prepares months in advance for a project since the clay can crack or explode during its bake. How could he not have done the same thing here? He should’ve started this at least four months ago… oh.

Taehyung spares you a nervous glance. He can see the realization of his own reality in your eyes. You swallow thickly, knowing you should just pretend that you haven’t noticed anything. Still, you say, “Tae, we both know that’s not enough time. Even if we split the work, it still needs-”

“Don’t worry about that,” he mumbles. His hands smooth over every chunk of clay he reapplies. “Let’s just piece it all together, okay?”

There is a lot you have to force yourself to ignore in his words and tone. He mumbles orders, and expects you to follow. His voice is deep and cold. He gives you his back while he speaks. It’s but another pet peeve of his that makes you want to pull your own hair out. However, most of all, you have to force yourself to ignore how painful it is. Seeing him again, only an arm’s length away, crumbles your anger and hearing his voice reminds you that he still holds every bit of your heart. You have to blink your tears back at the realization. This idea reeked the moment you considered it. But, you can never stop yourself when it comes to him. A year of friendship and two of love; how can you forget all of that in four months?

Taehyung turns to you, his eyes trailing up from your hips to your chest where they linger. Flickering his gaze back up to yours, he offers a tight-lipped smile. You fail to find it in you to return it. He sighs. Hands by his side, voice heavy with sincerity, he says, “I won’t force you to stay, babe- (Y/N).” His slip up has him frozen in place as well. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I need to get this done and you’re the only other person I know who knows how I like it.”

The familiar pet name gives you pause, but the end of that sentence has you hot all over. Your eyes widen at the alternate implication of his words and you can’t help but choke on your next intake of air.

Taehyung’s expression mirrors yours. Face reddening, he’s quick to correct himself. “No, no, I just mean artistically.”

You cannot find the words to say something, anything to make this situation better. Lips parted, all you can voice are quiet croaks of uncertainty. His large eyes, wide with anxiety, watch you carefully. He’s clearly unsure of how else to soothe your discomfort. He goes to say something else but the words fall short. The scene has your skin crawling with shivers. Shaking your head, you walk around him to smooth out the clay he remolded.

“I’ll fix her waist. I think you should get started on the details,” you say, hoping his words can just fizzle away along with the awkward silence that has fallen over the both of you.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. His eyes remain trained on you for a moment, watching as you match the sculpture’s left side to her right. Then, he circles around you and makes his way to his work table.

Though you should be focused on your work, you still have one eye on Taehyung. The jumpsuit sits low on his hips, and his back is bare of any scratches. Your lasting desire to mark up the blank canvas of his back tightens your core. You can feel your black pants dampening at the thought alone. Your hand gently presses into the mold, smoothing out every piece you add.

With Sinatra’s calm voice circling around the room, you and Taehyung fall into a comfortable silence. The rhythm of your actions, the way you move around each other is like muscle memory. You can subconsciously anticipate the other’s next move and react accordingly. He hands you tools before you need to ask and you accept them without a second thought. It’s easy, comfortable, and so familiar that you almost forget he ruined your plans tonight.

Taking a step back, you wipe your wrist over your brow then assess your work. You’ve been trying to sculpt one of the figure’s breasts, adding clay and rounding out the mold. However, it seems like you’ve undershot a bit and made one mound a bit smaller than the other. You sigh and reach for more clay when Taehyung interjects.

“Leave it,” he says from his place beside you.

When did he step back too? He was just detailing one of the sculpture’s hands. “They’re uneven,” you point.

He smirks. “I like them that way.”

His eyes flicker to your chest again before meeting your gaze once more. You shouldn’t look into that gesture too much, but you do. He can’t say something like that, stare at your breasts suggestively and think you wouldn’t notice. Unless, he wants you to notice. You start to wonder how often he’s thought about your breasts and why he feels the need to incorporate them into his project.

While you remain standing in your place, Taehyung returns to his crouched position and continues his work. You can’t bring yourself to move just yet. You stare at the sculpture, at the curve of her stomach and dip of her waist. She’s full-figured and even has stretch marks on her hips, well the side that has not met the floor still has stretch marks. You need to add them on the other side. But, the shape of her body just looks all too familiar.

No, no, it can’t be. He didn’t sculpt your naked body entirely from memory. And why should he? You’re not a couple and he’s made it clear during those four months of silence that he doesn’t want anything to do with you either. No, this is merely just some consequence. You sigh and get back to work. Those thoughts completely boarded shut out of your mind.

“Were you having fun?” He suddenly asks, standing up to start detailing the sculpture’s breasts.

You glance up at him, about to ask what he means when you remember the date. “Oh,” you hum. You’re not sure how much to tell him, or if you should even entertain him with an answer at all. He’s obviously still affected by the break up if he let it get in the way of his project timeline. What was your date’s name anyway? Morgan, Mac, Mark- Mark! Yes, it was Mark something or maybe something Mark. Fuck, you can’t even remember his name. You’re not even sure where you met up for drinks.

Taehyung pauses his sculpting around the figure’s nipple. He chances a quick look at you, raising a brow. “That bad?” He teases with a playful smile.

His light-hearted tone shocks you out of your thoughts. Maybe you read the situation wrong. Maybe he is over you. Otherwise, why would he ask you about your date so casually, like you two were friends? Or maybe… he’s seeing someone else himself? Sumni did ask for your permission to date him. She was so kind and understanding in her questioning that you couldn’t refuse her. Even if it was a week ago, she would have already talked to him by now and they could’ve already gone on their own date. The sheer thought of Taehyung dating around makes your throat tighten and stomach ache.

“I didn’t stay long enough to make up my mind,” you reply, trying your best not to mumble. Your voice is small though, and tone shot by misery. A wave of hopelessness washes over you at how final everything between you and him feels again. “I don’t think he’s for me though.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgment or understanding? You don’t know. You can’t pull yourself out of your self pity long enough to decipher it. “Poor guy,” he mutters as he picks up where he left off on the sculpture’s breast.

You carve uneven lines on the figure’s hips, recreating some stretch marks like he had done to the other side. Raising your brows, you question, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs a single shoulder. “I just know what it’s like to lose someone as great as you,” he explains in a near whisper. “The poor guy is gonna lose his mind.”

Tears sting your eyes. He can’t do this. He can’t guilt you for leaving him, not when you both know that it’s just as much his fault as it is yours. Still, even in the midst of pain, the kindness laced in his words tugs the corners of your lips into a small smile. Is that what happened to him? Did this poor guy, this poor little sculptor lose his mind when he lost you?

You toss him a sidelong glance, whispering, “He’ll survive.”

“He can only pray to.”

What is this? What is he trying to say? So he regrets the way that things ended, perhaps even that they ended entirely. Does he think you don’t? Nothing can change how you feel for him. Nothing can hide how badly you wish you can still call him your own. But, he said it himself. He does not want you around, in such close proximity to him anymore. Two years into, what you thought was, a serious relationship and he does not want you living with him.

“I’ll grow tired of us,” he said. Or does he not remember? Did he forget how he promised he’d get you a key, or help you pack? Did he forget how high he got your hopes? Has the fear of getting bored of your company finally withered away?

What does it even matter now? You both said things you haven’t even attempted to take back. Not a single apology has been issued either. Whatever relationship you once had is gone. You can never get it back. Still, you don’t have the stomach to break it to him. You can’t destroy the last little bit of hope he has in you. You can’t find it in you to tell him that no amount of prayer will get you to willingly return to such a relationship.

“He hasn’t been in my company for too long to miss me. Actually, I’m worried he’s already grown tired of it,” you reply. Guilt immediately sheds your pettiness. You know you shouldn’t have said that. Though, he did egg you on. How could he have expected to bring up such a subject and think that you wouldn’t retaliate?

Taehyung tenses and shifts his jaw, giving the impression that he’s chewing gum, and turns to glare at you. From experience alone, you know very well that when Taehyung chews on his imaginary piece of gum, he’s either cocky, pissed or both. This time he has tears glassing over his eyes. Shame cringes your heart. You can’t bring yourself to look at him again. Getting even does not feel as dignifying as you thought it would. You cannot even find a shred of pleasure in seeing him so speechless.

Parting your lips, you try to soothe the sting of your words, only they all fall short. Every time you try to recollect them, they wither away. It’s almost like your mind is warning you from worsening the situation. But the silence is deafening. Sinatra's voice cannot even fill it. His disappointment is too loud; the shattering of his heart like an explosion. And your pain can never shut up. All you can hear is how miserable your soul is and how depressed your heart becomes upon every glance his way. It’s the soft look in his eyes, even when he’s glaring, and the little scrunch of his nose.

With a deep breath, you turn back to the sculpture to keep your hands busy. As you use the pad of your pinkie to smoothen out the stretch mark lines you’ve carved, you say, “We had a drink. That’s as far as we got.”

Taehyung clears his throat. His hands pick up where they left off around the nipple. “Had I known you were out, I wouldn’t have called,” he sighs.

You try not to scoff, particularly because he sounds surprisingly sincere. Sneaking a glance up at him from your squatting position on the floor, you try to search for his usual tell-tale signs. He always blinks one too many times in the same two minute span when he’s lying, that’s if he’ll even meet your gaze. He’s already looking at you when you begin to search his features. He holds your stare and you start to worry that you wrongfully cursed him before when you were convinced that he knew.

“You really didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. “Why would anyone tell me you’re going on a date?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Would you want to hear that I have been on one?”

“Have you?”

Internally cringing, you snap your attention back on the sculpture. The question simply slipped out. He must know that. Of course you’re curious about his love life since you’ve left it, but you don’t need him to know that. And even if he was prying into your date tonight, you still don’t feel comfortable with him knowing that you’ve been wondering about him too, worrying that he’s found the love of his life and forgotten all about you.

Taehyung chuckles. “Do you really want to know?”

Three? Four? Five? How many dates did he have to go on to be able to ask such a question? You hold your breath the moment you feel your next intake waver. Running your tongue between the gaps of your teeth, you stand up and begin detailing the left breast.

“I’m not going to beg you,” you grumble under your breath while sculpting the nipple. Your eyes shift from the one you're working on to the one he perfected, making sure they’re at least even.

“Never had a problem with that before.”

He does not mutter it. He does not whisper it. He chuckles through the statement, cockiness dripping from his tone. Shooting him a glare, you find his jaw moving, the imaginary gum returning. Taehyung smirks at you, eyes dancing over your features like he’s figured you all out.

You raise your brows at him, lips slightly parted by a little smile. “Once again, Taehyung, your memory has miserably failed you,” you start only to widen his grin.

“How so?”

“You’ve been on your knees far more times than I’ve been on mine. You’ve whined louder too.”

He leans in, wrist against his stomach as he lets out a hearty laugh. You feel a rush of your arousal pool at your core just from the simple sound. Face growing hot, you realize how much you’ve missed this, missed him. He always laughed with his whole body, clutching onto you when clutching on his stomach never granted him any stability. Sometimes he’d brace his teeth in a boxy smile and let out his deep chuckles that way. So endearing, so cute, Taehyung would always loop you in his laughing fit as well.

Biting on the sides of your cheeks, you keep yourself from joining in this time. “Why is that so funny?”

Taehyung shakes his head at you as his laughter dies down. With a smile still gracing his features, he replies, “You’re always begging for me. Oh, I remember once you were on the table and you won’t let go of me and until I, and I quote, ‘rammed into you with the force of a thousand waterfalls.’”

Shit. You remember that day all too clearly. Taehyung had been painting and you were somewhere in the kitchen sketching his hands from a distance since he would always tease you about that. Somehow you found out he’d been painting you nude from memory and wanted to help him out. You began stripping for him, inching closer with every piece of clothing you shed. He watched you draw closer to him, and there was something about the way his eyes drank you in that you could not shake. It just made you giddy all over, dripping for his love by the time you were fully naked and within his reach. You were so horny, you said anything to make sure he ruined you.

Avoiding his eye, you reluctantly reply, “I do not recall.”

That statement tips him off immediately. His endearing innocence darkens; you don’t even need to look over to witness it happen. You can feel it. You can feel his demeanour change. Taehyung sets whatever tool he’s using down and towers over you. Stilling in place, you let him graze the bridge of his nose in your hair.

“Do you want me to remind you,” he whispers before pressing his lips to your ear, adding, “my muse?”

Knees all but trembling, you have to remind yourself to keep your eyes open. His warm breath fans over your skin, prickling goosebumps all over. His fingertips brush up the length of your spine, streaking your back with clay and leaving a chain of shiver in their wake. Then there’s that little pet name. Your soul shudders to hear it again while your core waters.

What does he even mean? How far is he willing to go to remind you how badly you wanted him?

Breath shaky, you gingerly meet his gaze. Noses brushing, you try to ignore how good he smells. His scent is always a cross between chalky clay and citrusy cherries. A whine threatens to slip out and you have to swallow thickly just to silence it. “You can try,” you whisper only to feel his hands on your hips.

The grey clay stains the hem of your black pants and a majority of your skin. Taehyung turns you towards him then presses himself against you. His semi-hard rubs against your stomach, making him groan. Seems like he’s falling apart faster than you are. Did he miss this too? Miss the way you smell, the way it feels to be near you again?

You rest your arms on his shoulders and he guides you around and back to his work table. It’s almost like a little dance, with the quiet music still playing in the background. Faces only a breath apart, the temptation to kiss him only grows. But giving in would only prove him right. After so many months, you cannot grant him this victory of being right, especially since he was the one in the wrong when you left.

When the back of your thighs meet the edge of the table, Taehyung shifts his hands down to your ass, gripping tightly and he lifts you up against him and onto the table. You have to choke back a moan just from the rough grip. Your lips brush against each other’s, but neither one of you is willing to bite the bullet first.

“Any of this familiar yet?” Taehyung asks. His voice is almost an octave deeper, saturated in lust and desire.

Smirking, you shake your head.

Taehyung tongues his cheek and cocks a brow. He leans back a bit, hands circling around your waist to rest on your thick thighs. His cocky grin widens as he pushes them further apart. One of his hands shifts up to your crotch, thumb grazing the seams. Face lighting up, Taehyung glances down at your crotch and brushes over it once more.

“No panites?” He questions with a chuckle. “This is looking more and more like that night then I thought it would.”

The confidence he oozes should annoy you, but you find yourself only spreading your legs further for him. Whenever he’s acting this egotistic, you cannot help but respond to it by giving yourself to him. This is a fact he knows well and uses to his advantage any time he’s ever felt like it.

You try to keep your wits about you, saying, “I wouldn’t know.”

Taehyung suddenly leans in. Your breath hitches at the realization that he’s swallowing his pride, that he’s finally going to kiss you. You’ve been dreaming about his lips for months, wondering how you’d be able to find someone else who just fits ever so perfectly against your lips. Eyes fluttering closed, lips in a faint pucker, you’ve inhaled deeply only to have him kiss your chin. He chuckles quietly against your skin, licking his way to your jawline all while leaving you breathless.

“You’re about to,” he growls.

As your body is in the midst of reacting, he somehow digs his nails into the seams of your pants and tears them apart. You gasp, shifting your hands from his shoulder to the edge of the table. You cannot help but stare down at the tear in amazement. Questions on how and why die in your throat when you find that Taehyung’s attention is not even on you anymore. He’s tightening his grip on your thighs and gazes down at your pussy. It pulses under his gaze, much to his own amazement.

Squatting down, he licks his lips at this new angle. “Well, fuck,” he whispers. “How long have you needed me?”

Four months, you wish you had the courage to say. Instead you breathlessly reply, “I’m not sure this is what happened that night.”

“How would you know? I thought you didn’t remember.”

He’s only teasing but his tone is accusatory. You already know it’s because you’ve refused to answer his previous question. And your decision to talk back only adds to his shift in demeanour. Once cheeky, his features darken into something closer to vexation. You’ve pushed the wrong buttons it would seem.

Narrowing his eyes, he orders, “Tell me, my muse. Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Pressing your lips together in a fine line, you refuse to make another sound, let alone utter another word. You’ll be damned if you have to admit that you regret walking away, that you cannot even remember the details of your date because all you could think about was everything he would do differently. Having to admit that for the last four months all you’ve been able to do is touch yourself to the thought of him or cry wouldn’t just be motifying but shameful and pathetic.

With a slow nod, Taehyung sighs. You think this is it. He’s ripped your pants apart, looked at every inch of your barest part, and teased you all for nothing. You’d maybe ask to borrow some pants, and he might give you some. But, other than that, nothing would’ve come from this interaction. The flirty comments and knowing looks would disappear with your relationship, this you feel you are sure of.

Then, he plays against your expectations; something you should have expected. Just when you’re about to bring your legs together, Taehyung spreads them apart further and shoves his face between them. He cannot use his hands there since they are covered in clay and, it seems, he also refuses to use his tongue. You cannot hold back the moans that pour out of you with every ministration. Merely smearing his face into your heat, Taehyung teases your clit. The bridge of his nose trails between your folds, lips pressing wet kisses to your tightening hole. From left to right, he shakes his face against your pussy.

You buck your hips against his lips, lacking shame and restraint. “Tae,” you moan, voice breaking.

Taehyung pulls away. Heaving and eyes half-lidded, he smirks up at you. He’s drenched in your arousal, looking like the cat who got the cream. “How long?” He mewls.

“Gimme your tongue,” you whine.

Taehyung mockly pouts up at you. He always looks prettiest on his knees, pretending to be in charge from such a degrading position. “Would you tell me then, babe?”

Your hips inadvertently roll at the pet name. You love it when he babies you like that, when he makes you feel so precious and fragile even though you both know you can rule over anything you want. Hesitantly, you nod. He raises a brow, waiting for verbal confirmation that you’ll tell him once he gives you his tongue.

With a little shrug of a single shoulder, you reply, “Why don’t you give it a try, TaeTae.”

His left eye twitches. You know exactly how that name affects him. His anger and powerful demeanor tremble when you dwell on him like that. He doesn’t need to tell you that he’s suddenly yours to overtake; his large eyes do the trick.

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Taehyung cleans his mouth from you. One little taste and his pupils expand, blown by lust and hunger. You don’t have to waste anymore time convincing him that you’d answer his question if he goes down on you. Your taste seems to be enough of a factor, in itself. He dips his head back in, tongue out this time. The tip pushes through your hole, lapping up your pooling juices. Leaning back on your hands, you gasp a loud moan. He knows his way around so well. One flick up, and your toes are curling. No amount of time apart has disturbed his memory of you. This may have been something you noticed while sculpting but now you can feel it. Tongue in and out, warm and wet, Taehyung explores your pussy like it’s his first time, only he knows everything about it.

You want to tangle your fingers in his hair, to see how the long strands feel in your hand, but they’re covered in clay too. And you know from experience just how hard it is to get clay out of hair. Once it completely dries, it almost seems like the only other option is to cut it all out. So, instead, you just dig your nails into the table, engraving your presence in the wood.

Rolling your hips into his face, you cry out your pleasure. Your legs are shaking, squeezing around his face, but he can’t seem to care any less. In fact, judging by his groans and growls, he seems to love the suffocation. He even pushes your legs further against his cheeks. Freezing in place, Taehyung only allows his tongue to continue to swirl around your pussy. His fingers harshly press into your thighs, sure to leave bruises, but you don’t care. Having him mark you up just like when you were together, is enough to make your eyes roll back.

You’re so, so close. Pussy clenching, his tongue still pushes its way in. He’s determined to see you through, to have you unfold right in his hands so hard that he still won’t breathe. And though you start to worry a bit, you cannot really pay attention to anything else besides the pleasure.

“Oh, Tae,” you cry. Voice breathy and high-pitched, it’s only a matter of time before-

It hits you hard, fast, and completely off guard. You have felt it growing and knotting in the pit of your stomach, but have no idea it would rush at you this harshly that you completely fall back on the table. Body convulsing, you scream and cream all over his tongue, mouth, and chin. His entire face will smell like you for days.

Taehyung forces your tightening legs apart, gasping for air. Gazing up at you, he sticks his tongue out and against your clit. He’s determined to help you ride out your high and nods his head up and down. You watch him through blurry vision, shamelessly rocking your hips up to meet him halfway. Or, at least you try to. Soon, you become all too sensitive to even hold his gaze, let alone grind against his tongue.

You fight against his hold on your legs, whining loudly. “Okay, okay,” you gasp as you try to seat yourself up.

He doesn’t care. That once yielding look in his eyes flashes into a demanding one. Seeing you so helpless under him shocks him with power once again. “One more time,” he pants against your heat.

“TaeTae,” you mewl, attempting to manipulate your way out of this overstimulated feast.

However, the use of the name this time, only spurs him on. He knows what you’re trying to do and doesn’t at all find it amusing. This time when he repeats his words, he growls, “One more time!”

Lips suctioning around your clit, he harshly sucks. Slurping and swallowing everything you have to offer, Taehyung holds your gaze. You’re a trembling mess. Tears falling freely down your face, you curse him three times over and buck your hips against his mouth. He finds the entire sight so humorous, he can’t help but smirk.

You’re still his little toy, a play thing for him to fool around with and test out some kinks on. The realization should make you curse him again and again, but you can only play into it. Pouting and mewling, you’ve fully sold yourself out just so Taehyung is well fed with your juices.

This is the peak of his games, you think. This is as far as he will go and you expect that you’ll cum in another minute or so. But then his teeth graze your clit once, twice, three times. You come undone within seconds. Arching your back, you let out the neediest cry you’ve ever heard and pathetically cum against his chin. The shudders and shivers of your body are beyond your control, as is your broken voice and any lasting grip you thought you had on reality.

As if biting and sucking your clit isn’t mindbreaking enough, Taehyung dips his tongue back in you to sneak another taste. “Taehyung, please,” you beg. “Please!”

He finally lets up, removing his face from your sopping heat and releasing his hold on your legs. You instantly bring them together and hug them into your chest. Heaving and shedding your last few tears, you try to recompose yourself and the silent atmosphere you once shared while sculpting.

“Strange,” he starts, returning to his feet. He takes his hands in yours, slowly unwrapping the hug you’ve cocooned yourself in. “It sounds a lot like that night. But, that’s not at all what I was doing then to make you this needy.”

To anyone else, you would've looked fucked out and completely ruined. But Taehyung knows that’s not at all the case. He has tested your stamina enough to know that you can most likely go for another round or two. Pulling your legs apart, he stands between them then helps sit you back up.

Faces inches away, you exchange breaths. “How long have you been this needy, my muse?” He asks again.

He really does smell like you. His cheeks, nose, chin, and lips are smeared with your cum. It doesn’t even look like he was feasting. It almost looks like he just wanted to cover his face with your juices. Gulping, you consider his question. You did insinuate that you’d answer the question if he gave you his tongue. And, holy fuck, did he give it to you. However, an insinuation is not a promise. He made that clear during your last argument.

“I don’t remember promising anything,” you whisper in a light pant.

The pain in his eyes cannot be neither mistaken nor missed. Echoing his words all these months later, surely recalls suppressed emotions of misery and betrayal for the both of you. He sneers a smirk, glaring at your lips. “Your memory has failed you,” he hisses. Gripping onto your hips, marking you there with bruises as well, he adds, “But, I won’t.”

“Not again, anyway.”

You sound colder than he does which causes him to hesitate for a moment. His hands fall by his sides as he searches your face for some sort of confirmation to continue. He almost seems like he’s not sure if he really wants to pick up where he left off too, seeing that you’re still upset with him. The guilt of seeing him so fragile and wounded eats away the majority of your anger. But, if he thinks he’s the only one struggling to make sense of this break up, he’s wrong.

Right now, the only way you can think of showing that to him is by first displaying your eagerness to continue in this sexual stroll down memory lane. You lean forward, brushing the tip of your nose against his, and reach down to his crotch. The dent in his jumpsuit throbs in your hand. His hard cock all but pulses under your palm as you rub at it. His breath hitches. You then untie the sleeves of his jumpsuit and watch carefully as his cock comes back into view. Fuck, you’ve forgotten just how pretty it is when it’s all pink tipped and desperate to be pumped. He shifts a bit, you assume to step out of the jumpsuit, and resettles his hands back on your waist.

Not another moment of uncertainty stands between you anymore. Swallowing his pride, Taehyung kisses you first. Lips on lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue has you moaning already. He seems to take this as a sign to let himself go as well. He pulls you closer to the edge of the table and rolls his hips into yours. The length of his dick rubs between your folds, but he doesn’t enter. Not yet. He simply teases the idea of entering, of ruining you.

But, you’re too overstimulated to enjoy it in its entirety. Your legs resume their little shudders at the tiniest bit of friction when his cock just happens to brush against your clit. Taehyung, upon noticing this, makes sure to touch it with every new grind against you. He smirks when you whimper into his mouth and chuckles a bit when you break the kiss to whine his name.

“What is it, baby,” he coos. He grounds his hips harder into yours, erupting moans from the both of you. “Ah, shit, I could just cum like this,” he hisses as his mouth hovers over yours.

A little smirk tugs on your lips at his words. Yes, you may be helplessly falling apart with every passing second. However, watching him come undone from the impression of your pussy against his cock, is a rather prideful moment. You tilt your head and begin peppering his chin and cheeks with open mouthed kisses, staining his face with your saliva now as well as your cum.

“Then, just cum, TaeTae,” you whine.

Perhaps if you didn’t sound so desperate, he probably would’ve switched back into his own submissive state. But, it’s the squeal in your voice and mischief in your tone that only drives him further down his power trip. He pulls away a bit, holding your horny gaze with an unimpressed one of his own. He realigns his hips as his jaw shifts. He’s pretending to chew gum again. Holy shit, he’s going to fuck you senseless.

He does not push into you though. Instead, he pulls you onto him by the deadly grip he has on your hips. You stare up at him as a loud cry escapes you with every inch that stretches your walls. Taehyung looks back with very little remorse in his eyes. The sight of you so small in his arms, whipped for his cock, makes his tip twitch a bit. But he is not immune to the action of entering you, sucking in a sharp breath.

“I can’t believe I forgot how tight you were,” he whispers, voice breaking.

And you thought you could never forget how big he is, but here you are. Eyes rolling back, you relish in his size like it the first time. “Big,” you mewl as he bottoms out. “Tae, you’re so big.” You sound just as broken as he does.

He cannot even find it in him to be cocky about it. He hears the realization in your voice. He knows you’ve forgotten too. A flash of pain twinkles in his eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and whisper. “Remind me, Taehyung.” His brows quirk up and you add, “Remind me how good you make me feel. And I’ll remind you the same.”

Taehyung presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. Then, his hips snap in action. Holding you close, he starts hard and fast. He’s naked and growling into your ear with every thrust. You’re clothed and whining with every rumble of his chest and jerk of his hips. You didn’t even have to beg to bring out such a feral side of him. Could it be that he’s looking for the same thing you are? A lost lover?

Clay smeared fingers pressing into his skin, you push away that thought and scratch at his back. That once blank canvas of muscle and skin will now be lined with your lov- lust. This is just lust. You have to remind yourself of this fact every time he pushes into you.

He quietly hisses with each streak until he pauses his thrusts. You pout, leaning back a bit to ask if anything is wrong. But before you can even part your lips, Taehyung is readjusting his grip from your hips to your tube top.

“You’re a fucking slut to dress like this for him,” he growls. Then, in one swift motion, he pulls it down. You gasp as your breasts spill out, not out of exposure, but simply shock. He grips onto the rolled down top and smirks. “They’re a little uneven,” he points out. “But, I like that about them. Does he too? Does he get to see you like this, slut?”

You’ve got it wrong. It’s not your use of his nickname that has sent him spiralling into a pit of dominance, but rather that you went out to see another man. Is that why he ripped your pants apart? He’s destroying the outfit he thinks you wore for somebody else. Not only that, but his words only confirm that he is indeed sculpting you. All from memory, Taehyung has been molding your naked body down to the precise imperfection of your slightly uneven breasts.

And while you’re still trying to make sense of it all, he slaps one of them causing you to moan and throw your head back. Taehyung grabs a hold of your chin and drags your head back down to meet his gaze. “Answer me,” he seethes. “How much of you does he have?”

“None!” You shout. Your breathing is uneven, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat to continue, “I don’t even remember his name; he’s irrelevant.”

Taehyung circles his hips around yours, clearly pleased with your reply. But he does not pick up where he left off. “You haven’t been able to remember a lot tonight. Is that all irrelevant to you too?”

The shake of your head is reactive. You barely even had to think about it. This act of pretending that you don’t feel anything for him anymore has clearly fallen. “That’s not it, Taehyung,” you whine, hooking a leg around his waist. He wipes the tears streaming down your face as you continue, “I just didn’t want to remember us.”

Licking his lips, Taehyung slowly pulls out and eases himself back in. You tremble, watery eyes twitching in bliss. “Tell me how long you’ve been needy, baby,” he whispers.

“Have I not said enough already?”

You clutch onto his biceps and buck your hips up to meet his. He gasps, unable to hide his smile. You can tell he wants to finish this conversation but, with the way your walls are tightening around him, he doesn’t seem like he’s able to. One look in his eyes and you can tell he’s consumed by the pleasure all too much to reply.

Taehyung lets one hand fall to his side when he starts to pick up his pace. You shift one of your hands to his shoulders while the other holds onto the table’s edge. He holds you by the grip he has on your rolled tube top and smacks his hips against yours. It’s almost as if he’s riding a horse with the way he’s fucking you. And if you don’t whine loud enough, he’d slap each of your tits and force those screams out of you, growling, “You can do better than that.”

Removing your hands off him and back to the table, you accidentally rest your hand on one of his palettes. You gasp, looking over to find your hand smeared with blue and yellow hues. Taehyung laughs and rams into you faster. “You’re just making a mess wherever you go, hmm?” he teases.

You pout. He’s having too much fun making a mockery of you. Granted, you’re loving the attention, the way he’s fucking you into submission and realization, but you cannot let all this go to his head too much. As he smacks your breasts once more, nipples a little raw as they sting, you wipe your hand on him, down from his cheek to his collarbone.

He gasps, but his hips never stutter. Before you can even register his actions, Taehyung readjusts his grip from your top to your breasts and shoves his face between them. He transfers the swirl of dark blue and gold all over you as he fucks you as senseless as you predicted.

And as he playfully punishes you, blowing raspberries into your chest, you find yourself missing this, missing him. How could you have forgotten he likes to get playful, that he can switch between his two demeanours so seamlessly? He giggles when he pushes your breast into his face and further stains them with paint.

“The only one making a mess is you,” you rush to whine as your impending orgasm nears.

Dipping your hand in more paint, you rub the colours on his back and shoulders. You’re going to colour him yours if this is the last thing the two of you do together. Paint on his skin, in his hair, all over him, you’re going to make your impression here last through all the moans and whines and lewd slouches of your sensitive wetness around him.

Taehyung kisses his way up to your lips. He slips his tongue in once he reaches them and rolls his hips into you particularly harder than before. He can feel that he’s got you trailing the edge of your high. Thrust upwards, Taehyung reaches your most sensitive place. Every ram into it makes you shudder, toes curling and moans pouring into his mouth. One of his hands shifts up to your breast, massaging the smeared paint in, while the other holds your hips in place.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whines against your lips. “Come back to me.”

He can’t do this. He can’t beg you to come back with his dick shoved so deep in you like this. You’re so fucking close and he knows this. He can feel every inch of you tighten around him and desperate to be released. It’s cruel of him to manipulate you like this, to kiss you like he’s lost in the moment when he’s really just lost in you.

Kissing his way to your ear, Taehyung feels your pussy quiver. He smirks, thrusting hard enough to move the table back, and growls in your ear, “Come back to me, my muse. Cum.”

You fall back onto the table, body a total shaking shock as your orgasm washes over every inch of you. With one hand trembling over your lips, your other grabs onto one of your tits in an effort to brace yourself from the rush of ecstasy that overcomes you. The moans and whines that leave you are no exception to your convulsing state. Their breathless, broken, and blaring as you practically scream out in bliss.

Taehyung enjoys the show, watching you forget how to breathe from his place between your legs. He’s still going fast and hard, groaning when he feels you coat his cock in your cum. Mesmerized by the sight of your unheld breast bouncing with each of his thrust, he slaps it. You squeal at the sting.

And as you try to look at him, still riding out your orgasm, Taehyung’s cock twitches only to paint your inner walls with his missed affections. He falls forward, over you, burying his face between your tits again. You push them into his face and shake them against his cheeks, hearing him growl over your heart.

At some point, he stops thrusting and opts to circling his hips into yours. It’s all the same to you. Your legs continue to shake and your heart still races. Drenched in sweat, paint, and clay, you two lie there for a second longer. Even while growing limp, Taehyung feels so full in you.

He peels himself off you. His face, glistening in paint, looks like Van Gogh’s starry night, his eyes being the sparkling stars. He smirks down at you before trailing his gaze lower. That smile falls with every part of you he realizes he has ruined. Your chest is exposed and covered in colours, shirt non existent, pants clay stained and torn straight down the middle, and pussy a sopping mess of your mixed cum when he pulls out.

“I did make a mess,” he pants.

One step back, then two, then three. He distances himself from you as if ashamed of his work. You slowly sit up and cross your legs. Already, they feel strained and sore. But, they’re the least of your worries. It's the way that Taehyung winces at the sight of you, that has your heart somersaulting into your stomach. You swallow thickly between heaving pants and watch him carefully. He’s completely bare and looks even more broke than you do. His gaze looks vague and face sickly. Shaking his head, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair. He looks so annoyed with himself, he cannot even find it in him to laugh at the fact that he only got more paint in his hair.

Crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself up a bit, you say, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He blinks repeatedly, snapping his attention back up at you. “Why aren’t you disturbed by this?” He questions, voice all but breaking.

Your eyes scan up and down his frame before your brows knit together in confusion. Is he referring to his naked body, or that the two of you just came to the thought of dating each other again? Still, why is either of those things worth being disturbed over? A naked Taehyung post sex has never been a bad sight and, though things did end horribly, the thought of being with him again doesn’t seem so bad now. Did he not mean it when he asked you to come back? Was it just something to get off to? Are you just something to get off to?

“What?” You whisper now that your anxious train of thought has robbed your voice.

“Aren’t you dating?” He clarifies. “That poor guy. I can’t believe I just let us do that.”

You’ve never seen him this distressed. He walks back to you, just to grab his jumpsuit and briefs. He can’t even bear to look at you as you stare back at him in complete confusion. What does he think happened here? That you cheated? Clenching your jaw, you can't believe that he could think that low of you. Then again, you never did blatantly say that it was your first date since the break up. In fact, now that you think about it, you did make it seem like you were in a relationship with someone else.

Taehyung hastily gets dressed as you try to hop off the table without falling on your face from how weak your legs are after such a fucking. “Tae,” you start only to have him walk away. With a sigh, you call after him. He ignores you.

What the hell are you supposed to do now? You sure as hell can’t follow him with your legs so sore and he doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. And even if you could walk, your clothes are ruined and it would take a while for an uber to get here with all the snow coming down out there. The distant spray of the shower directs your attention to the hallway Taehyung escaped down to get away from you. Great, he’s showering and left you here to figure this all out yourself.

Taking a seat on the floor, you decide to give your legs a moment to rest before ordering yourself an uber and hoping that this night ends soon. You should’ve listened to your gut and rejected his call. You shouldn’t have agreed to this, or come here, or let him remind you just how much you miss and love him. All you ever wanted was- is him. If it haven’t been for this whole stupid issue about moving in, you’d still have him.

But, no. You had to force him into a step he wasn’t ready for. You lost him then and you came back to watch yourself lose him again. Is that it? Is that why you didn’t even explain yourself to the poor guy that was sitting across from you at Rollos. Yes, Rollos; that’s where you went for drinks. Wow, your memory really hasn’t served you well tonight. You hope you forget this tomorrow. You hope you'll be able to forget how pathetic you feel, how hurt he sounds, and how you lost him all over again.

“Get up,” Taehyung orders. His voice is rough, like he had been sobbing.

Looking over to him, you find that could’ve actually been the case. His face is tear streaked now as well as paint smeared. He stands a good few feet away from you, glaring down at your woefully ruined frame. “Taehyung, I’m not-”

He doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it. “Get up,” he repeats. “Go shower. I have some clothes for you to wear then I’m taking you home.”

“Tae, just liste-”

“Delete my number. We never talk about this again. And if you’re at all like the person I loved, you’d tell him the truth.”

Is he seriously judging you right now? You’ve barely even had a chance to explain yourself. He really doesn’t want to listen to anything you have to say, cutting you off like you’re less than him. You cannot help but scoff at him and his words.

Taehyung sighs. “Just please get up, (Y/N).”

“I’m not dating anyone.”

His superiority falls. The life returns to his face as he approaches you but you recoil into yourself the moment he steps forward. Pausing, he tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

What is it? This man is going to be the death of you. “You just shamed me for something that wasn’t true, Taehyung!” You shout.

“I thought you were cheating with me!”

You use the table to help yourself up and dryly chuckle. “Ha, yeah because lying is such a normal thing to do, right? I’m as twisted as you, Taehyung.”

“I lied because I knew saying no would hurt you. Why can’t you see that I was just looking out for you?”

That one sentence makes you freeze in place. Is he really that fucking dense? He can’t seriously believe that looking out for someone you love involves lying. Slowly turning to face him, you don't even make an effort to hide your tears anymore. “You were looking out for yourself and you know it!”

“I just didn’t-”

“Want to grow tired of me.” You finish for him in a mocking tone.

Taehyung huffs, shaking his head. “That’s not what I was going to say. Would you just let me finish?”

You’re done with this stupid conversation. All you want to do is go home and get as far away as possible from him and the way he smells and the fact that even though you hate him so much right now, you want him to come and hug you and tell you everything is going to be okay. But, he’s just so annoying. And you can’t bear to look at him anymore with that cold glare consistently being directed towards you. You’ll wait outside for the uber. Hell, you’ll just walk back to your apartment. Anything to get out of here and away from him.

In an attempt to follow through, you try to make your way towards the door, but your legs almost instantly give out.

“Jesus, babe,” Taehyung hisses, rushing to your side.

It’s not even just the fact that you’re sore but your ripped pants are starting to rub up against your cum leaking pussy. You whine a bit and try to shake him off in order to jump back onto the table. But, you’re thankful he stays by your side because you definitely cannot get up there alone with your lacking upper body strength.

His hands linger on your thighs, softening eyes locked on yours. A hint of a smirk plays on his lips before he says, “I remember doing this to you often.”

Yes, leaving you limping around the apartment was his favourite pastimes. He liked to watch you struggle to walk after every intimate moment. In fact, he always felt like he didn’t do his job right if you’re not limping. He’d go ten times rougher the next time around and then cuddle you to his chest, cooing reassurances in your ear. Was it bad that you wanted that all the time? That you wanted to sleep and wake up in the same bed he does everyday?

Slow tears roll down your face as you take his hand art stained in yours. “It was my first date since our break up,” you confess. “Sumni asked for your number… and for permission to go out with you. I just felt a little hurt that you were moving on.”

“She called.”

Your heart has shattered too many times tonight to even react to his words, but you can feel your soul shudder. She called. And did he answer? Did he have a drink with her too? You want to ask but your pride swallows your questions whole. All you can bring yourself to say is, “She’s a nice girl.”

He nods. Squeezing your hand, Taehyung wraps his arm loosely around your waist and stands in front of you. “I told her I wasn’t really ready to see anyone else yet,” he tells you, pressing himself against you.

The gesture is not at all sexual and you do not interpret it as such. Rather, it is tender and comforting. He releases his hold on your hand to wipe your tears, letting his own fall. Licking his lips, he whispers, “What’s his name?”

You shrug.

“Come on,” he half-heartedly nudges your legs. “Tell me.”

Does he think you’re trying to spare his feelings? Meeting his gaze, you can’t help but smile. He looks so cute, so precious in front of you. Playing with his hand, your fingers looping around his, you reply, “I don’t remember. I only spoke to him for half an hour or something.”

He cannot hide his smile, but avoids your gaze. Even still, you can see the relief within them. He seems to be pleased that you’re just as miserable as he is, pining after someone you cannot have any more.

“Is that why you came over?”

You shake your head before you can even think the action through. And the words leave your lips just the same, “I just missed you.”

“I really missed you too,” he croaks, rushing to say the words like he can’t believe them himself. “God, I’ve just wanted you back for so long.”

He’s all but sobbing in front of you. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have you, not yet anyways. The fact is that he still lied, and has continued to lie to manipulate you. This cannot be forgiven so easily. You love and miss him dearly, but surely you cannot just take him back without discussing the cause of your break up first.

But then, Taehyung burrows his face into the crook of your neck and lets himself fall apart. Hugging you close, he cries into your skin. You cannot hold back the sob that tears through your throat just from the mere sound of his choked breaths and wet tears against you.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries as you cradle his head. “I’m sorry.”

The broken tone of his voice is enough to make you whimper into his hair. He sounds so fragile. This break up, you realize, has torn him inside out too. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you try to console both of your fears. But every sob trembles your courage and every drop of his tears makes you recoil in guilt and shame. How could you have done this to him, to your relationship?

He shudders a breath as he pulls away. Red in the face, wet streaks staining his painted cheeks, he cups his hands under your jaw and says, “Look, you can move in right now, okay? Alright? I’ll get your things tomorrow. I’ll give you Jungkook’s key. He only comes here to steal our food anyways.” Just stay, please (Y/N).”

His voice is shaky and tone all but heartbreaking as he chuckles at his own little joke. The desperation is real and hard to deny. You cannot even open your mouth to even voice your reservations about dating again. Clutching onto his jumpsuit, you try to revert your gaze to your lap in hopes to find your courage and tell him that you need to talk first. Only, Taehyung dips his head low to catch your eyes again. He’s determined to have you stay. And your silence only provokes more tears.

“I promise I’ll never tell another lie,” he sobs. “I promise I’ll never let my worries get in between us again. Please, baby, just please stay. Say that you’ll stay.”

You cannot watch this for another moment longer. There’s lots you still have left to discuss, like why he’s so worried about growing tired of you, and why he felt the need to lie in the first place. But his promise to never do it again is enough for now. And you just can’t sit here watching him cry any longer. You pull him towards you, pepper his cheeks with gentle kisses then cradle his head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tae,” you mutter into his hair. “Mostly because I can’t.”

Your attempt at a joke causes him to choke out a chuckle. He showers the crook of your neck with wet kisses, muttering into your skin, “I love you.”

Rapturing in a relieved frenzy, your nerves dance within your bloodstream and repair your ruptured heart. You let out a deep breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “I love you too,” you cry.

The last four months haven’t granted you a shred of peace. You’ve lived and re-lived that argument over and over again, praying you can just go back and fix it all there and then. But, maybe… maybe it all needed to fall apart to fall back into place. Maybe it needed to rupture to rapture.

tags: @miinoongi, @jenotation, @allannahmalik, @taeshuworld

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#bangtanfairygarden #btsguild #networkbangtan #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #winterbearnet #vantenet #btswritersclub #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #btsgoldnet #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #kim taehyung angst #kim taehyung smut #bts smut

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casualwriters · 3 years ago

Text

Cupid Love Arrow | Steve Harrington. |

Summary - You never thought in ten million years that you are going on a date with fucking Steve Harrington, you were never the type who like the little Miss perfect of Hawkins, but one night out of no we're Steve asked you out and maybe you enjoyed it.

Type - Fluff

MASTERLIST

Paring - S1 Steve Harington X Nonbinary Reader. ( for male or female readers.)

unnecessary Tags - @peakyrogers @princess-kaija @iwannadeletemyself @suchababie @comebackjessica @motherofdicks

A/N - Hope yall enjoy I was in the mood for some cute fluff (:

Walking up to your Locker the fresh start of your new day in

Hawkins, You and your family moved here only a couple months ago, your mom wanted a fresh start away from the City and away from your old life so now you are here, stuck in this small country Highschool. Shutting the locker after you shoved all the books in your locker you closed it turning around to walk around the hall because there was still some free time before the Bell ring. "New kid watch out!" You heard the screaming and when that happens you turned your head to see what all the commotion was going on and before you could even move the football hit your face gulping for a second, not noticing how embarrassed you have gotten you cover your face "What the fuck?" you question turning around to see a couple boys you wiped the blood that was dripping down your noise the football still in hand, one of the guys was cute but they all looked stupid. "Here you damn ball back" You threw it at the main guy with mid force hitting him in the chest making the other boys chuckled and laugh nudging the Alpha male. "Idiots" You whisper under your breath hearing the Main male walk over to you "What your name?" The male asked he was handsome, but his hair was bigger than most of mine and god his cologne. "What do you want?" You moan hearing the bell knowing that be a good way to ignore him but he was still following you like a stalker. "Steve, um Steve Harrington" Turning around now in front of your class "y/n, now I am going take my noise that is still in pain and leave bye Steve" You scoffed entering your class.

The day had gone fast sitting on the side cigarette hanging on the left side of your lip, you were annoyed and had a shitty day getting hit by a football and all the teacher were just dicks, now putting the cherry on all of it missing your bus your mom would not be off work for another hour, she would not be happy. The door open next to you hearing A male and two females talking Oh speak of the Devil. Stomping out the Cigarette standing up to not be stuck with Prisses and Captian jock Pass for sure. Now I just got to figure out if I want to walk the five miles or call mom and wait. "Later You Two, Hey Y/n Wait up!" He yelled across the parking lot. "What Do you want? The bothersome was clearly shown on your face and You think Steve could tell but it was almost an hour after the buses left so Steve wonder why you were here all alone. "Why you all here alone?" He was actually not trying to be Cocky or an ass which was a shock for both of you. "Miss the Bus," You say swinging your bag over your shoulder Steve followed you as you were walking to head home, he was hot on your tracks and stop in front of you. "Steve do you have anything better than harass me?" You questioned ur folding your arms so you do not end up strangling the poor kid. "Why don't I give you a drive home and in return why don't you let me take you on a date" Taken off guard wasn't the only thing you felt the red crept up on your cheeks now your ending up looking at the top of your combat boots. Looking back up " A month of you being my Taxi driver and then I will go on a date with you" You said bluntly hoping he says yes because you do not want to ride that discussing bus again. Steve was a bit taken back about blunt you were but he thought it was kinda cute He smiled "I pick you up tonight It a deal! let's go" he says making you rolled your eyes "I am fucking coming," You yelled at him.

The snap of the seat belt and looking around in the car was a sweet ride but you did not want Steve's head to get too big. Sitting in there in quiet with glances from Steve part could not stop you from smiling but hid it well the day was long watching Steve pass the trees and watching the Fall leaves get crumpled under the wheels you heard Steve say "When did you come to Hawkins?" Steve asked Sitting up from laying your head down "Couple months ago from the City, mom wanted a new start so dragged me halfway across the state to Hawkins" Steve nodded "it gets a bit lonely here when you do not have any friends." He chuckled " It seemed like you are Mister Popular" Steve turned on your road but he looked at you shaking his head and he said nothing, you decided not to push him so you stayed quiet and just talk about yourself. "Don't need to answer" you smiled at him seeing that he had stopped at your house, You Grinned "see you Later Steve?" you say hanging in the window and walked inside to get ready for the date that was weird to say, maybe you don't hate him that much even if Cupid screw up a bit.

"I will be home at Ten sharped okay" You smiled at your younger siblings brush their hair out of their face and kissing them goodbye walking over to your mom with a worried glance, she has been working night shifts since we moved here and she been passing out every time her body hits the couch. "Love you, Mom." Walking out the door shutting it softly to not wake her up waving to Steve in the car but he was already out there with a bouquet of flowers, they were lovely the shock was on your face smiling "Such a romantic" You say plucking the bouquet out of his hand they were red Roses how cute. "I Adore Roses now hop in were losing the night" He teased.

"Steve, why do I have to keep my eyes closed?" You asked Steve had told you to keep your eyes closed since you got in the car and you were curious why " Oh do not ruin the surprise And no it not a party" He says with a small smile you knew Steve seemed to be Mr. Hot guy, at school and fooled all the woman but this was another side of him that you saw even if you guys just met, it not that hard to pick up on things. "You going to be the death of me" Steve poked your side making you squeaked. "Jerk," you mumbled playfully at him.

Hearing the car stop "Okay just hold on okay?" You were quite confused and wondering if this was gonna be how you die, like in one of those horror movies, you really hoped it wasn't "Is this when I die Steve?" You heard the door open Steve chuckled "If your lucky you won't die." Steve help you out of the car feeling his arms wrapped your race goosebumps came across your arms and He smiled "Open them" You were taken back you could see all of Hawkins from you, "Steve it stunning" you say You Lean on the car saying "My worries seem to be gone when I am up here and of course with you" you teased. "Is your mother okay" Steve could tell it was not just the nerves of the date that was bothering them and the drapes were open. "She been working a lot, Me and my siblings have to take the bus to school I am sorry you did not hear to listen to this.'' A shy whisper came from your lips Jumping to sit on the front of the car Steve shakes his head sitting on the car with you, Looking at you seeing that you were wrapping your arms around your shoulder, "Come here you idiot" He teased taking the demi jacket off and t slipping it over your shoulders. "Tell me what up?" He asked knowing that since you got in the car ride you have been deep in your head he just wanted to make sure you were okay. Taking a large sigh "My mother lost our farther only three years, ago but he always treated her like complete shit" You grew angry just thinking by it your fists curled Steve seeing that has he moved closer putting his hand over your red knuckles. "He drinks too much, I always had to take care of my siblings, my mom was working two jobs and my dad was out at multiple bars." Huffing thinking this was the normal laying On the car. Steve just stared at you in Awe you looking at the stars he was content this way and that was okay. "Steve come lay down" you Snicker at the young man tugging at his hand like nothing you just said bother you. " My Folks are never there I know it was nothing like what happens to you but staying in that big house all alone fucking sucks". Nodding keeping your eyes on the stars pointing to one and another. "It, not a completion every story has a their tragic story" Steve saw you leaning your head on his shoulder seeing you relax in his arms. Wrapping his arm around you nodding and enjoying the silence. "Maybe we should do this again," Steve says looking toward you.

Smiling at Steve " Maybe we should Uh".

#steve harrington #stranger things #small account #billy hargrove #nonbinary s/o #alyssastories #images #max caulfield #y/n #stranger things 3 #y/n x reader #fanfic

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heysoup · 4 years ago

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Fluffy February Day 2 - Movie Night

Reminder to follow @fluffyfebruary to see the prompt list and that I’ll be using the tags #fluffyfebruary and #fluffyfeb for these.

Continuing the fics with day two! I’m super proud of this one; It’s dripping with fluff and teenage angst. Warning for potential secondhand embarrassment - they’re both idiots in love and have no idea how to show it.

Chapter 2: Films and Fears

Pairing: Butch/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: Dealing with life in the vault can be tough, especially for an outcast like Jamie. When he befriends Butch through his G.O.A.T. assignment, however, the two make their own safe place. Butch decides to surprise him there one day with the promise of treasure, and it leads to something more than they both expect.

Ao3 Link

Jamie tosses and turns in his rat’s nest of a bed. It’s midnight – he’s too hot, the vault’s ventilation system’s groaning is echoing around him like a damn chorus, and his sheets keep scratching uncomfortably against his clammy skin. He brings his wrist close to his face to mindlessly check his Pip-Boy for the millionth time that night, his arm feeling as heavy as lead, and he squints at the fluorescent light of the screen as he taps it awake.

Though Butch showed him a few times before, it still takes him a moment to remember the right sequence of buttons to push to unlock developer’s mode and navigate to the messaging tab the other boy set up for them. It’s only been about a month since Butch found an old Pip-Boy manual in Stanley’s locker and got this trick to work, but already there’s a considerable backlog of messages between the two.

Jamie scrolls through them with the dial on his Pip-Boy, worrying the skin of his lower lip with his teeth as he reads through some of the older messages. It’s become a new habit for him on these particularly rough sleepless nights. When he’s too exhausted to write in his journal, draw, or jump around his room in an attempt to tire himself out; he talks to Butch.

If someone had told him a year ago that Butch DeLoria, his childhood bully and teenage rival, would be one of his only sources of solace these days he would have called them insane. Turns out, giving the vault’s two delinquents deadbeat jobs with no supervision and shoving them in the same closet of a studio space could make them form a pretty strange alliance. The enemy of my enemy and all of that, right?

It also doesn’t help that Amata is forever busy with her new duties as overseer’s assistant – or whatever her job title is actually called. Jamie misses her like he’s lost a part of himself, and even though he knows she’s not locked away with her father by choice he can’t help the nagging part of his brain that is convinced she abandoned him.

Butch is dealing with the same thing, though with less consequence. His fellow Tunnel Snakes are relatively busy with their new jobs – Wally as a security guard and Paul as an engineer – but they still make some time to see each other. Butch is just one of those people who needs constant attention, which is where Jamie supposes he comes in handy. He tries not to think too hard about it.

He’s is snickering to himself while he reads some messages sent a few weeks back during one of their spats, most of which were petty insults and some pretty creative curses, when a new message blips through and pulls his screen to attention.

913473: nosebleed u up?

Perfect timing, Jamie thinks, sitting up in his bed to type. The 6-digit code is what Butch called his Pip-ID – apparently every Pip-Boy comes with one coded in by default. It was weird at first, trying to memorize the numbers and calm his own paranoia at the thought of someone hacking into their conversations, but Butch said that their numbers were for their Pip-Boys alone, so Jamie trusted him. The horrible, agitated crawling under his skin that was keeping him up all night begins to fade as he replies.

604272: didja even have to ask? 913473: just say yes or no damn 604272: k. no 913473: oh fuck off

Jamie can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him, and he grins like a complete idiot down at the screen.

913473: if ur done being an ass i have somethin for us to do 913473: if u aint busy of course 913473: meet at the place? 604272: sure. be there in 10

He switches his Pip-Boy screen off and hops out of bed, stretching languorously before grabbing his jumpsuit from where he left it earlier that day in a heap on the floor. He tugs it on leg by leg and zips it up before checking himself in the mirror.

His hair is a mop of curls on his head and he does his best to smooth it down, knowing Butch will scold him for not using the correct conditioner to tame his flyaways like he showed him. The bags under his eyes are a bit darker than usual, but there’s nothing to be done about that. He shrugs to himself and turns to the door. No point in being too self-conscious about his appearance this late at night – isn’t like this is a date or anything, he tells himself.

He doesn’t bother being quiet as he leaves his room, knowing his dad would still be working at the clinic or at the very least passed out there on one of the cots. He doesn’t come home much these days.

Jamie shoves his boots on, not even bothering with socks, and peers out of the thick window into the hallway. It seems empty, so he hits the button and creeps out through the door.

The neon blue emergency lights that run along the edges of the ceiling and floor greet him when he steps out of his apartment. He shoves his hands in his pockets, a nervous habit, and peers around the corner before continuing his path. The door closes not-so-softly behind him and he walks down the hall past the restrooms that separate his and Butch’s apartments. He stops momentarily outside the door to the DeLoria’s apartment, noticing it’s dark and quiet inside.

Butch must already be down there, Jamie thinks, picking up his pace as much as he could without making too much noise. Despite the constant creaking and rumbling of the vault’s ventilation and reactor systems the halls at night could carry quite an echo, and his boots aren’t the quietest things to sneak around in.

Patrols were lax recently but knowing his luck he’d get caught breaking curfew and would have to clean the bathrooms again. He briefly regrets not wearing socks because he refuses to take his boots off and walk barefoot on the cold steel floor, even if it is quieter.

Further down the hallway and a bit past the occupied wing of apartments, Jamie stops at the top of a short set of stairs that lead down to a small corridor with one door. A large INACCESSIBLE sign glows ominously above it, and in the corner of the hallway facing the stairwell is a single security camera. It rotates at a snail’s pace, its gears clicking audibly with every circuit it makes of the dead-end hallway.

Jamie ducks down near the wall at the top of the stairs, watching the camera as he has so many times before to study its crawling path. When Butch had discovered this place, they figured out a way to tilt the camera up ever so slightly with the handle of a broom from their shop – creating about thirty seconds of a blind spot to get them from the stairs and through the door without getting caught if they hugged the left wall.

Peering down the hallways around him one more time to make sure no patrols were coming; Jamie types a quick message into his Pip-Boy.

604272: here

He waits a few moments until he hears a couple sharp raps on the metal door down the way, telling him that Butch is there whenever he’s ready. Jamie waits a few more moments and listens to the camera click back into its blind spot before he hops down the stairs, staying low and to the left as he stalks toward the door. He hits it lightly with his palm when he gets there, and it slides open. He has just enough time to duck inside, slamming his fist on the button to shut it just as he hears the security camera restart its rotation.

“You’re still gonna act like it's some big heist no matter how many times we come down here, huh?” Jamie turns around in the darkness and is met with Butch’s grin, a bottle of beer already in one of his fists. His Pip-Boy light is on, basking them in a dim green glow.

“Keeps it interesting,” he replies, punching Butch playfully on the arm. On this side of the door is a long flight of stairs and they continue further down into the pitch darkness, hands pressing along the walls for purchase with nothing but about three feet of lighting in front of them.

The emergency lights are shut off down here, along with the security cameras – probably to save power, so Jamie turns his Pip-Boy light on as well. It’s a bit brighter, but not by much. They’ve been down here enough times by now that their bodies remember how many steps there are, but Jamie always has a nagging fear in the back of his mind that one day the staircase will just keep going forever. He shakes that thought from his head, listening to the sound of their boots stomping down the steps and focusing his gaze on Butch’s free hand as it slides against the railing.

For the past month or so this has been their escape. Butch somehow figured out how to break into the door they just passed through, and they discovered a whole wing of abandoned apartments under the ones they were currently living in. So far all they had done was clear out one room that had a ratty old couch, some blankets, a broken Nuka Cola mini-fridge, and a few wooden storage crates in it. Jamie had also rigged up a small emergency generator and they were able to find some lamps to make it a little less depressing.

Most importantly, they had booze smuggled from Butch’s mom’s liquor stash, a few cartons of cigarettes they’d traded with Stevie for some chems Jamie snuck from his dad’s clinic, their collection of comic books, and Jamie’s old BB gun for when they got bored. It’s far from perfect, but it’s space, and when you’re destined to roam the same hallways with the same people for the rest of your miserable existence – that amounts to a lot.

“So, what are we actually doing?” Jamie asks as they turn into the apartment they’d claimed as their base. Butch has the generator running and the room smells thickly of his peach pomade and cigarette smoke – he must have been down here for a few hours already.

“I,” Butch begins, stopping to pull the cork out of his new bottle of beer with his teeth before spitting it on the floor and taking a swig, “am gonna show you some treasure.” He finishes with a flourish, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and plops down onto the couch next to his discarded Tunnel Snake jacket.

Jamie snorts and pulls up a crate, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and propping his feet up. He clicks his tongue in mock annoyance when Butch’s boots crowd his own on the small surface and, in a fruitless endeavor, they battle for leg space before giving in to sharing. It’s obvious the other boy is already a bit tipsy.

“Treasure, huh? That’s cool, I guess,” Jamie snickers, snatching the bottle of beer from Butch and downing some before he could protest. It burns in his throat and brings a comforting warmth to his chest. He continues nursing the drink and settles further back into the worn corduroy couch, his posture absolutely terrible. Butch reaches for another bottle.

“Yup.” The bottle pops open and another cork joins the pile growing on the floor. Another drink and an obnoxious burp, then Butch sits forward - feet falling to the floor, his hands on his knees, and an excited light in his eyes. His leg is bouncing incessantly.

“Listen, I was going through some rooms down here and I found an old projector – like the one Brotch has?” He glances at Jamie, blue eyes a soft, dreamy color in the low light, and Jamie can’t help but gulp at the intensity he sees there. When Butch has a plan he’s excited about, he turns into a different person – like all the stress of conforming to the monotony of vault life has washed away and he’s finally allowed to be the mischievous and passionate person hiding underneath it all. Or… something like that. Jamie’s waxing poetic again, something he can’t help but do when around Butch.

“That’s pretty cool,” is all Jamie can bring himself to breathe out as he sips on his beer. He picks at the loose threads on the arm of the couch as he tries not to think about the fact that Butch had his lips on this same bottle just a few seconds ago.

Butch deflates a bit. “Pretty cool?” he mocks, leaning closer. Okay, maybe he’s more drunk than Jamie had first thought, if the redness of his cheeks were any indication.

“Nosebleed, I found full on ho-lo-disks,” Butch emphasizes, blowing a few messy curls away from his forehead. Jamie just shrugs.

“Okay?” he begins, not seeing the big deal. They already have these things in the classroom. “What’re we gonna do, watch some lectures? Don’t tell me DeLoria wants to brush up on his studying,” he taunts.

Butch just sneers at him in response, standing up and only swaying a bit – much to Jamie’s surprise. “You have no imagination, dweeb. Stay here!” And with that, he storms out of the room and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Jamie can see the green light of his Pip-Boy flash on through the window as he walks further away into the dark.

It’s a few minutes before he comes back, and Jamie can hear the ruckus he’s causing before he sees him. He’s startled out of his comfortable position on the couch and perks up. The door slides open and Butch pushes the projector into their base on its rolling cart. One of the wheels must be rusted because its screeching like a damn rat, scraping against the metal flooring as he drags it to the center of the room. He grabs an old cardboard box from the lower shelf of the cart and slides it on the floor over to Jamie with his foot before going back to set the projector up with their tangled mess of extension cords.

Jamie picks it up and grimaces at the box – it’s a little rank and it feels crusty in some spots. “This thing is probably covered in like a hundred different types of mold,” he complains.

“Didn’t give it to ya so you could judge the box!” Butch snaps, banging the top of the projector impatiently when the power flickers. “Open the damn thing.”

Jamie places the box on the couch beside him and sits up, peeling it open to peer inside. His jaw drops in amazement at the sight – more holodisks than he’s ever seen in his life, all with unique and eye-catching, full-color illustrations on the covers. He stares at Butch in disbelief and catches the other boy staring at him, an unabashed, beaming smile on his face when he sees Jamie’s reaction. When their eyes meet, Butch clears his throat and snaps his attention back to the projector, fiddling with some dials that don’t seem to change anything.

“Cool, right?” He says, his ears turning red as he dismisses his earlier excitement with a sheepish shrug.

“It’s fucking great!” Jamie laughs and begins to rummage through the box. There are real films in here, like he’s only read about in pre-war history classes or his cheesy novels. Aside from a whole slew of superhero films starring characters like The Silver Shroud and even some of Grognak the Barbarian, there are titles that look like they’re about pre-war animals in different parts of the world, some with soldiers in power armor, some ancient recordings of sports, and what looks like a few western and sci-fi films

Butch walks back over and sits beside him, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and leaning in to look at the titles. Jamie’s breath hitches at his closeness and he can feel his cheeks heating up. He tries not to show it, leaning in ever so slightly to let their shoulders brush.

“You can pick first, my treat,” Butch says while gesturing to the patchwork sheet he’d hung up on the opposite wall of the small apartment – Butch must have stitched it together himself out of whatever excess fabric he found. It’s hanging a little crooked and the projector’s STAND BY image is a bit fuzzy, but a bubble of excitement forms in Jamie’s chest regardless. He doesn’t want to read too far into things, but Butch had found this and made it a surprise specifically for them to share. That made him feel a certain kind of way.

He blinks those embarrassing thoughts away and nods, his face warm. Looking over their choices carefully, he finally decides and picks the western – he always did have a fondness for the freedom that seemed to come with being a cowboy – and walks to the projector to pop it in and press play.

He half expects Butch to make fun of his choice, but the other boy is oddly quiet, carefully inspecting his fingernails as Jamie switches off the lamps and kicks off his boots before returning to sit cross-legged on the couch. Butch still hasn’t scooted further away or removed his arm from the back of the couch, so their knees bump and he can feel the warmth of Butch’s arm behind his neck and it sends prickles through his skin.

Only as the movie begins do they realize they don’t have any speakers hooked up – so it’s completely silent in the room other than the whirring of the film in the projector.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Butch sighs and shakes his head in disappointment. Jamie just laughs.

“It’s still cool,” he assures him. “They used to have silent movies all the time apparently – especially back in cowboy days. It’s authentic,” he purses his lips at the end, trying to do his best impression of Mr. Brotch. It seems to work because Butch cracks a grin at him and snorts.

“Sure, it’ll work for now, but I saw some terminals in another apartment down here. We can check for some speakers there later,” Butch says and then his playful grin becomes roguish. “Push comes to shove, we can just swipe one from upstairs. Who’d notice a missing speaker?”

Jamie just scoffs and elbows him, turning his attention back to the film as the title screen fades in and he reads, ‘High Lonesome.’ He didn’t bother to read what the film was about, but it opens with a group of people in a wagon on a vast desert plain with plateaus towering in the distance.

There isn’t too much to see at first, but one thing that sticks with him is the impossible vastness of the sky as the camera zooms out to show a wider view of the prairie they’re riding along. He’s seen pictures of the sky, sure, but something about watching the tiny silhouettes of people move around under it was chilling – it was huge and incredibly empty. He didn’t know if what he was feeling was amazement or terror.

Despite the film being in black and white, the shimmer of the sun on the horses’ flanks as they gallop is bright enough to seem real and Jamie is completely entranced as he watches. And, luckily enough, there seem to be subtitles, so they’ll still be able to understand what’s going on.

Jamie’s trance is momentarily broken when Butch leans down and grabs something from under the couch. He returns with a box of fancy lads which he presses into Jamie’s hands. Jamie mumbles his thanks, his eyes never leaving the picture as he tears into a package and shoves a whole powdery cake into his mouth.

Butch just laughs at him and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He lights one just as the young cowboy on screen does – much to Jamie’s delight – and they chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

They pass the snacks, beer, and smokes back and forth between each other as they watch their movies. When the western is over, Butch picks a film called ‘Teenage Caveman,’ saying that it has to be good because the cover has tits and a giant lizard monster on it. It ends up being the worst piece of garbage they’ve ever seen – and that’s saying a lot considering they’ve only seen one other film in their whole lives.

“That dude didn’t even look like a teenager! He had to be like thirty,” Jamie says, tossing the film into a box they decide to label ‘shit.’ According to Butch, they were like pioneers and had to record their findings, so not only were they watching the films, but they were sorting them from best to worst. As Butch had put it in his best overseer impression, they were doing future vault residents a great service and fulfilling their civic duty… by saving others from watching total pieces of trash.

“There wasn’t even a single boob,” Butch mopes, snubbing out the last of his cigarette in the cracked coffee mug functioning as their makeshift ashtray. “Talk about false advertising. The giant lizards were kinda cool, though.” Jamie smacks him upside the head.

“You wouldn’t know what a boob looked like if it smacked you in the face.”

“You take that back!” Butch laughs and tosses their snacks on the floor, lunging for Jamie who’s cackling just as hard. They’re fucking hammered at this point and they roll off the couch into a heap on the floor, knocking a crate over as they grapple at each other. They wrestle like this sometimes – it’s a great outlet for Jamie’s aggressive energy and, when they’re less drunk, Butch actually teaches him how to kick ass. Now, they’re just breathless laughs and fumbling hands as they scramble for purchase on the floor and try their damnedest to pin the other down.

Butch may be stronger on a normal day, but at the moment he’s piss-drunk compared to Jamie who still has a bit of his wits about him. He flips the taller boy over so quickly it’s almost comical and pins him, pressing his knees against his thighs and holding his wrists at his sides to stop him from getting up. He laughs triumphantly.

“What’s wrong, Butchie? You’ve never lost a fight so fast!” He grins down at the boy smugly but stops short when he sees the look on Butch’s face. It’s endearing how red his cheeks are, his hair a mess and his blue eyes wide. Butch just fixes him with those piercing baby blues.

“Don’t get cocky, Nosebleed. I let ya do it,” he says in a soft voice, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Jamie’s mouth goes dry, his eyes fixed on Butch’s unbelievably pink lips. He hates himself for how much he wants to kiss him then and without thinking he begins to lean forward. He catches himself, though, and his thoughts have him jumping off of Butch and falling back against the couch like he’s been shocked, his chest heaving. He feels dizzy and he can still smell the earthy spice of the other boy’s aftershave enveloping him like a thick haze he can’t shake.

Butch laughs and pulls himself up into a sitting position, shooting Jamie a dazzling grin from his seat on the floor. “What’s wrong, Jamie?” Butch teases, his voice only a bit slurred and a shit-eating grin creeping its way onto his face. Hearing his name come from Butch is rare and it knocks the breath out of him. All he can do is stare.

Butch clambers ungracefully back up to the couch with him, leaning awfully close and whispering, “cat got your tongue?” His breath is warm on Jamie’s face and it smells like a mixture of smoke and alcohol, something he never thought would smell so intoxicating, but of course it does – it’s Butch.

Jamie’s heart is in his fucking throat and he can’t breathe. Butch is pressed against his side and his back is against the arm of the couch. There’s nowhere for him to escape to – not that he necessarily wants to, but he was never very good with facing his feelings. Either Butch is actively trying to flirt with him or he’s fucking around, and Jamie can’t decide which one is worse.

“You’re drunk, you idiot,” Jamie laughs weakly and goes to push Butch away by the chest but stops when he feels his heart pounding under his t-shirt. The other boy’s breath hitches and his body stiffens at Jamie’s touch, his lips parting as if he were trying to think of what to say.

“So are you,” Butch finally settles with, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Jamie’s wrist. His touch almost feels like it burns. They sit like that for a moment, staring at each other, eyes like fire.

The generator chooses that moment to shut off, leaving them in pitch darkness. Out of instinct, Jamie curls his fingers into Butch’s shirt, his ears ringing at the sudden silence in the room and his breathing becoming labored. Darkness feels suffocating to him sometimes, and this is one of those moments. It lays over them like a thick blanket, and the only thing that pulls him out of his internal panic is Butch’s free hand cupping the back of his head, fingers twining through the thick, curly hair at the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t even have time to think about what Butch might be doing before he feels the press of the other boy’s lips warm against his own. Though they’re unbelievably soft, the kiss is rushed and clumsy – desperate almost – and Jamie grunts when their teeth knock together. He wastes no time returning the kiss, though, his eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the feel of Butch’s lips against his own and the rough burn of his stubble as it brushes against his chin.

It must have just been a power surge, because suddenly the generator kicks back on and the projector screen lights up the room. Their eyes fly open and they wrench apart, still holding onto each other as if for dear life. Whatever safety they felt shrouded in the darkness is ripped away and they’re left feeling vulnerable and exposed. Jamie’s breath comes out in stutters and he dares to glance up at the other boy.

Butch’s eyes are filled with a fiery heat he can’t even describe and something akin to tenderness – which is hard for him to pinpoint since he’s never been looked at like that before. He sucks in a sharp breath. For some reason, even though he’s been dreaming of this moment for months, he just feels terrified and embarrassed – like he fucked up somehow. The panic must be written clearly on his face because Butch pulls away like he’s been slapped and falls back to the other end of the couch.

“Sh-shit, I,” Butch stutters, his hand clutching his chest where Jamie’s was a moment before, “fuck, Jamie, I didn’t mean to.” His voice cracks, sounding almost pleading. Jamie doesn’t know what to say, his mouth flapping uselessly, and it’s too much for him to handle. He doesn’t understand what his problem is. Everything in his heart is telling him to leap forward and continue kissing Butch, but he’s just too fucking scared.

“It’s fine!” He practically snaps, standing up suddenly. He’s shaking and feels clammy and he’s sure he’s as pale as a ghost – is it even possible for something good to give you a panic attack?

He glances around for his boots for a moment, but it’s still too much and he can see Butch starting to reach for him with concern in his eyes. “I have to go,” he blurts out, and he turns tail and runs.

The last thing he hears before he leaves is Butch yelling his name, but he jogs up the steps in the darkness, tripping over his own feet and bruising his knees. He knows he’s acting like a child, but he can’t bring himself to care. He is absolutely not ready to face what’s happening and he needs to be alone in his room now.

When he reaches the door, he doesn’t even stop to think about the security camera on the other side, he just slams his fist on the button and rushes out and thankfully luck is on his side this time because he can hear the camera click into the end of its circuit.

He slows down when he reaches the halls, his bare feet making a lot less noise than his boots, but fuck the floor is cold and he regrets not stopping to find his shoes. Soon he reaches his apartment, and he rushes inside, thankful to see that it’s still empty. He locks himself in his own bedroom, suddenly feeling like everything is too much, and he rips his jumpsuit off, flopping onto his bed in just his tank top and boxers and pulling the covers over his head.

He wants to scream, maybe tear his hair out a little or punch the wall. He cannot believe how badly he fucked that up. He doesn’t even know what this means for their friendship – if he had tried to make a move on Butch and the other boy ran away, he would be devastated! Would Butch even want to talk to him anymore? He worries over these thoughts for a few hours until his brain feels like jelly. The last thing he’s aware of before falling asleep is how his lips taste ever-so-slightly like the sweet mint chap stick Butch always carries around.

---

He wakes up later to the sound of incessant beeping coming from his wrist. He groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes and down his face. He feels like complete shit – hungover, most likely, and his head is swimming.

He looks at his Pip-Boy to check the time and realizes he’s overslept. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s late for his work assignment at the studio but if he’s being honest the thought of having to drag himself out of bed and sit in a room with Butch all day doesn’t seem as great as it used to. He can’t help it when he opens the messaging app, biting his lip as he prepares to read whatever might be there.

913473: it was a prank haha i rly got u good

That one was sent almost immediately after he’d left last night, according to the timestamp. Something about it makes his gut twist, gives him a bit of nausea. He’s not sure if he believes Butch or not. Once again, he’s not sure which is harder to deal with. Dated about an hour later there are a few more.

913473: jamie im sorry pls answer me 913473: don’t ignore me man if ur mad just come beat me up 913473: are u sleeping? damn out of all the times 913473: its k. i kno u need it. gnight

Jamie doesn’t realize he’s chewing his lip to shreds until he tastes blood, and he curses, wiping it away on the hem of his tank top. His eyes are glued to the screen, his heart thundering in his ears. Dated even later are a handful of other messages and he can tell by their contents that Butch must have kept drinking in his absence. The thought of that tugs at his heart a little – maybe he isn’t the only one who’s terrified of his own feelings and kind of a fuckup.

913473: i know ur asleeeep 913473: gdamn typing onthis shit. fcking sucks 913473: m drunk but idc. i kissed u jamie n itfucking rocked 913473: wasnt a prank. im srry. dont hate me 913473: u can hit me all u want. ill evenlet u win the fight. 913473: jsut dont hate me

Jamie groans and grabs his pillow, shoving his face into it a few times and letting out as loud of a yell as he dares. It’s not enough, but it will have to do. Breathless and flushed, he’s about to lay back down when a new message comes through and his heart leaps so high into his throat that he nearly chokes. He peeks at it over the pillow.

913473: yo you’re late dude. like super late! 913473: i figured id let u sleep off the hangover a bit but damn 913473: i aint gonna cover ur ass if the overseer comes knocking. i have enough of a headache. 913473: so get down here!!! 913473: speakin of headache i was drunk as shit last night. dont remember a thing past that crappy monster movie. so ignore whatever embarrassing crap i sent you, k? 913473: and dont tell anyone im a talkative drunk or ill pummel you, nosebleed.

Jamie looks at the messages in disbelief and flops back onto his bed, his thoughts racing. He can’t tell if Butch is lying or not – he knows even if Butch doesn’t remember there was still something different about what happened last night but fuck if he’s going to bring it up now.

He’s relieved, but also disappointed, maybe a little angry – either at himself or at Butch, he can’t tell. He’s shaking, wracked with nerves at the sudden sense that everything might change soon. He can’t handle change – can’t handle much, if he’s honest with himself, but change is the hardest of all. He curls his fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly and trying to resist the urge to pull it out in chunks. He’s losing himself in his worries again when another message notification shakes him out of it.

“Fuck!” he shouts, wishing he could rip his Pip-Boy off his arm and throw it away.

913473: NOSEBLEED GET THE FUCK TO WORK NOW 913473: its boring alone

Jamie feels like he’s actually going to tear his hair out, but he can’t help himself from laughing. He gives in and types out a quick response.

604272: for the love of GOD 604272: STFU 604272: im on my way now 604272: and i didn’t read ur stupid messages don’t worry. too many for me to care

He bites his lip again, his heart twisting uncomfortably in his chest as he writes out one more message.

604272: i don’t even remember much of the shitty movie lol, u know im a blackout drunk

There are a few minutes without a reply and Jamie starts to think maybe he’s fucked it up again, then more messages come through.

913473: u stupid fuckin idiot 913473: what would i do without u 913473: to pick on i mean

Jamie lets out a trembling sigh and gets out of bed, shaking himself free of his worries and tugging on his jumpsuit again. His hands are quivering, probably will be all day with the way his nerves are, but he can handle it.

It’s only as he’s going to leave does he realize he doesn’t have his shoes.

913473: i have your boots btw dumbass

Jamie is terrified of change. He’s terrified of his own emotions, especially when he can’t control them. He wishes things were simpler and he wishes he could have been born into a more agreeable body in a more agreeable time, but as he walks, shoeless, out of the apartment and to the studio space he shares with Butch, he feels a bit comforted in the fact that Butch might feel exactly the same way. Even if shit is messy and he fucks it up, Butch keeps coming back - and that’s good enough for him.

#fluffyfebruary #fallout #fallout 3 #butch deloria #butch/m!lw #lone wanderer #fanfiction #mlm #jay writes #fluffyfeb

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bladekindeyewear · 6 years ago

Text

Boots Reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 12 - Candy Page 18

==>

Time to see what all the fuss was about Page 18. We’re with Jane... that might not be good. Especially given Lollipop proximity.

Jane scoffing at troll genocide again. :(

Gamzee seems more woke than Jane here.

GAMZEE: sO yOu SaYiN yOu NeEd DiFfErEnT sHoEs FoR yOuR hUmAn DiCkS aNd WhAt NoT?

Pfffff

Jane narrows her eyes at the disingenuous buffoon.

I dunno, he sounds like he’s being pretty goddamn ingenuous right now.

It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation? Are they black with each other or something??

What’s more likely is he’s attempting to get a rise from her. To get her a little hotter under the collar. To put her in a certain mood.

Oh my gosh she’s genuinely black for him, hahahahah

GAMZEE: AnD AlL I EvEr bEeN TrYiN To dO Is gEt yOu rIgHt tOo, WiTh mOrAlS AnD GoOdNeSs, AlL fIlLeD uP iNsIdE yOu As TiGhT aS yOuR tAsTy HoE bAlLoOnS aRe WiTh HuMaN mOo JuIcE.

Jesus christ that’s not the kind of metaphor i want to be hearing from canon

or anyone for that matter

JANE: No! I’d rather die than touch your disgusting clown baton ever again.

....yyyeah, context is showing she’s PROBABLY super Black into this. Still, pretty jarring to see a clear consensual “NO” right in the middle of things.

Quit calling her a dairy queen!!! D: D: D:

Oh god they named the baby Tavros.

Alright, there’s some grade A discomfort in this scene, which I’m enjoying, really. I can see why they singled out page 18. I could traumatize some people with some of these paragraphs out of context.

HOO HOO HOO, THIS LITTLE PIGGY WENT TO THE DARK CARNIVAL!!!

Eeeeuugh

JAKE: Anyway whats up with you? Hows life with davekat going? JADE: oh its great! im really glad i just went for it JADE: all of us together... it really is the best of every world

God damnit Jade why are you obliviously torturing them????????

You could’ve been REALLY GOOD for them both if you just FUCKING LISTENED TO THEM AND RESPECTED THEM INSTEAD OF SITTING ON THEM.

JADE: theres no way me and dave could have a regular baby together because im... JAKE: Whats wrong? JADE: well lets just say that after all the sburb stuff its done some things to my body JADE: like merging with bec mostly

Oh my FUCKING GOD please don’t canonize this. This didn’t need to be spelled out so-- D:

jesus

D: D: D:

This... is actually making my stomach roil again????

not because id object to-- i mean, it’s one thing to deal with

FAN SCENARIOS

ISOLATED divergences from canon where she has to deal with that and its kind of hilarious, but can be safely ignored when it comes to her character arc as a whole

but once its CANON???????? D: D: D:

suddenly you can’t IGNORE the full import when you’re done with, like, an RP or something, of the psychological struggle she would be forced to deal with given an abnormal biological situation. Instead of thinking “Oh, that could be pretty painful to deal with! Let’s explore it temporarily for fun” it becomes “Oh, that would be painful to deal with and you have to think about her having to deal with all the complications of that whenever you hear about her LITERALLY FOREVER.” D:

andrew i know you couldnt resist because of how funny and practically-xenoprogressive it was but whyyyyyyyyy did you have to canonize that WHYYYY

Now instead of a fun joke thought it also has to be SAD FOREVER

AAAAAAAA D’:

i dont know why this would be the line thats crossed to upset me

Rose surrogate?

JADE: no jake, dave wouldnt be the father in this scenario!

Pffffff. Andrew’s just diving RIGHT into the, er, doggy fanfics here. I should... TRY to lighten up about this. Try. D:

(...wait, shit. Knowing my friend, THIS whole bit is why they alluded to this page. God damnit.)

[[ EDIT: askshenhibiki said:

Now that you read Candy 18, flash back to Meat when Roxy is talking about gender... and look at Jade's reaction looking at "where her hands rest on her lap". Yes, Meat hinted at that "mix" too.

Ah, let’s see...

ROXY: and so i got to thinking ROXY: what even is gender ROXY: amirite lol? JADE: oh yeah JADE: that makes sense i guess........

Jade looks at where her hands are folded in her lap. Bites her lip. She has her own concerns about this, her own thoughts. Reasonable thoughts, I’d say. But I’ll refrain from any further comment. I’m staying away from this subject, from now on.

...yeah, guess Dirk at least had the decency not to spring all that on us before Jade got the opportunity to do it honestly. ]]

Guh, back to Jake suffering in his sad, trapped scenario. I hope THAT gets at least resolved by the end of this. Someone save Jake from this, because it looks like he’s not really that capable of saving himself?

==>

Dammit, Jade, I’m cringing at these descriptions of your intrusion.

Oh wow, John went for the mustache. Guess we knew that from, like, his stuffed statue oldself?

Jade doesn’t pick up on the obvious subtext in the conversation, however, because she’s been willfully undermining the subtext in her own personal life for nearly a year now.

D: D: D:

Seriously, Jade, how is what YOU’RE doing any better than what you were frustrated at seeing THEM doing, avoiding the real feelings and truth of anything even if it was conspicuously on body-language display?

KARKAT: THE NEW ADMINISTRATION IS CRACKING DOWN ON CERTAIN KINDS OF INTERSPECIES ADOPTION LAWS.

It’s like Andrew wants us deprived of even a happy imagined future for Earth C on top of everything else!!! What the hell! >:(

Is this about politics? Is Andrew just venting his anger that the Orange Guy is going to get away with ruining everything forever?? Because as understandable as that is, he could at least give us some imaginary happyfutures to look forward to.

Reading on... Hm, yet another intentionally-misused fridging reference.

KARKAT: HIS RELATIONSHIP IS A FLAMING WRECK OF AN INTERSTELLAR WARSHIP HURTLING TOWARDS THE PLANET AT TERMINAL VELOCITY WITH THE ENTIRE CREW BRUTALLY SLAUGHTERED UPON REENTRY, SHOVED STRAIGHT DOWN THE CHAGRIN TUNNEL AND THEN IMMEDIATELY SHAT OUT THE OTHER SIDE, THUS FLOODING THE ENTIRE FUCKING NEIGHBORHOOD WHEN IT CLOGS UP THE LOAD GAPER.

Yep, that triangle’s fucked. Wonder if the conversation’s going to transition to the CURRENT triangle’s problems...

...yeah, John using the R word there isn’t far from the fucking truth from the looks of things.

JADE: maybe that would work for a few days, but one thing i learned from dating around a lot in my youth is that no ones going to leave a bad relationship until its THEIR idea to leave

She takes in a shaky breath and shuts her eyes. Her hair spills around her face when she leans forward to put her chin on her knees. Dave and Karkat exchange a look that is equal parts confused, miserable, and desperate.

Oh SHIT. Is JADE going to be the one to finally vocalize about the problems here???

Something else comes hurtling out of the hole in the sky, too fast for Jade to catch. It hits the ground with a clap of green lightning. The collision sends a geyser of dirt, rock, and vapor into the air. Dave flash-steps to shield Karkat. Jade doesn’t move, taking the brunt of the explosion face on, using her abilities to warp the energy around her so that she’s a mote at the center of the storm. When the dust clears, she’s the first to jump in the crater, trailing smoke behind her.

There’s a body at the center of it. The torso is bloody, tangled, and curled into a fetal position. Its shoes are missing, but otherwise the outfit is quite familiar to her: it’s a dead ringer for her old Witch of Space uniform. Jade touches the body with the toe of her shoe, and then gasps when it rolls over to reveal its face.

JADE: its... JADE: ME???

Okay what the FUCK. It sounds like there’s going to be some context for that postscript after all. Something to bridge the gap between when that 16-yo Jade falls into the singularity and when Aradia goes off with her through a wormhole

I’m going to guess up front that this happens BEFORE the postscript... this younger version of Jade fell into the black hole and came out in THIS alternate timeline, possibly rather changed by the experience. But then again, the way the sky opened up... actually, couldn’t that be just a “natural” manifestation of the black hole abilities encouraged by Calliope or done by the singularity alone, followed by later in the Postscript this Jade actually getting control of it??

And... reading on, from the sound of it, her eyes aren’t black yet, either. Sounds like that’s to come, before the postscript. Question being, is it alt!Callie black eyes, or some black-hole-powers visual manifestation? Wait, never mind, I misread; this teenage Jade-corpse has NOT opened their eyes yet, so they couldn’t possibly tell, and the stuff about them “shaking” was about the adult Jade standing over her. Never mind. Let’s see which timeframe this Jade came from.

Also STOP TRAUMATIZING ADULT JADE ON SCREEN ITS NOT OKAY IM SICK OF IT ANDREW

==>

Page 20...

Stop letting babby not!Vriska bully babby not!Tavros.

Hm... same stupid tooth poison? No, Jade didn’t get hit with a tooth... so it’s more getting hit with shards of spacetime and spiraling down a black hole. Also whatever alt!Callie did to just barely keep her alive.

Hm, so the Heart stuff falls apart if you’re too separated from the mass-whole at Light’s center? That’s certainly a hypothesis at least.

ROXY: sounds like its time for another funeral lmao

ROXY WAKE THE FUCK UP AND STOP BEING A VAGUELY ROXY-LOOKING LMAO-ZOMBIE. WHERE THE FUCK DID REAL ROXY GO.

And where the fuck is Calliope anyway, she’s just being left in the dust and nobody’s even talked to her from the looks of it.

Hm, cut apart by political differences, this group...?

ROXY: woah ok karkat i get ur all fired up about politics and stuff but lay off gamz ok

ROXY WHO REPLACED YOUR FUCKING BRAIN WITH A BLOCK OF CHEESE

ROXY YOU’RE MY FAVORITE CHARACTER PLEASE GIVE US AN EXPLANATION FOR WHY YOU’RE ACTING NOTHING LIKE THE COOL SMART PERSON WE READ ABOUT.

JADE: dave what the FUCK did you say to him downstairs?

Oh my god you asshole don’t blame DAVE for this >:(

ROXY: this time next week well corpse party like its the end of the world!

I don’t want to think this has anything to do with Aradia, but we DID see her in that postscript bit... And, I mean, what the hell could she even do?? It’s not like this Roxy is just Aradia in really convincing cosplay or something.

==>

She leads John and Jake into the building and down the center of the nave, humming happily to herself the entire time. An equally effusive Calliope trails behind her, carrying a bouquet of purple flowers.

Well there’s Callie. What is WITH these hypnotized motherfuckers. I need a revelation on these shenanigans STAT.

What is with people being bathed in light here?

each time we witness death, we fall in love in with the important people in oUr lives all over again.

Calliope is gazing at Roxy with glassy eyes. She sniffs as she plucks the last petal from her rose. A breeze washes through the cathedral from the crack in the door at the end of the room, brushing the petal off-course and causing it to get stuck in Roxy’s over-sprayed hair. Calliope reaches out with a visibly shaking hand to remove the plant offal, but she does not draw back. Instead, she lets her hand graze down the side of Roxy’s face and cup her cheek. Roxy puts her own hand over Callie’s and holds it.

Uhhh.... huh.

So.

If Roxy was just lying to herself, then............ WHY??????

John tilts his head and squints at the image in front of him. Hmm.

Is John realizing he’s in some sort of fanfic drawn by another character, hence all the people in serene lightbeams at tender but unjustified moments?

Everyone whips their heads around to see, of all people, Aradia hovering in the foyer

Pff

(...I hope Aradia didn’t come here, like, from the postscript. Where the “action” she talked about might have just been this corpse party. Because that would be pretty fucking lame.)

KARKAT: MAYBE FUCKING NEPETA IS ABOUT TO POUNCE FROM BEHIND THAT GROTESQUE STATUE OF THE HUMAN SUFFERER T-POSING OVER THERE.

Pfffffffffff

The description of Human Jesus we all had in our hearts, but were too afraid to voice.

Alright, now we see the body we took our eyes off of. Is it going to get back up, or did it escape earlier?

since nobody was willing to dislodge the huge, otherworldly shard from her chest

My damn god, people.

...alright finally, everyone’s talking.

JANE: Agreed. I’ve always felt that Kanaya has done an exemplary job of providing a model for compassionate, empathetic behavior, which others of her kind would do well to follow.

JANE STOP BEING A XENOPHOBIC BASTARD

CALLIOPE: please. roxy gathered yoU all here for a reason. CALLIOPE: at least listen Until the end. CALLIOPE: after that yoU can argUe all you want.

...Huh. Huuuuhh. What the fuck is all this for. Are you saying ROXY caused this? Or...?

Okay I like this reinforcement she’s making in her speech about how different changes can influence how all of this unfolds, gives me hope that maybe these two cliffhangers aren’t all we’re going to be left with and we’ll be able to at least think of an IMPLIED future different from them if we wanted to like we thought about the seemingly-infinite-possibility original ending of Homestuck that I’d rather have been stuck with than this oh god breathe boots

okay there’s the labor going into good distraction

alright corpse get back up

JADE: i am not jade.

Right, so like the black eyes in the postscript suggested this is more just a... vessel for alt!Calliope now? To give HER a future beyond the one she sacrificed for that black hole business? And between alt!Callie’s became-the-black-hole nature and Jade’s Spacey Green Sun connection that’s been singularified, she has access to cool Black Hole powers? And is gonna do cool shit with them in implied future adventures we won’t see while Aradia gleefully watches the carnage? Huh.

The congregation watches her go, but no one moves to help her, or even looks in her direction. In her wake, she leaves a primal, echoing wail.

Oh my god why wouldn’t they have just a brief discussion or something IT’S NOT THAT BAD D:

JADE: and while i cannot say the same thing for the rest of you, JADE: i, at least, am exactly where i am meant to be.

Well fuck. So she just disconfirmed this timeline as... something. Relevant, possible, I dunno.

JADE: and i have entered this body to protect your world.

Okay that’s good. So thanks to alt!Calliope these side timelines where things unfolded differently MAY be preserved. Pretty fitting given alt!Callie’s origins.

.......unless there’s some other stupid interspecies civil war threat that she’s going to be fighting too, here, when the political situation falls apart. Dammit.

==>

Terezi talk Terezi talk

-- JOHN EGBERT sent TEREZI PYROPE the photo “ghostrain.jpg” --

TEREZI: WH4T TH3 4CTU4L FUCK JOHN: it started a few days ago. the sky above the capital of the troll kingdom just cracked open and ghosts began raining down everywhere.

Oh my GOD. So alt!Callie kind of “saved” all the doomed ghosts that got swallowed up in the black hole by redirecting them all to THIS UNIVERSE and timeline???????

That’s pretty interesting! Heck my stomach’s even calming down!

they can’t even be judges! TEREZI: G4SP

Yeah that’s pretty terrible!

...yep, the resistance WOULD put him in charge. I had a feeling it may have ended up in that direction in Candy since it wasn’t in Meat.

--oh FUCK YOU Jade for splitting up what he had with Karkat before they could sort it out!!! You did the OPPOSITE OF HELP and neither of them are going to end up happy thanks to you! D:<

PFFF wow, John’s so concerned about babby not!Tavros’s living situation that he’s considering legit kidnapping. That means things must be pretty fucking bad.

--okay Calliope’s still out and about with Roxy instead of being cooped up in her room like in the other timeline, that’s good.

Pff, trying to redeem Ghost Eridan in front of Ghost Feferi. Yep, that’s Gamzee.

GAMZEE: fIrSt, A LiTtLe RiGhTeOuS sPlAsH oF tHe NaNnA nEcTaR tO cLeAnSe ThAt DaNkNeSs FrOm YoUr SoUlS...

Gamzee takes out a baby bottle and flicks it, covering them both with little drops of milk, as clergy does with holy water. He then takes a swig from the bottle himself before returning it to his codpiece.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I don’t want to believe that what’s in that bottle is what he’s making it sound like it is, but OF COURSE it is. Why would it be anything else. I bet there’s not even any Lifey hypnosis going on, it’s just the literal stuff.

The crowd falls silent as they raise their heads to watch a drone ship pass by overhead.

Jegus fuck stop going whole hog condesce janey

ROXY: lmao you worry too much ROXY: janeys got her head on straight shell show you yet

ROXY. WHERE DID YOUR BRAIN GO. I MISS IT. YOUR BRAIN WAS THE BEST FUCKING PART OF YOU.

Touching photo.

Alright lemme post split. I haven’t gotten as far as the last post plowed through since I’ve been typing so much... ah well.

#Homestuck #Homestuck Epilogue #Upd8 #Homestuck Liveblog #bladekindeyewear #BlastYoBoots

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i-can-do-tricks · 7 years ago

Text

A THING FOR @fishmum

HEY

I SEE THAT I GOT ASSIGNED TO U

AND I WENT CRAZY

I LOVE UR BLOG

AND THE PROMPT

I WAS SCREAMING I LOVED IT SO MUCH

SO HERE IT IS, MY @undertalesecretsanta PROJECT GIFT THING FOR U

ENJOY

~~~

“Dum dee dum, dum…”

The large, happy monster stood there, watering his flowers.

He tilted the watering can just so, giving each and every plant exactly the right amount of water it needed to keep growing. Seeing all this life flourishing right in front of him, in his favorite place, always made him smile…

And he casually stepped to the side, careful to step between the flowers, in time for a glowing, cyan magical spear to impale the soil just beyond where he had been standing. He let out a small breath of relief to see it embedded in the rich soil rather than one of the flowers he’d been caring for, even though it wouldn’t have been too big of a deal.

The owner of the spear barged through the doorway, shouting cheerfully.

“Asgore!! I think I’m ready to kick your ass!!!”

“Oh? Howdy, Undyne! You found me just finishing watering these flowers.”

Undyne was getting taller, and her hair longer, thrown into her usual messy ponytail. Her casual outfit hadn't changed very much, but she had been getting into those large but cute boots lately, mostly to make sure her feet didn’t hurt walking through Hotland. But she sure had a lot, for some reason.

“So, Undyne? Are you ready for your next lesson?”

She grinned. “Sure thing, Asgore!! But ONLY if I can't beat you!”

Asgore raised his eyebrows, interested. “Hm? You want to try to fight me again?”

Undyne pumped her fist up. “Yeah!!! I’m gonna knock you down for sure!! And then we can have tea and pie afterward, right?”

Asgore chuckled. “Of course!” He stood up, unequipping the watering can, his armor already equipped. Turning around, he initiated the FIGHT, and the room blinked to black and white.

Undyne attacked first, like always. She summoned spears, spinning twice before diving at Asgore, who dodged them easily.

*MISS

He stroked the air, sending wave after wave of fireballs at Undyne, close to singing her.

*MISS

Undyne gritted her teeth and sent large spears from the floor upward, forcing Asgore to jump from side to side in order to avoid them.

*MISS

Asgore knew Undyne was only trying to lure him into relaxing, if only a tiny bit, before she went all out. That was why he was smiling as he created more waves of fire magic, this time faster, while Undyne picked up the pace quickly.

*MISS

Instead of being frustrated that Asgore kept dodging all her attacks, she had a glint in her eye when she slashed her spear at Asgore, who didn’t noticed the energy coming from it until it was too late.

{Kindness overload

Asgore’s feet were immediately rooted to the ground, and he was suddenly faced with a barrage of spears coming from all directions. He summoned his trident of red magic, blocking the spears with his own weapon.

This wasn’t the first time he had been under the effect of green magic, but it was the first time he had seen it used as Undyne was using it. Green magic was usually used in healing and medical practices, holding an injured patient still while healing them.

But when Undyne was using her green magic, she was actively restraining the healing components of the magic, using it to keep her target still so she could attack it! Asgore was beaming inside the more he thought about it.

It was very difficult to block the entire barrage of spears, even for Asgore, so much he didn’t notice as the green magic silently slipped away.

{Kindness overload end

He realized he could move again when Undyne had already surrounded him with circle after circle of spears, diving towards him. He weaved in and out, quickly sliding between the spears while they struck the spaces he was seconds before.

He was growing exhausted, knowing that she was putting everything she had into this turn. The spears stopped spinning and cut to the part where they chased Asgore, getting faster and faster, and the whole area became a cloud of spears, Asgore in the middle of it all, dodging as quickly as he could.

Suddenly, it all disappeared. And he had just enough time to turn to see Undyne leaping toward him, shouting.

“NGAHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Undyne shoved him with her whole body, knocking him down with an “Oof!”

*87

The grin she had on faded when she saw Asgore on the ground. He had been nice to her, put up with her hot head, even trained her. He had been like…a father to her. And seeing him on the ground, just made her feel really…bad.

“Shoot, um…I’m really sorry, Asgore.”

She looked for any annoyance or anger in his face while he picked himself up, but there wasn’t any. He was…beaming?

“Undyne, you did it!”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, happy tears in his eyes.

“You knocked me down! You believed you could do it, and you did!”

Asgore pulled her into a huge hug, going on and on about her attacks and how she made her own style from her training with him and her training by herself, her small shock quickly wearing off, and a huge grin painted her face.

“Hell yeah!! I’m glad too, Asgore!!!”

}~÷~÷~÷~÷~÷~{

After spending about a half hour cooking and baking the butterscotch pie, making a mess and telling jokes all throughout, Undyne sat down at the table. She dished herself a slice and snuck a bite while Asgore used his fire magic to boil the tea, quickly and expertly like he always did.

He returned with the teapot and two teacups, pouring the fish-shaped one first and then the other, decorated with pictures of flowers.

He had unequipped his armor and changed into his favorite sweater awhile ago before they had started making the pie, which turned out very delicious! It might have been the happy events surrounding the pie that made it all the sweeter, though.

Asgore still seemed sadly dissatisfied with the way the pie turned out for some reason.

Undyne thought she heard heard him whisper, “It's still not like how she used to make it,” before he gave a small shake of his head and continued to eat.

“So,” Asgore started between sips of tea, “How did you learn that green attack? I know it's your dominant soul trait, but never in all my years have I seen it used like that.”

Undyne gave a huge grin, partly due to her pride at discovering something new, but also at Asgore's genuine curiosity, though of course she wouldn't expect anything less from him.

“Yeah! I wanted to practice some more back home, so I asked Gerson to help me train too! He fought in the war, too, so he'd be able to help me get stronger too!

“He has a lot of strategies to use in battle, and I've been able to use elements of both yours and his training to formulate my own!!” She shoved another bite of pie in her mouth. (mmm…)

Asgore's eyes lit up. “Ah! I'm glad he was able to help you. Gerson may be quite old, but he did fight in the Great War, and long before that. And I suppose if anyone were to know about that kind of use of green magic, it would be him,” he said, nodding.

Undyne sipped her tea a bit before grinning again. “Actually, I came up with the green attack on my own!”

Asgore listened, wide-eyed, as she went on. “So, I was practicing with one of the dummies outside of my house, trying to figure out how to get you to keep still, so you couldn't dodge my attacks, right? One of the ghosts was helping me, too. Anyway, my neighbor Napstablook came to get me, and they told me that one of their friends got hurt, and I was the closest person he knew of who knew green magic.” Asgore nodded and carefully sipped his tea as she continued. “So I went to help and found his cousin trying to get a Woshua to calm down, she was running around, wailing about her wounds and how they weren't sanitary, or something like that. So I turned Woshua’s heart green, and it stopped moving. And when I was healing her, it hit me! I could use my green effect as an attack, and get you to stand still so you can't dodge!!

“So then I went to Gerson, I wanted this to be a surprise, and he helped me modify it so it would only keep the target still, but not heal them!” Her expression turned a bit more serious and she continued to wonder aloud. “You had a weapon to block my attacks, though. Not everyone would have one, so I'd need to figure out how to give them something to defend themselves with…”

Undyne looked up at Asgore again, her eye determined. “It'll be a while before I can make it perfect. But I just came up with it, so that's okay, right?”

Asgore smiled and nodded. “Of course, Undyne. It takes lots of time and practice to be able to master an attack, and even more so for a fighting style. I am very proud of you that you are taking the necessary steps for mastering it, and I haven't even started teaching you how! Your father would have been proud, too, you know.”

Her face fell, if only a little, and she sighed. “Yeah. I would have, if he was…still around.” She smiled sadly. “Oh well. It had to happen eventually, right?”

Asgore watched her carefully, silently making a decision. “Undyne, may I ask you something?”

She looked up and grinned. “Ok! Shoot, Asgore!”

He took a breath.

“How would you like to join the Royal Guard?”

Undyne drew a sharp breath.

Asgore quickly continued, “I understand if you don't want to, knowing how your fath-”

He was interrupted by Undyne leaping out of her chair, shouting, “NGAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” She leapt over to Asgore and suplexed him, just because she could, and held him high above her head. (WhO-A!)

Undyne shouted, “HELL YES I WOULD!! I want to be just as strong and cool as my dad! Maybe I'll even become the Lead of the Royal Guard someday!!”

Asgore, a bit flustered by being up in the air, continued, “You'd have to train some more under the Guard, but yes, Undyne, I believe you have what it takes to be a wonderful Royal Guardswoman. Your father would be very proud, as am I.”

“YEAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

(And if you don't mind, I'd like to be back on the floor again.)

“Oop, sorry.”

#i had lots of fun writing this #i hope you like it #asgore #undyne #fishmum #undertale #fanfic #undertalesecretsanta #undertale secret santa 2017 #my writing

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ah17hh · 4 years ago

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My 69 favorite copy-pastas... nice via /r/emojipasta

My 69 favorite copy-pastas... nice

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ӨЦΛΛΛΛ 🗿 Λ Λ Λ Λ Λ 🗿 ӨЦΛΛΛΛ 🗿 Λ Λ Λ Λ Λ 🗿 ӨЦΛΛΛΛ 🗿 Λ Λ Λ Λ Λ 🗿

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this😚is😿the👄best🤪burrito🌯i’ve🤩ever♦️eaten💞yum🔓yum🗿yum😢

I 😳 don’t 💕 see😌 how 👁 you 👽 can🤦‍♂️hate 😜 from🧚‍♀️my ✨ side👄 of 🖤 the😈 club😹 you 🗣 cant👅 even 💅 get 🕴🏽in 💞 💁‍♀️

ÿoú tákë thę mœn🌚ÿøū👁takê thė šüń🌝yōu täkè 𝖾⋁𝖾𝖗𐒦tꜧĺ𝛈𝚐✨thät sèе𝙢Ꚃ lïkè 𝗳𝑢በ😹ÝƯ ştΐṛ〰️ï𝙩 𝐚ʟʟ ƯᎮ án ｗꜧ𝚎ņ🕑ÝỨṛ𝚎 ᵭņ𝚎 ṛᥲԂԂᥲ😝ṛṛᥲԂԂa

Hi, 🤚 you're on a rock 🗿 floating in space. 🌖 pretty cool, 😎👍 huh? 😕❔ some of it's water. 🤽‍♂️ fuck it. 🚮 actually, most of it's water 💦 ⛲ i 😀 can't even 🌒 get 🉐 from here 📍 to there without buying 🛍 a boat. ⛴⚓ it's sad. 🙍 i'm sad. 🙁😭 I miss you.

its 😔 gluten 💡 free 😰 ion 🤬 care 🤖 if its 👎 free 🎁 swear 👁 on ur 👱‍♀️fucking 𝙔𝙀𝙀𝙕𝙔𝙎 ⛸⛸ if you 👤 wanna fight 🤬 we🙎 gon 👄fight 👎🏽you 🦁 tryna 😠 be 🐝 on worldstar ⭐️ what ⁉️ you ✊ gonna 📹 record 🤳 it 🙊 yea 😼 i got🚶‍♂️ my 🙇 dollar 💵 store 🏬 camera 📸 *on* ✅ 𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏𝙎 👀 𝙏𝙃𝙀 👁𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆𝙄𝙉 😼 𝙎𝙄𝙏𝙐𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙉𝙉 ✨✨the 😼 fuck 🤬 do 👏 you 👿 want ⁉️im ⭐️ the 🚶‍♂️ motherfuckin💎M̸̦͔̜̖̳̼͚̱͚̮͍̱̘̰̲͂̃̚A̴̧̢̮̫̼̟̳̭̩̪̟̾̋́̌̀̔͐͒̔̾͗̚͜͝͝N̴̫̭͇̹̍́̾̿͒̈́́̄̏A̵͚͓̥̿̍͊͛̎̂̀̀͠͠Ǵ̴̖̭̭̺̣̭̺̈́̅̏́̓͜ͅÈ̷́͠R̶̖͈͈͐͜❗️❗️at the 💢 bread 🍞 store ❓𝘽𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿 tell 🤖 him 🗣 to take 👌 the 😾 motherfuckin 🤡 gluten 😷 𝙤𝙪𝙩 🙅‍♀️ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿 🥖 imma 🧚 need 🤚 you 👶 to shut 🔇 that 💪 bullshit 👄 up 👆 chief 💂‍♀️ we 👬 cant 🙅 take 👌 shit out 👾 the 😷 bread 🍞 why❓ put 👿 it in 🤲 in 👁 the 👅 first 1️⃣ place🚪 i 🧑‍🎨 know 🧠 yall 💢 𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣 🚬 that 👉 𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙠 💅

A🌑 duck walked🚤👳🏽 up↪️ to📵 a🍉 lemonade stand And💘 he📮 said🏰👸🏼 to📰 the man,👏🏻 running🐖 the👋🏿💿💕 stand "Hey! (Bum🚵🏼 bum🎓 bum)💦 Got😁 any🕗🆖 grapes?" The👦🏻✔️👲🏼 man⏫ said "No😪 we📂 just🚥 sell🐣 lemonade. But👨‍👨‍👦‍👦📀 it's cold And👧🏾🔣 it's👌 fresh And🔳🌕🚿👆🏾 it's all home-made.🙆🏽🛀 Can🍍 I get🚥📅 you Glass?" The duck said, "I'll👣 pass". Then👃🏻 he waddled👵🏻 away. (Waddle🌂 waddle) 'Til😢👒 the💂🏻😐🙅🏿 very📍 next♊️ day. (Bum bum bum👳🏾😇 bum👮🏿🌜 ba-bada-dum)🕐👮🏽

Shawty’s💖✨like🌟😌a⌛️👑✨melody💞🎀🌟 🪐That💫 I 🌏can't 🌍keep 🌵out 🌟Got 🌟me ✨singin' ⚡️like⚡️ 🔥Na na na na 🔥everyday🌪 It's🌈 like ☀️my 💫iPod ❄️stuck 🏚on 🤠replay, 🤤replay-ay-ay-ay🦁 Shawty's🤤 like 🤖a 🤑melody 😻in 😽my 🤲head🧠 That 🤚I 💢can't 💋keep 💄out👀 Got 🤙me 🙏singin' 🙏like👅 Na na na na 💄everyday💋 ⌚It's 💎like 💪my 📱iPod 👋stuck 👋on 🖖replay, 🤚Deluga 🤘Heights (replay) 🤟Hey ✊🏾over 👏and 🤝over 👐o_O ||if 👁I'm 🆓tipsy🔰 or ♻️sober💯 I 💖got ❤️lil' 💔momma💗 on 💝rewind❣️like the ❤️deck 👥in 😻my 😺Rover 👾On 💀my 🤑mind, 🗿shawty☁ fine, 😯meditate 🤒her 👩 like 🧘‍♀️ 🤒So 🤕down 🤐on 😵the 🙄line 😤make 👉me 👈want 👍🏾a 😈cold 👹soda👺 👻Hey 👽baby 🤡be 🤤my 😈radio 📻 😶Hear👂you ✨ everywhere 😏I 😉go 🙂Music 👩‍❤️‍👨in 😇my 😚head🤪 🤨Know 😋your 🤪melody 🤩in 😔every 😭note😏 Girl 😍you 😍incredible😚 🤪Make 🤩yourself 🗿available😏Na na na na🤪 😘That 🎶tune 😚so 😊exceptional☺️ 😍Smexy 😍like 💗a 😚piano 👸give 💥you ♉️my 👩🏿‍✋ hands 👀if ✊🏾you're 😈ready💀 ✨We 😜can 😀make 🙃plans😚 get🗿 body 😋stand😍 if ✊🏾you let ☄️me😩 Girl I'm a…😳

Shawty 👄 had 👉 them 💯 apple 🍎 bottom 🔽 jeans 👖 boots 👢 with *️⃣ the 🔟 fur 🐈 (with *️⃣ the 🔟 fur 🐈) got 🐲 the 🔟 whole 🙄 club 💒 looking 👀 at ☮️ her 👠 she 💃 hit 👊 the 🔟 floor 🔽 (she 💃 hit 👊 the 🔟 floor 🔽) next 👉 thing ♈️ you 👤 shawty 👄 got 👣 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽low 🔽 them 🦮 baggy 👜 sweatpants 🩳 and ➕ the 👁‍🗨 Reeboks 👟 with ➕ the 🎶 straps ↩️ (with ➕ the 🎶 straps ↩️) she 💃 turned 😛around ↩️ and 👊 gave ✌️ that 👁 big 🥵booty 🍑 a 🌶 smack ✨ she 💃 hit 👊 the 🔟 floor 🔽 (she 💃 hit 👊 the 🔟 floor 🔽) next 👉 thing ♈️ you 👤 shawty 👄 got 👣 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽 low 🔽low 🔽

Today 📅 my 12 😣🕛 year 📅 old 👴 son 👦 and I 👥 walked 🚶 into harvard 👩‍🎓 to sign 🚧 him 👴 up ☝ for college 🚌📚. The dean rudly asked ❓ what a 12 😣🕛 year 🗓 old 👴 was doing signing 🖊 up ⬆ for such a prestigious 🎖🏆 institute like 👍 harvard 👩‍🎓. My son 🙎‍♂️ took 👫 of to reveal 💡 his 🤦 Rick 👨🏻‍🔬 and Morty 😡😵 shirt 👕 and proclaimed "Well 🖕🖕🏻🖕🏿 you 👆 see 👁 sir 🤔 I 👁 watch 👁 Rick 🥒 and Morty 😡😵". A look 👀 of confusion ❓🤔 came 💦 over 😳🙊💦 the deans face 😀 and I 👁 have never 🚫 been so proud 😤. The dean quickly ⚡ made 👉 sure 💯 to appologize to my son 👦 but 👆🍑👀 it was too late 💤, the police 👮‍♂️ rushed 🏃‍♂️ in and dragged him 👨🏾 out. My son 👦 passed 📆 all 🙌 his 🤦 classes 📒 with 4.0s and graduated 🔝 top 🔝 of his 🤦 class 📒 in the first 🥇 day 📅 of college 🏘👱📚.

Number🔢 1️⃣5️⃣: 🅱️urger🍔 Ki🆖🤴 foot👣 lettuce🥗. The last🥉 thing you'd👉 want in👇 your👉 🅱️urger🍔 Ki🆖🤴 🅱️urger🍔 is someone's👤 foot👣 fu🆖us🤢🤮. 🅱️ut🍑 as🍑 it turns↩️ out, that might 🅱️e what you👉 get. A 4️⃣channer🍀👤 uploaded a 🅿️hoto📷📸 🅰️nonymously👤❓ to the site showcasing his🚹 feet👣 in👇 a 🅿️lastic bin🚮 of lettuce🥗🤮. With the statement🗣: "This👇 is the lettuce🥗 you👉 eat 🅰️t 🅱️urger🍔 Ki🆖🤴."😱😱 🅰️dmittedly, he🚹 had shoes👣👟 on. But🍑 that's even🤭 worse😱😷. The 🅿️ost went live at 1️⃣1️⃣:3️⃣8️⃣ PM on July🎆🎇 1️⃣6️⃣, and a mere 2️⃣0️⃣ minutes🕤 later, the 🅱️urger🍔 Ki🆖🤴 in👇 question❓ was 🅰️lerted👂 to the rogue👤 employee👤. At least, I👁 hope he's🚹 rogue. How😨 did it🤔 happen🧐🧐? Well, the 🅱️K🍔🤴 employee👤 hadn't🚫 removed❌ the Exif data🤓 from the uploaded photo📷📸, which suggested👀 the culprit👤 was somewhere in👇 Mayfield Heights, Ohio🇺🇸. This was 🅰️t 1️⃣1️⃣:4️⃣7️⃣. 3️⃣ minutes later🕘 at 1️⃣1️⃣:5️⃣0️⃣, the 🅱️urger🍔 Ki🆖🤴 branch🌳 address📭🏠 was 🅿️osted with wishes🙏 of happy😄😁 unemployment😨😰. 5️⃣ minutes later🕚, the news stati🔛 was contacted🗣📞 🅱️y 🅰️nother 4️⃣channer👤🍀. And 3️⃣ minutes🕒 later, at 1️⃣1️⃣:5️⃣8️⃣, a link was 🅿️osted: 🅱️K's🍔🤴 "Tell us 🆎out us" online🌐 forum. The foot👣 🅿️hoto📷📸, otherwise known as🍑 exhibit 🅰️, was 🅰️ttached. Cleveland🇺🇸 Scene Maga🇺🇸zine contacted🗣☎️ the 🅱️K🍔🤴 in👇 question🤔❓ the next⏩ day🌞. When questioned🤔❓🧐, the breakfast🌞🍽 shift manager🧔 said "Oh, I👁 know😱 who🤔 that is. He's🚹 getti🆖 fired💥🔫🔥." Mystery🧐 solved👍, 🅱️y 4️⃣chan🍀👥. Now we👥 can🛢 all go 🔙 to2️⃣ eati🆖🍽 our fast🏃‍♂️💨 food🍔🍟🥤 in👇 🅿️eace☮️😀😃😁👍.

im 😂 not gonna 😻 show 👈📺 you 🤙 🤖 the 🍁🌷 facts 📚 📚 and 👏👏 💰 the 👑⚕ 🏽 evidence 📰 🔨📃 beacuse im 😂 😂😂 29 fucking ♀😡 🎮 years 📅📅 old 🍆 and 💻 🌬 in 👄📥 not ⚠🤚 gonna ♂ sit down ⬇👇 and ➕👏 💰 make 💰 🖕 a video ♀📹 📹📸 with 👏👈 👩😫 screenshots exposing 👐 👐 my bullies 😎🖕 🖕😎 these 🈴 💁🚟 are 🏾 👏🏼 bullies these 🤤 are 🏿 highschool fucking 🙏 bullies and 🍀 👏📡 they 👥 👈 wanna 🙇❤ come at 😍👸 👅 me ❓ 📩✌ and 👏🍞 🅱🏼 say 😅🚃 ✋ your ⬅ 👏👏 29 years 📅 old how 👏⚖ your 🍆🏻 👉 acting fuck 😤👦 🍆 you 👆 your 🍆 🙄 in 👏 〽 your 😩 fucking 👉🍆 30s almost 😲 👀😲 all 💯 of 💦📆 😤 you 😤 😘👆 attacking ♂ ♂ me 🏿😭 👈 and 👏😵 😭 im 👌 👌 not ♂🚫 saying 🗣😡 a fucking 👉 work 🏢 🔨 to 🙅 💦 anybody and 👏 👏🙏 your 💯👉 going to 💦 👆💰 say 🤐 🏿 im 👀 😂🏻 panting myself 🔪 👩🐱 as the 🔝👏 🕘⚕ victim and 👏💦 im 👌😂 trying 😔 to ask 🤗😩 😥🙋 for 💰👨 attention i 😂👀 have 👏🏋 😤💰 not 🚫🙅 said 💖 😑 a 👌😂 fucking 😛💞 👈 word 🔚🔚 ✊ publicly until 💦 🅱 another 👯👣 video 🎥 📹 was ☠ 💯👏 made 💰😶 👆 about me 😩👤 the 👏 🅱👏 week 📅 ❗😱 i was 👏👏 👏 putting 💯💯 out 💰▶ 🏼🏍 my 👨 fucking EP you 👉💬 😭👧 wanna ❤ 😻🏿 ghost 👻👻 👻👻 the 🕸 internet 🌐💻 for 😎🍆 five 🕔 fucking ➡ months 🏽 and ✝ im 😂 promoting ↗ my 😩 😘 project ↗ like 😏❤ 😄 crazy and 😇👏 ➕👏 your 👏 ☝ gonna 👏🅱 🔥 put 😏 my 👨 name 📛 in your fucking 🎮😫 🖕🍑 thumbnail bringing up ❤✋ a 🅰💰 🏠 fucking 🚟 ➡ dramatic lie 💬❎ ❎😱 a hate 💯💯 campaign that 🦃 🔪 you fucking started 😁 🙄 5 👪 🛐 months ✌📆 🙄🏽 you 🏻👏 dont 😡🙅 👀 post 🏾📌 🗒🙄 but 🤤 💏🍑 im 👌🅱 posting a 💰☝ 💰 project ⬆⬅ ⬅⬆ and 👏👏 you 🤖🅱 have 💪👏 👏 to say 🗣🗣

You 👆 useless 👩🏻 piece 🗿 of shit 💩. You 👆 absolute 💯 waste 😵 of space ⭐⚫ and air 🌬. You 👆 uneducated, ignorant 👌, idiotic 😜 dumb 🤪 swine 🐽😂, you’re an absolute 💯 embarrassment 😣 to humanity 🕴 and all 🤠 life 💓 as a whole 🕳. The magnitude 🔍 of your 👉 failure 👎🏽 just now is so indescribably massive 🐘 that one ☝🏻 hundred 💯 years 📅 into the future 👨🏼 your 👉🏿 name 🏷 will be used ♦ as moniker of evil 😈 for heretics. Even 🌃 if all 💪 of humanity 🕴 put 👏 together 👮‍♂️🐕 their collective intelligence 🧐 there is no 🚫 conceivable way ↕ they could have thought 🤔 up ☝ a way ↕ to fuck 🤬 up ⬆ on the unimaginable scale ⚖ you 👉🏻 just did

How 🤷🏻 ba-a-a-ad 🤡👺👹 can 🛢 I 👉👁👄👁 be? 🐝🐝I'm 💁🏻‍♂️just🤷🏻doin'🙆🏻‍♂️what comes ☀️🌈✨𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎✨🌈☀️How💁🏻‍♂️ba-a-a-ad🤡👺👹can🛢I 👉🤡be? 🐝🐝 I'm💁🏻‍♂️just 🤷🏻following👉➡️➡️my ➡️➡️🎀 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓎 🎀 How🤷🏻ba-a-a-ad🤡👺👹can🛢I👉🏿be? 🐝🐝 I'm💁🏻‍♂️just🤷🏻doin'🙆🏻‍♂️what comes ☀️🌈✨ 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 ✨🌈☀️ How🤷🏻ba-a-a-ad 🤡👺👹 can🛢I👉👹be? 🐝🐝How 🤷🏻💁🏻‍♂️bad🥵👺💁🏻‍♂️can🛢💁🏻‍♂️I 💁🏻‍♂️possibly🙋🏻‍♂️be?💁🏻‍♂️🐝🐝Well, 🤷🏻 there's a principal 💡⏳of nature 🙈🙉🙊(principal of nature) 🗣👥🙋🏻‍♂️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻That almost👌every 🐶🐱🐭🐮 creature🐹🐰🐯🐸 knows💡💡Called survival🏋🏻🤸🏻‍♀️of the fittest💪🏻💪🏾 (survival of the fittest) 🗣👥🙋🏻‍♂️ 🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻And check✅it ➡️this is how it goes🚶🏻🚶🏻‍♀️The animal🙈🙉🙊that eats🍌gotta🤼 scratch🏋️and 👄bite 🦁and💪punch🤼And the🐷🐨animal🐥🦇 that doesn't, well the 🐼🦁animal🦉🐙that doesn't, winds🔁 up🆙⬆️Someone else's 💁🏻‍♂️💁🏽‍♂️💁🏿‍♂️🙋🏻🙋🏼🙋🏽🙋🏾‍♀️lu-🍔lu-🥙lu-🌮lu-🥪lunch!🍱(Munch Munch Munch Munch Munch👁👅👁) 🗣👥🙋🏻‍♂️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻I'm just saying'...💁🏻‍♂️

𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼🌙a 🙄𝘣𝘶𝘻𝘻🐝𝘣𝘶𝘻𝘻🤣 ｂｕｚｚ✨ïṅ 😨m̸e̸a̸d̸o̸w̸🤷🏻‍♀️t⃨h⃨e⃨r⃨e⃨s⃨👾ᗩ😈ꌃꀎꁴꁴ💩 🐝乃ㄩ乙乙😂【b】【u】【z】【z】💕 b̆̈ŭ̈z̆̈z̆̈🌹the 😅 ፕዪቿ̂🌳Շɦεɼεร😣a 🤯b̶u̶z̶z̶👽 b̠u̠z̠z̠🤖 ḃu̇żż👻ᏰᏬፚፚ 💀in 👃the😷 ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳˢ🌺ꅐꏂꋪꏂ😹so 🤟乃ㄩ丂ㄚ🗣 b̑̈ȇ̈ȋ̈n̑̈g̑̈👓᥇ꪊɀɀꪊꪗ🥽b͛e͛e͛z͛ 👁ẇєяє👄ɓմςςψ 🗿ℬUℤℤℐℕᎶ🌿with🐚♭ṳℨℨ♭ḙḙ✺🥓bͦͯuͦͯzͦͯzͦͯbͦͯeͦͯeͦͯ🌍is 🌟b˟˚u˟˚s˟˚y˟˚🎰with 🧠m͙e͙🐽Ᏺᾀᑬᑬẙ😀 as 😉a સଇกกϓ Ъ૯૯🍯 can 🙇‍♂️be🧚🏻 w̤̮e̤̮r̤̮e̤̮🦷βUSΨ😴b̾u̾z̾z̾i̾n̾g̾🤐with 🤡b⃠u⃠z⃠z⃠b⃠e⃠e⃠👺 t̺͆h̺͆e̺͆🎃ṧ✺ℵ🌞!✘a͎l͎w͎a͎y͎s͎🦄s͜͡h͜͡i͜͡n͜͡i͜͡n͜͡g͜͡👨‍🦳🄸🅃🅂🧒great😖t̶o̶😪b͟e͟👐🏻ḁͦl̥ͦi̥ͦv̥ͦe̥ͦ🔪 ሠዘቿክ💄you’re ♭ʊʐʐ😻βUZZ😮ℬʉᏃᏃ🐣乃∪乙乙🥶Ъμｚｚ😸b˟˚u˟˚z˟˚z˟˚i˟˚n˟˚g˟˚🤬ᏜᎥʈ⋆🤧ЪμｚｚЪ૯૯🤔i͓̽n͓̽🚀Ꮖℋℰ👱🏻‍♀️ʰⁱᵛᵉ🍟

I 👁 don't 🚫👎 know 💭 what 😂 I 💰💰 was 👏👏 thinking 🤔 Leaving 🚪🍃 my 👨🌭 child 👾 behind 👟☢ Now 🎅🙅 I suffer 😱😤 the 👏🔝 curse ⛓ Knowing 💭🤔 now 😭🤗 I 🤠 am blind With all 👩😩 this anger, 😡 guilt and sadness Coming 🏻🏃 to 😷 haunt me 👸 forever 🕜 I can't 🔫 wait for the cliff 💦 at 🗽 the end of 💦 the 🦉👑 river Is 😤 this revenge I am seeking Or seeking someone 👥👤 to 💦 avenge me Stuck in 〽👏 my 🏻 own 😎🏻 paradox I 👀👨 wanna ♀ set ➿ myself free Maybe I 😏 should 👑 chase and 👏 find 🔦 Before they'll 👧 try 😐 to 💦 stop ⛔ it 💯 It won't be 🍆💚 long before 🐝🔙 I'll 😩 become 🏽 a 🆒 puppet It's been 🥜 so long 🔨 Since I last have seen 👁 my ♂ son 👦 Lost to 💰 this monster 👹 To 🍅 the 🍁 man ♂ behind the slaughter Since you've been 📹 gone 😠😡 I've been 🚟👦 singing this 🏿 stupid song 🎵🎤 So I 👨 could 👌✊ ponder The 😫 sanity of 💦🔴 your mother I 👟👏 wish 😢😢 I 💯😎 lived in 👉 the 👏😈 present With the 😫👏 gift 🍆 of 🚋🤔 my 💋🤔 past mistakes But the 🌜 future 💞 keeps luring in ❤🍆 like 👏💖 a pack of snakes Your 🙄👉 sweet 🍬 little 🐭 eyes 👀👀 Your 👨👉 little 🏽 smile, ⭐😁 is 💦 all I 🏻 remember Those fuzzy memories mess with 👌 my temper Justification is killing me But killing 🔪 isn't justified What happened 🤔🤔 to 💯♀ my �� son, ♂👦 I'm terrified 😲😲 It 😳 lingers in 👇 my 💩💪 mind And 🌰👏 the 🏻 thought 🤔🤔 keeps on getting 💦 bigger I'm 😻 sorry my 👬 sweet 🍬 baby 👦👶 I 👀♂ wish I've 🏾😭 been there 💦✔ It's 😠🍝 been ✊😎 so 😮 long 🕑📏 Since 💦💦 I 🤔🙋 last 🕞❗ have 😑 seen 👀👁 my 😤 son 🏻👦 Lost 🍆 to 💦 this monster 👹👹 To 😉 the 👏👏 man 💂 behind ↩ the 😂🚗 slaughter Since 💦💦 you've been 🤤😎 gone 😭 I've 😠 been 👑 singing 👩 this 💋 stupid song 🎵🎵 So I could 🚫 ponder The sanity of your mother

What the 🅾🔪 fuck 👌🍑 did 🌼 you 👏👉 just 👏 fucking 🏻⚔ say 🗣🎙 about ✨💦 me, you 👧💦 little 🍑😫 bitch? 🐩☘ I'll 💵🤢 have you know 👏 I 💬♀ graduated 💯 top 👚🔼 of my 🖥👌 class 🥇😛 in 🏢 the 👏 Navy Seals, and I've been 🥜💫 involved in ⏳ numerous secret raids 👈👤 on Al-Quaeda, 🍒🅾 and 💰🌈 I 💰👁 have 🎁 over 😈♂ 300 confirmed kills. ☠ I am trained 🏻🏻 in gorilla warfare 💣 and I'm 🚫 the 😱 top 🔝🔼 sniper in the 👩 entire 😂🏼 US armed forces. 🍆 You are 🏃 nothing to 🅱🗝 me but just 👏 another 🔁 target. I 👁👣 will 🅱💰 wipe 🤤 you 😤😑 the 👏 fuck 🏻 out 🍻 with 👏😏 precision the 🌫😫 likes of which 👏 has 👏 never 😤 been 📷👏 seen 👁 before ⬅💰 on 🤤 this 👈 Earth, 🌎🌎 mark ✌ my 👯🕶 fucking ➡👉 words. You ❌❤ think 😠🤔 you 👈 can 💦 get away with 👩👏 saying 💬🗣 that shit 👌👻 to ✌🅱 me over the Internet? 🌐 Think again, fucker. ➡ As 🍑🍑 we 🏼🤝 speak I 👀👈 am contacting 📞👈 my 😽 secret 😱😱 network of spies across 👉 the 📉 USA 💖 and 🥁 your 👉👉 IP is 👉💦 being traced 📈 right ❤ now 👋 so 😴 you better 🤔😚 prepare 👉 for the 👏🎆 storm, maggot. The storm 🌀 that 🍆👏 wipes out the 👌🔥 pathetic 😂👋 little 👩 thing you call 📱 your life. You're 👈 fucking 💯 dead, 🔥😂 kid. 😎👶 I 👁👁 can 💦 be anywhere, anytime, 👉💵 and ♂😫 I 👏 can 🔫🔫 kill 👻🔫 you 😏😏 in ⬅👏 over 😳😈 seven hundred ways, and that's 👆 just with 😉😗 my 👍🆕 bare hands. 👏 Not 👏♀ only 😤 am 👦💦 I 😶 extensively trained 👨🏻 in 💊👇 unarmed combat, 🗡 but I 👩😍 have 😑 access 🔖 to the 👏 entire 👏🙋 arsenal of 👨 the 👍👏 United States 👌 Marine Corps and 📡👏 I will 💦 use it to its full 🈵🌕 extent to wipe your 🏻👏 miserable ass 🍑🍆 off 😡👏 the 👏 face of 💦❤ the continent, 👤 you 👨👈 little 👌 shit. 🎃💖 If 🤥 only you could have known 💫 what 😧 unholy 🙏 retribution your 👏 little 🏼 "clever" comment was about 🎩⭐ to ⚠ bring ➡⬅ down ⬇ upon you, maybe 😿 you ♀ would have 👏 held ✊ your 👈👈 fucking 💯 tongue. 👅 But 🏼 you couldn't, you didn't, 😘 and 💯 now 🎅🔫 you're paying the price, you 🙄🖕 goddamn idiot. I 👁🅱 will 😘 shit 👌 fury 😡😡 all over you 🤓👉 and 💰 you will 👏 drown in it. You're 😊🤖 fucking dead, kiddo. 🔥💲

Submitted September 18, 2020 at 11:56AM by Putins-Uncle via reddit https://ift.tt/2RESOdY

#IFTTT #reddit

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shamelessly4shameless-blog · 7 years ago

Text

130lb of Ukrainian Courage (pt 8)

The gentle oblivion of medicated amnesia can’t last forever. Ian begins to remember on his third day in the hospital. It is fragmented at first, snatches of half memories that are steeped in senses. He remembers the bright light around the outline of closely cropped grey hair as he opened the door.

He remembers the scent of prison linen and mustard on heavy breath and the burn of cheap rope around his wrists.

Ian glances down at his hands, at the healing blistered skin and swallows heavily. Another fragment falls into place and he clenches his jaw against it, pushing back against the reality. His body aches all over and Ian tries not to think too much about it but the memory fragments are like sand trapped in a timer and no matter what he tries, they will not stop trickling through.

Ian glances around the sterile room and his skin crawls with the urge to be in a different place, a place with things to distract him. He is very good at monitoring and controlling his thoughts, he practices doing so as part of his mental health self-check ups but he needs things to aid the process. He needs familiar objects and routine.

The vision in his left eye is fuzzy as he glances around for his phone and he blinks a few times trying to clear it but it won’t clear and his temper begins to fray. He ignores the searing pain in his side and twists round to rummage in the white plastic drawers beside his bed.

His phone is tucked in a pair of socks – hidden from casual chancers but also hidden from Ian and as he finally locates it he curses Mickey’s cautious paranoia.

There are a few messages on the screen but the one he lingers on is the most recent, delivered a couple of hours ago.

‘Gone to shower & get u some proper food. Txt me if u need me. M.’

Ian types a quick text and presses send

‘Bring my clothes. Getting out of here.’

Ian’s phone flashes up almost immediately

‘Dr give u all clear?’

Ian considers lying but it doesn’t seem worth the energy.

‘No. Need 2 leave tho. Want to be home.’

‘B there soon.’

Ian reads the message and then closes his eyes and tips his head back against the pillow. His phone buzzes again a moment later

‘Do NOT leave without me. Will kick ur ass. Love U.’

Ian smiles slightly and opens up his photos. He scrolls through pictures of Mickey, pictures of Yev, he lingers briefly on the photo of Mick and Yev asleep on the bed from a few days previously, then keeps scrolling. There are pictures of his family and a few selfies but it is a specific photo he wants to get to. It is part of his anchoring technique.

Finally it appears in the gallery and Ian presses his finger to the little image with a sigh. Mickey’s face fills the screen, the image of his eyes, aiming straight toward the camera, stills Ian’s jumping nerves and he breathes through his nose as steadily as he can.

A single lock of dark hair is flopped forward onto Mickey’s forehead, his expression is serious but if you know where to look, and Ian does, you can see the very beginnings of a smile hidden in the slight crease of his eyes and the gentle rise of fine black brows.

Ian stares until the screen darkens and then closes his eyes trying to remember every little detail. He recounts the tiny noticeables. The beginnings of stubble, a vague shadow of cheekbone, slightly flared nostrils, a tiny scar by Mickey’s right eye from …

Memory hits Ian, a vicious gut punch from his brain that leaves him gripping the sheets and gasping for each panicked breath.

The way the butt of Terry’s gun swept down in that dreadful arc, striking his teenage son with a crack that made Ian’s stomach shiver.

Mickey blinking into wakefulness after the blow, his eye socket suffused with angry purple bruises and his lips cracked and bloody. Terry had been in the kitchen and Ian had helped Mickey sit up, whispering to him that they could run, if Mickey could stand, they can run and Ian would cover him.

Mickey had shaken his head and touched Ian’s face as if he wasn’t even sure if Ian was real.

“Whether I run or not, he’s gonna kill me, man. But not you. People would miss you. You’re gonna be OK.”

And he had fucking smiled as he said it, Ian remembered that now, Mickey smiling vacantly as he assured himself that Ian was going to be okay, like that was all that mattered to him.

Tears slip down Ian’s face and he lets them.

He remembers Svetlana and the old familiar hatred that he has learned to push away and overcome for the sake of Yevgeny resurfaces with a vicious snap that Ian embraces wholeheartedly.

He remembers Mickey, his Mickey, pushing him away, so terrified of what would happen if they were caught again. At the time Ian had thought, had always thought, that fear was a self-preservation thing. Shoving Ian aside, marrying Svetlana, he thought it was all about protecting himself and maybe some of it was but now, lying in this purgatory of a room, Ian sees the layer beneath the obvious.

He sees Mickey’s fear for him. He sees the agony of wanting something so badly but knowing that to catch it would be to court destruction and rage fills his heart completely, blackening the edges of his love for Mickey, his care for Yevgeny, tainting everything in it’s path, an oil slick without boundary.

Mickey arrives with a backpack of fresh clothes and a meatball Subway and enters Ian’s room with no idea of the storm behind the closed door.

“Hey, I brought you a … OOF!”

He staggers back against the wall, dropping the tightly wrapped sandwich, eyes wide as Ian’s tongue fills his mouth, aggressive and demanding. Mickey tries to pull away but Ian’s body is crushing him into the white coated wall.

“Get on the fucking bed.”

Ian growls, grabbing the front of Mickey’s shirt and yanking him forward.

“Hey! Woah! Hang on ...”

“What? You don’t want me?”

Ian shoves Mickey’s chest and gets in his face within inches of his boyfriends, eyes burning. Ian’s face is a medley of colours, the skin around his left eye a swollen mass of red and black, the fair auburn brow lost in a sea of bruising.

Mickey licks his lip, he had not to be met with a towering inferno of sexual fury and he is trying to catch up to Ian but he doesn’t know how much of what is happening is genuinely Ian and how much is the disruption of his medication routine.

“Of course I fuckin’ do. But not here.”

“Why? Because I’m a fuckin’ state? Because I got the stink of a victim on me? Because you were right and I was wrong?”

“What are you … Hey! Calm the fuck down!”

Mickey snaps as Ian grabs his shirt again, dragging him up onto his toes roughly.

“I am not going to be fucking tamed by this shit! I will not be whipped and afraid like you were!”

Ian snarls and crashes his lips once more against Mickey’s own.

Mickey is desperately trying to fit the pieces together correctly. Ian isn’t being exactly cryptic and his words sting more than a little but Mickey knows this sort of anger – it is almost aimless in it’s all encompassing reach. He lived with it for years, lashing out at everything and everyone and cowering away from his true self with almost pathological fear.

That isn’t Ian.

It could never be Ian but it is close at the moment and he needs to tread lightly.

“No you fuckin’ won’t but you gotta build your strength up. And we need a plan. We can do more damage with a plan, remember?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

Ian’s eyes are wild, his red hair flying up around his head like some sort of demonic halo and Mickey simply nods in agreement.

“Fine.”

He holds Ian’s stare until some sort of awareness returns to the speckled green depths and then slowly detaches the grip Ian has on his shirt and crouches down to pick up the Subway bag.

“I got you this. I want you to eat it. Then we’ll get you checked out.”

Simple instructions. A simple plan. They are what Ian needs and he clings to them, sitting down painfully on the edge of the bed and taking the sandwich from Mickey. He doesn’t apologise and Mickey doesn’t need him to.

There is blood on the floor and on the hem of Ian’s gown from where he has pulled his stitches. Mickey covers the drops with his boot before Ian can notice them and folds his arms until he is sure that his hands have stopped shaking.

The atmosphere is settling around them and Ian is looking more himself as the minutes tick by, a little flat lined and so tired it makes Mickey’s chest ache, but definitely closer to his Ian.

“You want a bite?”

Ian offers, the fire has all but drained from his voice and Mickey can’t think of many times he has felt less like eating in his entire life but he nods and accepts the package as Ian passes it to him.

“You know, I never get how people eat these things without getting sauce everywhere.”

He passes it back, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Ian’s lip lifts slightly and he shrugs

“You take too big bites.”

“Yeah? That the secret? Gotta nibble it?”

Mickey cocks his head to the side and gives Ian a little smirk which Ian returns as best he can.

“Just don’t cram it in.”

“I’ll just stick with chicken and bacon club.”

Mickey grabs a tissue from the box on Ian’s stand and wipes the blood under his shoe discreetly before sitting down next to Ian on the bed.

“Are we going to ours or you maybe wanna go to Fiona’s?”

“Ours.”

Ian says definitely and without hesitation.

“Cool.”

Mickey has left Fiona and Debbie doing a seriously thorough clean up of the place because he thought that was likely to be the answer. The bedroom he cleaned up himself, the bedding shoved in the trash, along with the mattress and bed frame, which Mickey smashed to pieces with a baseball bat in the alley.

The new bed was due to be delivered later that day but even if it wasn’t there, it didn’t matter. Mickey would set Ian up on the couch and sleep on the floor.

The doctors are reluctant to let Ian leave so soon and turn to Mickey as Ian’s next of kin. Mickey hesitates because privately he thinks they are probably right and Ian could do with a few more days of rest and a team of doctors at his disposal because Mickey will do his best and he knows how to dress wounds but that is about all he knows how to do.

However when Ian looks at him, his eyes wide and pleading, Mickey takes his side instantly and signs the paperwork he is asked to sign with a firm grip on the cheap plastic pen, his other hand linked with Ian’s.

The drive home is quiet. A little of the rage seems to have dissipated beneath the gentle sway of medication and Ian alternates between staring out of the window and leaning down to rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey smokes but only one, despite his agitation. He needs to tell Ian that Terry is already dead but not yet. If Ian is using that as his guide through the maze of hurt and confusion, then Mickey is not about to rip it away from him until he absolutely has to.

They pull up outside their house and Mickey watches Ian anxiously waiting for him to give some sort of cue. Ian stares at the bright blue door for a second and Mickey considers just driving them both down the block and to a cafe or bar to wait it out a while but Ian is taking a deep breath and opening his car door and getting out. He is doing it with or without Mickey and as always, Mickey faithfully follows his lead.

They get inside and Ian looks around as if trying to place everything in his mind.

He notices the new mugs that have replaced the ones he broke as he tried to get away from Terry. He notices the absence of a carpet in their living room but doesn’t ask why.

He ignores the broken banister posts.

He turns a blind eye to Mickey’s watchful gaze.

He is home, that’s enough for now.

Ian goes to the coffee machine and scowls. Mickey braces himself for Ian to give him some dreadful detail of his ordeal but when Ian turns to him he simply says

“You’ve been messing with my coffee station, haven’t you?”

“Uh … Not on purpose. I thought I put it all back right.”

Mickey is so relieved he is grinning like an idiot and Ian returns his smile with a genuine glint in his eye.

“You got the papers all mixed up and clearly stirred your cup with the scooper – it’s sticky.”

“That ain’t the thing we measure the vanilla stuff with?”

“We don’t have a thing for measuring vanilla cream because that stuff is gross.”

“You know I like it sweet.”

Mickey shrugs and Ian rolls his eyes. This is normal. This is their life and it is fractured but not broken. They are both willing it back together, pressing the pieces like wet clay, moulding their reality into what they both need and want it to be.

“It’ll rot your teeth.”

“Nah man, I got perfect teeth.”

Mickey’s lip quivers slightly, remembering the last time they had this conversation but he pushes the thought back, hard.

“You gonna make me a coffee or not, Firecrotch?”

“I’ll make you a black coffee, fit for adults.”

Ian quips back and flips the little machine on.

“Oh, hey, Yev wants to come by later, is that alright?”

“Of course!”

Ian nods enthusiastically, the thought of having Yev there is a welcome distraction from the white noise loitering at the back of his mind, threatening to encroach on him if he lets his guard down.

Ian glances over at Mickey, he is hovering, not quite still and definitely not at ease. Ian can’t blame him but he wishes he wouldn’t. He suddenly feels too crowded and desperate to be alone.

“Mick, could you maybe go out and get me some ginger or something with ginger in it? The meds have got my stomach all fucked up.”

Mickey springs to attention and under other circumstances it would make Ian laugh aloud.

“Sure, you wanna come with?”

“Nah, I need a shower.”

Ian sees the emotions of indecision flicker across Mickey’s face as he weighs up wanting to get Ian whatever he wants and also not wanting to leave his side. It feels a little dishonest but Ian rubs his gut with a theatrical grimace, watching Mickey’s eyes follow the movement. Mickey reaches for his keys and nods as if to himself.

“I won’t be long. You need anything else just text me.”

His eyes are dark with concern and Ian forces himself to smile.

“Thanks babe.”

The pet name eases some of the worry on Mickey’s face but the kiss he places against Ian’s lips is still too gentle.

“Just text me, okay?”

“Got it.”

Ian nods and watches through the window as Mickey gets into the car and drives away. The coffee machine splutters and Ian turns it off, leaving the steaming pot where it is. He moves from the kitchen to the living room, scuffing his trainers against the rough boards. From the living room he makes his way upstairs. He pauses at the bathroom. It is mostly spotless but there is a dry rusty looking streak on the underside of the sink which has been missed. He goes to Yev’s room and breathes a sigh of relief. The little box room is clear and looks as it always looks. He hesitates and then takes a deep breath and opens his bedroom door.

The bed is gone and the rest of the room is unnaturally tidy. Ian shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and moves a little further in. He crouches down and rubs his fingers over the indents in the carpet where the legs of their bed used to stand.

Ian can’t explain why the loss hits him so damn hard but it feels like a part of himself has been thrown away.

He suddenly wishes that Mickey was there. He feels far too alone and his loneliness scares him.

A car backfires down the street and Ian flinches with a startled gasp.

He leaves the house and walks quickly to the alley. His mattress is there but it’s been rained on and is clearly fucked. He lifts the dumpster lids one after another until he sees a familiar glimpse of white wood. He grabs for it but instead of being a complete leg or slat it is only a stub. Ian throws trash bags out of the way to find the rest. It is all there, but smashed beyond recognition. It is splintered and broken and ruined.

Ian understands, he isn’t angry. Of course Mickey would smash it to pieces and there is no way that Ian will be able to fit them back together again. He supposes it is a wonder Mickey didn’t burn the damn thing as well really. Ian chucks the trash bags back in and goes back into their house.

He takes a shower and by the time he is finished, Mickey is downstairs unpacking a grocery bag that is stuffed with ginger beer, ginger snaps, root ginger and even carrot and ginger soup and a ginger flavoured power bar which he must have got at the health food store.

Ian grabs him and hugs him as tightly as he can, burying his nose in the crook of Mickey’s neck, relaxing into the strong arms that wrap around his back and the sure, capable hands that cradle his head and body.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so ...”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”

Mickey says sternly. They stay like that for what feels like an age until the doorbell rings and the new bed arrives. It’s a super king divan that Ian doesn’t even want to know the price of.

Ian signs for it and then they both negotiate the stairs, laughing when it gets stuck and and working together to get it through the bedroom door.

“Jesus, Mick! This thing is huge!”

“Yeah well, tired of always bein’ on the edge when you and Yev decide to play starfish.”

Mickey huffs, tilting his end and ramming it with his shoulder to try and force it through the doorway.

Ian grins and pulls with all his might. The thing finally gives and within minutes they are sprawled side by side on it, panting and exhausted, but happy.

“Don’t put your boots on it.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair. The room seems full and centered again and Ian kisses the inside of Mickey’s wrist gratefully.

He is home.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless imagine #shameless fanfiction #ian gallagher #Ian loves Mickey #mickey milkovich #Milkovich #yevgeny milkovich #Gallavich Love #Gallavich #ian x mickey

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inkedtae · 4 years ago

Text

rupture; rapture ⇾ kth. [M] | teaser

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ex-boyfriend!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ angst, smut, f2l(?), e2l(?), ex lovers au, rekindled lovers(?), sculputor au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ responding to a late night call for help forces you to revisit truths you so skillfully ignored. was it always meant to fall apart to fall back into place?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ full: 20k | teaser; 1.2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ slight upsetting themes, mentions of a new relationship, mention of infidelity (tae thinks reader used him to cheat on her date), mention and consumption of alcohol, switch!Taehyung, mullet!taehyung, sub!reader, [redacted] [redacted]!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), clay/paint/art sex(?), rough sex, hate-love sex(?), [redacted] sex (?), [redacted] kink, [redacted] (f. receiving), multiple [redacted] (f.), [redacted], overstimulation, a lil [redacted]-[redacted]ing, [redacted] worshipping, [redacted] worshipping, a lil [redacted] biting, [redacted]ing, [redacted]ing, [redacted]ing, begging, teasing, swearing

anon asked: taehyung19angst asghjkll. U have a prompt list ? So for that. Maybe. If u want to. WOW. Ur awesome. The bestest. Okay. Bye. Love. Me.

#19 ⇝ “You said you knew how to do this.”

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i decided to share an unedited teaser of what i’m currently working on

☾ banner by ⇾ @editingverse (thank you so so so much dear~ please go give her all your love!! this banner is beautiful!!)

☾ anticipated post date ⇾ 15 AUGUST 2020

☾ le playlist (coming soon...)

☾ tag list ⇾ open (leave a comment and/or send an ask to be added)

◖send me a prompt from dabble drabble. i will try to get to it as soon as i can. please note that i have the right to refuse any request i find uncomfortable.◗

But, when he does call, and you do not refuse. You don’t even think about declining at all. And then you hear his voice, and he sounds so unsure, so nervous.

The shame creeps upon you, condescendingly soothing your ego. Where’s your dignity now? It’s as nonexistent as when you stormed out of this very door and swore never to return. You can hear the fates snickering now, watching your pathetic self stand outside of the door. Shaking out a shiver, you gather up the broken pieces of your courage and knock on the door.

The screech of metal on metal echoes as he unlocks the door. The sound is more comforting than you expected it to be. You can’t remember the amount of times you’ve nagged him to replace the damned thing. It’s old, rusted, and the scratches of the metal made you cringe as though your bones are rotting. It used to make your jaw ache, now it only shudders your courage. Little things already undress your confidence. What will seeing him again do? What emotions will it beckon?

Misery leaks from your bones and into your bloodstream. The door opens to a vision of grace. In his clay-smeared jumpsuit, the sleeves wrapped around his waist and his bare chest exposed, he stares back at you. Though frozen from the winter air, you feel your face grow hot. Eyes shaking, you don’t know where to look. You’re not even sure if you can meet his gaze. It intensifies with every ticking second and his long bangs fall over his lashes. He let it grow out? You’ve begged him to do so for months and once you’re apart he finally gives in? You knew he’d look good, maybe even better than his shorter cut.

Shakily sighing, you plaster a polite smile and greet, “Hey Tae.”

Each step back into his apartment fogs your mind with memories of joy and despair alike. Sometimes, those emotions rose in tandem during the same memory, within the same five minute time span. But other times, those memories are saturated with one emotion or the other. You two could never find that balance; not as lovers anyway, not as you thought.

“Make yourself at hom-” he cuts himself off just as the door shuts.

The gloom of four months ago has followed you back in here as well, it would seem. You gulp down the little scratch in your throat and try your best to flash a kind smile. His brows raise at the gesture. You assume a teeth braced wince paints your features instead.

Setting your clutch down on his work table, you nod. He glares at your action before looking back at you. You are fully aware of his distaste for you to dump your things on his work table, even if it happens to be your own sculpting supplies. However, he distrubed your date tonight and that little slip up of his recalls more anger than you care to accept right now. Playing into his pet peeves is the very least you can do to show him that you’re not here for anything else but fixing his sculpture.

He must feel your gaze as he glances up at you. “You must be freezing,” he comments.

Glancing down at your half top, you shrug. “Not really. That’s what a jacket is for.” You shouldn’t sass. It always gets on his nerves. But, with the way he regards you with such tamed hostility and smirks all knowingly, you cannot hold yourself back. He cannot expect to call you over here in the dead of night for help only to glare and sneer at you.

It is only now, in the thick silence, do you hear the soft voice of Sinatra through the vinyl player. Glancing over at the source, you recognize the album cover immediately. It’s the same one you gifted him for his birthday last year. His next one is in a couple of weeks. The realization unexpectedly twinges your heart with guilt. You feel as though you should have already bought his gift, planned his party. It is not your responsibility to do that anymore, but you want to and that’s enough for your tongue to coat with disgust and remorse.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#btswritingcafe #bangtanfairygarden #btsguild #vantenet #networkbangtan #btsgoldnet #bangtanhq #winterbearnet #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #kim taehyung angst #kim taehyung smut #bts smut

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beckettsthoughts · 7 years ago

Note

1-100. Yes. All the questions cause I'm feeling generous and cause nobody ever asks me shit, so I'll ask others instead. Ur welcome~~~

Oh man, this is amazing! Thank you so much

I’m a huge fan of answering questions, so this really means a lot to me. It took a while, meaning some of these answers are in fact relevant to early this afternoon and not right now, but everything else is still accurate. It’s going to be a long ride, so I hope you’re ready ^^

1: Is there a boy/girl in your life?

There are several boys and several girls in my life, and a variety of non-binary people, none of whom I’m dating. My best friend is the #1 boy, though.

2: Think of the last person who hurt you; do you forgive them?

If I’m honest, yeah. Wouldn’t really want to be close with them again, but I can’t hold grudges. It’s just not nice or entertaining or fun, anymore, being bitter. Letting things go is the easiest route.

3: What do you think of when you hear the word “meow?”

I mean, I think of cats? Which is fairly obvious. Particularly the old cat that used to live next door to us who made a home out of our garden; his name was Tigger. Perhaps also the cat I used to look after when some of my neighbours went on holiday, who was called Bill. I’m actually allergic to cats, though, so aside from Bill I’ve done my best not to get too close to them.

4: What’s something you really want right now?

An acoustic guitar. Or a polaroid camera, but I’m actually getting that this afternoon.

5: Are you afraid of falling in love?

No, it just doesn’t really appeal to me. I’ve never had crushes, and I’m content with my close friends. I’m indifferent, really.

6: Do you like the beach?

Not really. It’s nice to go for walks along the beach in the winter, but the whole atmosphere of a hot, crowded beach loses its charm after living near one for so long. I don’t like the sea, because it hurts my skin, and sand isn’t much better. The sun gives me headaches, too. I’m not very outdoorsy, one could say.

7: Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?

No. I’ve slept on a couch before, not often but a few times, but never with anyone else. It sounds uncomfortable, to be honest.

8: What’s the background on your cell?

Currently, it’s the souvenirs I bought from the Louvre. Before that, it’s always been landscapes from around the island.

9: Name the last four beds you were sat on?

My own, my mother’s, my best friend’s, and a hotel bed in Paris.

10: Do you like your phone?

Yes I do. My old one was on it’s last legs before I renewed my contract and got my current phone, I forgot what it’s like to have a phone that works properly. It has a decent amount of memory, it links to my laptop and it works better than any phone I’ve had in the past. So yeah, I like it.

11: Honestly, are things going the way you planned?

Surprisingly, yes. I really didn’t think I’d get to this point. I’ve been set on the path towards university since the age of eleven when I decided I wanted to be an author, and here I am with a ferry ticket to the mainland and an unconditional offer for a Creative Writing course. I finished my GCSEs, which were the toughest two years of my life, and I completed my A Levels, which were the best two years of my life. Back when I was fifteen I didn’t think I’d even live this long, let alone fulfil the plans I’d laid out for myself, but I think it’s happening. I’m so happy it’s happening.

12: Who was the last person whose phone number you added to your contacts?

My friend Alex, actually. I’d never had his number before I was invited into a group chat with him, so that was the last contact I made on my phone.

13: Would you rather have a poodle or a rottweiler?

A poodle. They’re so fluffy and they seem like really sweet dogs. I have a lot of fond memories of having toy poodles in Nintendogs, but in real life I think I’d like a miniature poodle the most.

14: Which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?

Emotional pain, by far. Can’t take painkillers for a broken heart like you can for a broken bone.

15: Would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum?

Probably the zoo. I love art museums, I do, but I love conservation zoos a lot. I’ve been to two particular zoos several times, Durrell Wildlife Park (now just called Jersey Zoo) and also Marwell Zoo, both of which do amazing work in caring for and helping re-establish endangered species. I know zoos have a lot of ethical problems, but if you can find a trustworthy zoo that focuses on research and conservation I think it’s justifiable.

16: Are you tired?

Not really. The summer is one of the few times I can actually get enough sleep.

17: How long have you known your 1st phone contact?

My whole life.

18: Are they a relative?

Yeah, it’s my mum.

19: Would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes?

Don’t have any exes, but if I did I’d probably say no.

20: When did you last talk to the last person you shared a kiss with?

Again, never had a kiss in the romantic sense. In a non-romantic sense, my mother, and I spoke to her this morning.

21: If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today?

No, even if I had a “right person” I’d want to get through university at least before marrying them.

22: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

No answer for the romantic context of kissing, but on the platonic side again it’s my mother so again, yes.

23: How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now?

Two; a woven rainbow friendship that a friend gave me and also a black faux-leather cord bracelet.

24: Is there a certain quote you live by?

Per aspera ad astra. Through adversity to the stars.

25: What’s on your mind?

The appointment I have this afternoon. I’m getting kind of anxious about it.

26: Do you have any tattoos?

No, but I would love some florals.

27: What is your favourite colour?

I don’t have a single favourite colour, but I really like pale oranges and dark purples.

28: Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?

No idea.

29: Who are you texting?

My best friend, @skyward-sheik. He asked about making an angsty vampire playlist, so now I am sending him song suggestions.

30: Think to the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch?

I’m genuinely considering ignoring most of the ‘kissing ones’, now.

31: Have you ever had the feeling something bad was going to happen and you were right?

Uh, yeah. Many times. I can’t think of a specific occasion, though, but I know it’s happened.

32: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

This is a complicated question, for me. I don’t technically have an opposite gender and I don’t really think in terms of opposite sex, but I have plenty of friends who differ from me in one or both aspects. Like, most of my friends, probably. I am friends with plenty of other non-binary people too, though, it’s just that most of the people I know are cis or binary trans, which is different to me.

33: Do you think anyone has feelings for you?

I’d be surprised. Literally only one person has ever had feelings for me and that was when we were like, twelve.

34: Has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?

Surprisingly often. I don’t think they’re particularly remarkable, but they’re quite bright blue. They can look especially bright, depending on my hair colour at any given time. I like them.

35: Say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?

No comment.

36: Were you single on Valentine’s Day?

Always, but my best friend wished me a happy Valentine’s and I wished him the same in return.

37: Are you friends with the last person you kissed?

No comment. Sorry, there are a lot of questions about kissing that I can’t really answer.

38: What do your friends call you?

Beckett, or Becks for short. I also get B, Bucket, and Pineapple, all of which I’m very fond of.

39: Has anyone upset you in the last week?

My stepfather. But that’s like, daily.

40: Have you ever cried over a text?

Yeah, I’ve had some pretty brutal ones. I’ve spent lot of time crying over texts and messages, but thankfully not very recently.

41: Where’s your last bruise located?

My right shin.

42: What is it from?

Bashed it against a table-leg. Surprise, surprise; those things are lethal.

43: Last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really bad?

The last time I wanted to escape was on the ferry back from my last holiday. I have a phobia of sickness, emetophobia, and I started feeling seasick halfway through the two-hour journey. I rarely get seasick any more because I have over-the-counter medications for it, but my usual brand were unavailable and this new and supposedly better brand clearly didn’t do it’s job. I had to go out on deck in the freezing cold, without a coat, and stay there for the last half hour of the trip. I was shaking both from the cold and from the fear, and I honestly would have given anything right then to be on dry land.

44: Who was the last person you were on the phone with?

I really hate phone calls. My mother is the only one who’ll call me despite knowing this. So, her.

45: Do you have a favourite pair of shoes?

My lace up boots are one of my most prized possessions.

46: Do you wear hats if you’re having a bad hair day?

I wear hats even when I’m having a good hair day. But yes, I definitely wear hats to hide it when my hair won’t behave the way I want it too.

47: Would you ever go bald if it was the style?

Yeah, probably. I already want to buzz my hair really short at some point, shaving it completely feels like the logical next step. I’d probably only do it if it was a really huge trend, though.

48: Do you make supper for your family?

Uh, no. I make food for myself, every lunchtime, but my mum makes tea in the evenings. I don’t think they’d let me cook for them, in all honesty, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to making food.

49: Does your bedroom have a door?

Yes, thankfully. I don’t know if I’d be able to cope without one. I mean, with the amount of times people walk right in without knocking it may as well not have one, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

50: Top 3 web-pages?

Tumblr, Youtube, Google Drive.

51: Do you know anyone who hates shopping?

Not off the top of my head. I’m sure there are people I know who hate it. I hate it, depending on the type of shopping. Shoe shopping is the ultimate adversity, I think, but regular food shopping is a close second.

52: Does anything on your body hurt?

Not really, right at this moment. I have a mouth ulcer that’s been painful for the last week or so, but it’s pretty much healed now.

53: Are goodbyes hard for you?

Yes and no, it really depends. It’ll be hard to say goodbye when I move off the island in September, though, that’s for sure.

54: What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?

Water, thankfully. I don’t drink much else.

55: How is your hair?

Pretty messy, underneath my hat. I’m going to style it properly before I go out this afternoon, though.

56: What do you usually do first in the morning?

Check my phone, drink something, and then go through my morning skincare routine.

57: Do you think two people can last forever?

Yeah, but it’s very dependent on circumstances.

58: Think back to January 2007, were you single?

Yes. I was also eight years old, so it’s not much of a surprise.

59: Green or purple grapes?

Purple grapes.

60: When’s the next time you will give someone a big hug?

I expect I will hug my nan before I go down to the bus stop, so in about half an hour.

61: Do you wish you were somewhere else right now?

I wish I was in Los Angeles, always.

62: When will be the next time you text someone?

I will text my mother to let her know I’m on my way to meet her.

63: Where will you be 5 hours from now?

Probably where I am right now, on my corner of the sofa. I’m going out soon, but I’ll be home by then.

64: What were you doing at 8 this morning?

Sleeping.

65: This time last year, can you remember who you liked?

Never had crushes, but obviously I liked people in the platonic sense. Most of them I still like now.

66: Is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?

Yes, and that person is @skyward-sheik. I’m also going to give this to @clarinooty, who is a veritable ray of sunshine.

67: Did you kiss or hug anyone today?

Not yet.

68: What was your last thought before you went to bed last night?

I was thinking about the story I’d just been reading, and also about my plans and schedule for today.

69: Have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

Yes. In a work sense, this is always happening, but I’ve also experienced this with friendships before.

70: How many windows are open on your computer?

How many windows? Like 3. How many tabs though? 29.

71: How many fingers do you have?

Eight fingers and two thumbs, the whole set.

72: What is your ringtone?

Boulevard of Broken Dreams, but my phone is always on silent and do-not-disturb so I rarely hear my ringtone.

73: How old will you be in 5 months?

Nineteen.

74: Where is your mum right now?

At work.

75: Why aren’t you with the person you were first in love with or almost in love?

Never been in love, so I can’t really answer this.

76: Have you held hands with somebody in the past three days?

No, I don’t think so.

77: Are you friends with the people you were friends with two years ago?

Most of them, yeah. I actually met my best friend just a little bit over two years ago, and look at us. There have been a couple of pretty significant changes, but I feel like the two of us are stronger than ever.

78: Do you remember who you had a crush on in Year 7?

Again, doesn’t really apply.

79: Is there anyone you know with the name Mike?

No, weirdly enough.

80: Have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?

I’m sure I have, when I was younger. Pretty sure most people do when they’re like, babies and toddlers. Not since then, though.

81: How many people have you liked in the past three months?

In a crush sense, nobody. In a platonic sense, too many to count.

82: Has anyone seen you in your underwear in the last 3 days?

No.

83: Will you talk to the person you like tonight?

I will talk to a person I like, in a friendship sense. I talk to my friends every night.

84: You’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?

I don’t really get the wording of this? I guess it means who would I be with? I don’t drink, but if I did I would probably be with my best friend and our other two close friends.

85: If your boyfriend/girlfriend was into drugs would you care?

Yeah, I would. Probably not if it was just like, weed, but anything else I would be pretty unhappy about.

86: What was the most eventful thing that happened last time you went to see a movie?

Uh, I can’t think. The last movie I saw was Wonder Woman, but there was nothing eventful that happened when I went to see it. I don’t know if our grotty little cinema could cope with eventful happenings, if I’m honest.

87: Who was your last received call from?

My mother.

88: If someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you?

No, I’d feel awful.

89: What is something you wish you had more of?

Money, which is the obvious answer, but also musical instruments and cool gadgets.

90: Have you ever trusted someone too much?

Yeah. Way too much. I would say I’ll try not to make the same mistake again, but I’m pretty easily trusting. Having all of my insecurities thrown back in my face was the worst feeling in the world, though.

91: Do you sleep with your window open?

No, I can’t stand open windows. It’s just like, willingly inviting annoying insects into your room.

92: Do you get along with girls?

Yeah, usually I do. Pretty much all of my friends in school have been girls, because I naturally tend to gravitate towards them. They’re much nicer than most of the boys at my school were, and I found them way easier to speak to and joke about with. I have a mix of friends now, but yeah. I get along with girls.

93: Are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth?

No, not that I can think of.

94: Does sex mean love?

Not inherently, no.

95: You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?

No comment.

96: Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring?

No comment.

97: Did you sleep alone this week?

Yes, just like I have every week of my life.

98: Everybody has somebody that makes them happy, do you?

Yeah, I mentioned already but my best friend is that for me. He can lift my mood just by saying hi, you know?

99: Do you believe in love at first sight?

Nope.

100: Who was the last person that you pinky promise?

I don’t think I’ve made a pinky promise since primary school, meaning it was probably my best friend at the time. He’s still a very good friend of mine now, but I couldn’t possibly remember what our last pinky promise would have been about, or whether or not we kept it.

#b replies #long post #ask meme

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er1anne · 7 years ago

Text

It's 3am and I need to get this off my chest

DONT READ THIS ITS TOO FUCKING LONG

I love NCT

Much

When I first heard of them and the kind of limitless membership they were assigned I thought SM was crazy like “oh honey what r u doin’ ?” Kinda feeling and I thought it would never work and I wouldn’t like them. I’ve seen their pre debut stuff and I loved their dance covers and their photo shoots showcasing their cute and talented side and i promised myself I’ll get into them when they debut but after hearing that concept piece idk

BUT THEN NCT U CAME OUT

I shit u not when I saw Mark’s teaser for the seventh sense I was immediately entranced. Hooked. Shooketh. A feeling of I need to stan them immediately and OMG THEYRE FINALLY DEBUTING AND OKAY LEMME GIVE THEM A CHANCE

And I thank myself every day for giving them a chance because I completely fell in love with this group. They’re SUPER TALENTED

LIKE CAN WE PLEASE MENTION HOW TALENTED THEY ALL R

I SHIT U NOT THERE IS NO DANCE HOLE IN NCT

NONE

AND EVEN IF SOME R BETTER THAN OTHERS THEYRE STILL SUCH A TIGHT KNIT AND WELL ORGANIZED DANCE GROUP THAT REALLY COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER?!???

Whether they r in a group of 5 or 9, they really make sure the audience pays attention to the details, Big or small, their choreography has to offer. THE PRECISION AND SHARPNESS THEY PUT INTO THEIR CHOREO STILL AMAZES ME EVERY SINGLE TIME I SEE THEM PERFORMLIKE PLS STAN TALENT?!?

Even the youngest NCT unit (Dream <3) may have a cute and bubbly easy going concept but let me tell u that their CHOREO is anything BUT EASY OKAY

DANCING

ON HOVERBOARDS?!?

AND IF Y'ALL DDNT SEE THE LIL DETAIL IN THEIR CHEWING GUM CHOREO RENJUN HAD TO JUMP OVER JISUNG WHO WAS ZOOMING PASS HIM WITH A HOVER BOARD AND IMMEDIATELY GOT BACK ON THAT THING DO U UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH PRACTICE THEY HAD TO GO THROUGH TO PERFECT THAT?!???

AND FOR THEIR MFAL CHOREO THEY HAD TO LAY IN A CIRCLE AND PULL EACH OTHER IN A TIGHT CIRCLE THEN IMMEDIATELY GET BACK UP LIKE IT WAS EASY AS 3.14 PI?!???

They just amaze me so much with their choreography. Every comeback they've had their choreography has improved over the other one. Always challenging themselves into a bigger and better performance outdoing their old ones. ALL THIS TALENY I needa lay down

Don’t even get me started on SRB15_0701 Dance Practice LAWD WAS THAT A MAGICAL EXPERIENCE

and I’m also so happy they work with some of the most amazing choreographers in the world and I guess we have SM Ent to thank for that despite how much I hate them 🙃

AND THE VOCALS

i need to exercise some breathing techniques before I get into them

When I tell u as much as I hate SM I love their vocalists

IMO as a k-pop fan SM puts out the most talented vocalists in the industry

And NCT is no exception

Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Taeil have showcased their vocals with Without You and with their other previous SM ROOKIES performances Donghyuck is out here singing you’ll be in my heart and Play Boy and getting them lines in Dream (side eyes 127 tho)

But I wanna give a special shout out to our moon TAEIL!!! His voice is like a warm blanket on a chilly Sunday morning when rain is falling. His voice is suited to sing OSTs and I hope SM gives him more ost opportunities in the near future

Vocal line hasn’t been exposed a lot but I’m sure ppl will really appreciate their vocals more once SM gives them more opportunities to do so

If SM doesn’t…well we just have to do it the old fashion way and survive on pre debut performances 🙃

DONT GET ME STARTED WITH THEM RAPPERS THO OKAY

MARK’S LIL “YOU DO” STILL AFFECTS ME TO THIS DAY AND MAS CITY STILL SHAKES MY BOOTS ALSO THEYRE RESPONSIBLE FOR MAKING ME CALL LIFE ALERT MULTIPLE TIMES BECAUSE OF THEIR EXPLICIT SONGS (looking at u baby don’t like it and whiplash >.>) AND THE FACT THAT TAEYONG AND MARK WRITE THEIR OWN LYRICS AND HAVE IT APPROVED BY THEIR AGENCY TO RELEASE IT MEANS THEIR TALENT IS RECOGNIZED !!!!!!!

TRULY SM’S BEST RAPPERS 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

ALSO THEY EXCELT AT LANGUAGES, MCing, RADIO HOSTING, AND DJing

Let stalk about the foreign members tho. Let’s not forget those who left their home country to chase their dreams and be who they are today. How many of u can actually admit to being strong enough to pack ur bags and go to another country to learn a new language and learn a whole new different culture while others will inevitably judge u on who u r just cuz ur different? I’m amazed at all of them because they really taught me ur hard work and sacrifice won’t go in vain. Even if u have to wait a while to debut

Imma get into each of the members too cuz god do I love them so much!!!! But in another post cuz this is too long lmao peace imma sleep 😴

#part 1 #NCT

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luminaxandra · 8 years ago

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It's been a good day.

Warning attempted Rape and Implied torture!!

Mentions of Billdip/Dc Au and Pines family fun Rated +16 for cursing but if ur younger than that then eh, your choice brah…or sis… or cis o-o been a long time since i wrote a fic so tadaaa Visual novel training~

Thunder roared outside of the Arkham Asylum that dark cloudy night as the wind howls around the Prison and the sounds of a clashing metal could be heard through out the white and black colored walls. “ Get the fuck OFF ME YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” shouted a hoarse yet dainty voice belonging to a Mason “Dipper” Pines or publicly known as Pine Tree by the crime syndicate. He thrashed against the hold of his Captive, a masked Arkham prison guard that kept Dipper’s hands beside his head tightly as he kicked and screamed. “I’ll KILL YOU!! I’LL KILL YOU, YOUR FAMILY, AND EVERYTHING YOU FUCKING LOVE!!! LET GO!!” the Captor Laughed and smelled Dipper’s freshly bathed hair. “ I guess they were right when they said the crazy ones were always the prettiest” Dipper scowled and snapped his teeth at the Guard, aiming his kicks towards the crotch area between the man’s legs “ What? You don’t think I’m good enough for a bitch like you. I bet Cipher has his way with you all night every night with that slut body of yours” he purred.

Bill…

“ At least my CIPHER would be a better FUCK than your Tiny Microscopic Dick!” Dipper successfully hit the man’s Family jewels with his knee before scrambling to stand as the man rolled over to the side clutching his lower regions in self deserved pain. Dipper went to stomp the man on the head -repeatedly- before he felt a shock on his back, frizzing as his body was filled with electricity from the Taser shot by the Guard’s ‘back up’.

BILL…

“Feisty one ain’t he?” the back up laughed. “ shut up Jackson, that son of a bitch kicks like a mother fucker” Dipper snarled from the ground limbs still too numb to move. “Better make this one quick before any of the other Villains come walking by” “ Ha! Like any of them care of Cipher’s bitch” “ You never know what they’d do to the people who disrespected the Queen of Gotham man, you might get castrated for it” “ yeah, as if. This Slut is just a cum dump for Cipher, Aren’t you bitch” the guard said fisting Dipper’s hair in his hand as he lifted it up. Dipper looked around and spat at the man’s face before laughing manically. “ You’ll die and go to hell before you even get a taste of me you Shit” the man wiped the spit from his face and sneered “ Oh yeah and why’s that you crazy bitch? Last time I checked you’re the one stunned, drugged and on the floor. You can’t fight back even if you wanted to”

HELP ME…

Unbeknownst to the two men below them small beads of seeds rolled towards their feet

-Don’t worry sapling help’s already there-

“ He can’t have to fight you, but I definitely can”

“wha-“ suddenly a large vine slithered around the two men and lifted them above the ground tightening around them to a bone cracking power

“ You made a Biiiiig Mistake trying to hurt my Bro bro” the perpetrator said walking towards Dipper lifting him to his feet and balancing his weight on her shoulder “ Thanks Mabes, I owe you one” Dipper said thanking his savior, Mabel Pines or commonly known as Poison Ivy.

“Nah, It’s the least I can do after you and Bill sneaked my babies into my cell” she said flipping her red auburn hair to the side the petals on it swished in the wind as the strands of hair moved.

“Pines stick together” they bumped fists and giggled before looking up at the wannabe rapists “ what should we do about these shit heads?”

“ I dunno, Bill never told me what the best punishment for rapists are since no one in our group actually has the balls to defy Bill’s rule of no non consensual sex, I mean we’re evil but we’re not that evil y’know”

“ oh yeah I totally get you “

The two rapists thrashed and screamed their piece as the vines tightened its hold “ YOU FUCKING BITCHES!! WAIT UNTIL THE WARDEN HEARS ABOUT THIS!! HE’LL FUCKING LOCK YOU UP FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE LIVES” by then a crowd had already circled the four amongst the havoc but slowly they made way for a man walking towards them “ What’s this about the warden?”

All four of them turned their heads towards the source of the voice. “GRUNKLE FORD!” the two villains shouted as the vines dropped the guards to the ground with a loud thud. “you two, what’s all the commotion about” he said lifting his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he faced his Niece and Nephew.

“ Those two attacked a member of the guard sir!” the ‘back up’ shouted pointing towards the villains, Stanford snapped his head towards the guards and scowled “ I wasn’t aware that I was TALKING to you Jackson Dean” the guard gulped and moved his eyes towards the ground.

“ O-One of the guards tried to rape Dip-dop Ford. I was just trying to stop them.” Mabel answered as the both of the villains dropped their heads in shame like children who were caught steeling a cookie from a cookie jar. “We’re sorry for making so much ruckus” they apologized in unison.

“I see, the course of action you took is understandable to say the least but TRY to be more subtle next time, we do not want to stir up the resting patients” Ford scolded as he was answered with a murmured ‘yes grunkle ford’ by the two before he faced the two guards and snapped his fingers. 6 other guards walked behind him waiting for his next command with their position on stand by.

“Take these two to Cell number 666, I believe he would decide much better punishment for actions such a this for this particular moment” the other guards showed no remorse as they grabbed and shoved the two rapists towards the cell, in fact their gazes held a Disgusted look as Cell mates threw food at the two in rebellion towards the actions against their Queen.

As they reached their destination the iron cell door opened revealing a blonde man with his hands tied together by a straight jacket and his mouth strapped by a muffler but you could see the excited gleam in the eyes of the mad man, Ford walked towards the man and ripped the muffler off making the man laugh in pain “ HA! PAIN! ITS STILL AS HILARIOUS AS EVER! By the way why are you back so soon after our session hm?” the man exclaimed “ Cipher, I do believe you know who these two are. “ ford said walking to the side to the two rapists. Intoducing Bill Cipher, King of the Crime syndicate of Gotham, controls the underground as the Mob boss to be feared and the Mad man of the millennium.

Cipher faced the two guards shaking in their boots a centimeter before wetting their pants. “Jackson Dean and Anson Craig, one a newbie to the GPFD and the other a old fucker from New York. Both annual cheaters of their wives and abusers of their children, 32 years of age-both of them- and they’ve escaped custody by the kind bribing of the judges. Yes I know OF them, why? Are they my new play things?” Cipher said grinning from cheek to cheek.

“I believe Dipper has contacted you about a certain situation which is why you started demanding to be let out in the middle of our Therapy session”

“ Yeah? What of it? Cause I’m not tellin ya what he told me” Cipher said still smiling though his eyes held the curious gaze of a child.

“ These are the men that Dipper had contacted you about.”

And at that moment The two guards had finally realized that they are royally and thoroughly fucked, because Cipher’s smile turned into a deep scowl as his head snapped towards the guards.

“Have fun” ford dismissed waving his hand as he pressed a button on his cuffs releasing Cipher from his Straight jacket.

“ Oh I will” Cipher responded as the two men ran towards the door but it was swiftly closed by the rest of the guards with a cold glare in their eyes.

“LET US OUT!! YOU CRAZY MANIACS!! WHEN THE MAYOR FINDS OUT ABOUT THIS THAT INSANE SHIT OF A WARDEN’LL GET FIRED AND SUED FOR THIS!!! LET US OUT!!” they yelled

“ Oh I don’t think I’ll ever be relieved from this position boys” ford said as he leaned his head towards the small rectangular shaped hole on the door for food purposes “Because I’m the only one who can reign in the criminals of this god forsaken prison and keep them here without any-well a lot of collateral damage” he slid the opening shut and walked away with a dark smirk plastred on his face while retched screams and begging shouts filled the dark halls of Arkham Asylum with thunder striking outside the windows of the prison. Ford walked towards his office where his brother sat reviewing the Taxes of the prison and sat on the chair in front of his aged sibling that saved his life from a death inducing illness. “ So how was your day” Stanley Pines, the ex-Villain known as Mr.Freeze asked

“ It’s been good day as it always is“

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forteandfoible · 5 years ago

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Chapter 3: Family Feuds

After a week of chasing Katie up and down frat row and athlete housing, Elle was reconsidering her life choices. She had Google alerts for Katie now, which she felt supremely uncomfortable setting up and even now made her cringe a little every time she got a notification. The same went for her Twitter and she was overall far too involved in social media for her taste. She just wanted to be the stereotypical art student, carrying her camera around for the perfect shot and occasionally smoking a blunt on the roof of the design building. This was completely out of her wheelhouse and to be honest, she didn’t think she wanted to do it anymore. She put her head in her hands as she heard her phone ping yet again, wondering if it was still the fallout of Katie’s decision to go mingle with the football team last week or if she’d gotten herself into a fresh pile of trouble this time.

Instead, it’s a text from Katie.

Keystone: hey. Team’s throwing a little thing tonight, thought you might be interested. You can meet the rest of them, could be cool.

Elle: where/when? Should I bring something?

Keystone: I’ll send the address, it’s the captain’s house off-campus. 10pm. Bring yourself and whatever ur drinking.

Elle smiled and tucked her phone away. She should pack her things up and head to the library if she was going to go to this – her paper on Ansel Adams’ technique wouldn’t finish itself and she’d never forgive herself if she let down her 20th century Photography professor yet again. As she descended the staircase, she caught a glance of Marie on the sofa. Normally she would have just kept walking, but the way that the sunlight glinted off of Marie’s bottle-blonde hair, making it shine like spun gold, caught her attention. Quietly, so as not to alarm her, she reached for the camera around her neck and focused in. The photograph was fuzzy around the edges, the morning sun creeping its way into the otherwise dimly-lit room. Marie had her face turned away, a thick tome spread across her lap as she was reading Ayn Rand or Plato or Socrates or whatever literature was deemed essential by the philosophy department. Her pencil dangled from between her fingers, precarious in its fight against gravity. Elle smiled at the screen of her camera for a moment, then clattered down the rest of the stairs, causing Marie to jump and startle.

She slid her feet into combat boots and gave a little wave to her housemate.

“I’m going to the library, need anything from campus?”

“Nah I’m all set. Studious streak, huh?”

“Oh, I’ve been called on to be social tonight. Gotta get some stuff done before then.”

One of Marie’s eyebrows jumped precariously close to her bangs.

“A party? Who’s hosting a party that’s exciting enough for your introverted ass to show up?”

Elle laughed, one hand on the door.

“Hey, I’m not that antisocial! I go out sometimes. And it’s the fencing team, Katie thought I should meet some of her teammates, so I stop hanging around her as much, I think. It’ll be pretty cool.”

With that, Elle turned away and headed out the door. Marie’s face flew through a wild array of emotions, before finally settling on something that seemed like a mixture of disgust and mild interest.

“Katie, huh?”

---

The windows of the house that Elle’s phone led her to seemed to be shaking when she approached the door. This had to be it, the eclectic mixture of pop and rock and folk blasting from inside matched what she heard at practices while simultaneously making her wary of the team getting a noise complaint. She texted Katie as she stood on the porch, unsure of the protocol for this scenario. What do you do when your coworker? Liability? Frenemy? Friend? Invites you to a party where you definitely will stand out like a sore thumb as the only person that doesn’t seem to be gargantuan and very interested in weaponry? Before she had time to ponder that quandary further, the door flew open and Katie was standing before her, grinning with a red solo cup in her hand and waving her in.

Katie was dressed up much nicer than Elle usually saw her, she realized. Instead of her baggy sweatshirts and old competition t-shirts, she was wearing a skintight pair of jeans and a halter top that was cropped just above her diaphragm, leaving her abs on full display. Horrifying. Elle quickly tore her eyes away from Katie’s midriff, blushing furiously and hoping that the younger hadn’t noticed.

If she did, she certainly didn’t say anything as Elle came inside. In the house, the floor seemed to shake with every bass note and many more people than she had expected milled about in various stages of intoxication. She accepted a can pushed into her hand without comment and let Katie lead her around by the elbow, clearly intent on introducing her to everyone in the house. She was much more tolerable, cute even, when she was drunk. Elle had to tamp down that thought too, this was not the path she wanted her thoughts to wander down. Instead, she focused on trying to match faces to names.

Some of the people she was introduced to were more familiar than others. Nightingale she remembered from her first practice. The freshman seemed as quiet and contemplative as before, sitting on the couch arm and watching with a muted smile the intense beer pong match going on across the living room. Next to her was a very tall guy who introduced himself as Jonas? Yonas? through a thick German accent and seemed intent on smiling at everyone that passed, complimenting them on their style or something that they’d done recently or just telling them that he appreciated them. He grinned at Elle and complimented her pink combat boots and she could tell she liked him already. Katie ruffled his hair as she passed on to the pong table, where a very serious woman that Elle vaguely recognized from a practice was squaring off against a much shorter man with some serious baby face. She glared at her opponent, then blew off the ball and sunk it cleanly into one of the four cups left.

“SUCK IT! RERACK, BITCH!” she crowed, as the man sighed and rearranged the three remaining cups.

Katie whispered to her that she was Svetlana, or Sveta, the women’s saber captain and undefeated pong champion. Also, she was apparently the kind of Russian fencer that made other fencers cry when they saw her at a tournament, whatever that meant. Watching her play was hilarious, as she made another three clean throws to decimate her opponent, a foilist named Bentley. He wiped his beer-damp hands on his pants, which Elle realized a second later were made out of velvet and sauntered over to Katie to introduce himself. A smug grin had situated itself on his face like that was its resting state and he stood on his tiptoes to pull a strand of Katie’s hair.

“Sup, I’m Bentley. Are you Katie’s new arm candy?”

From the way Katie’s hand twitched it looked like she was about to slap him. Instead, she just bopped him on the back of the head.

“Team publicist, Bentley. Don’t be weird.”

“That’s a pity, being weird is my best attribute,” he laughed as he disappeared back into the pulsating throng of people.

From there, the people seemed to blur together. Elle noted that most of them seemed to be upperclassmen, with the exception of Nightingale and Katie. When she asked, Katie said that they were the only two recruits that decided to join the team her year, but that there were a few sophomores out there… somewhere.

The can in Elle’s hand had warmed and she cracked it, slowly sipping as she fell into conversation with some of the other juniors who were standing by the kitchen. She lost track of Katie’s pink hair out on the dancefloor, instead commiserating with her two new friends (Emily? Mary?) about the sudden graduation requirements and how quickly college seemed to fly. Emily was just telling her about how she had planned to go abroad after her sophomore year and get rid of a bunch of requirements for her Spanish major when all of a sudden, she had qualified for a major tournament in July and had to completely rearrange her class schedule. Elle and Mary’s sympathetic coos were interrupted by a loud cheer as someone burst through the door, holding a bottle of tequila aloft.

“TEAM SHOTS!” he called and suddenly Mary was grabbing Elle’s wrist, pulling her flat to the wall to avoid the sudden thrum of motion as the entire team seemed to rearrange itself to fit in the kitchen.

The newcomer, whose name Elle had completely missed, was motioning to Sveta at the kitchen cabinet as she pulled out anything that someone could remotely drink out of. A red solo cup with a splash of tequila was pressed into Elle’s hands by someone she didn’t recognize and then the team was cheering, screaming, throwing back a shot.

Elle was observing what was going on, wishing that she had her camera on hand, when Katie came up to her. She grinned and plucked the untouched cup out of Elle’s hands, throwing it back with practiced ease before patting her on the back and leaving. At some point she had gotten glitter smeared across her cheekbones and she looked almost fey in the dim fairy lights, her hair wild and untamed around her shoulders and her green eyes glinting as she spun away. Emily followed Elle’s line of sight and then raised an eyebrow.

“Say, how do you know Katie?”

“Well, it’s kind of a weird story. Coach gave me an internship if I could… clean up her act? It’s honestly one of the stranger jobs I’ve worked but I get to hang out with all of you so it’s not that bad.”

Emily and Mary chuckled, and Elle took another long sip of her now thoroughly warmed beer.

“That’s funny. I had figured Katie would be pretty staunchly against whoever they got to babysit her, but she seems to like you pretty well. Most of the time she’s not nearly that friendly – hell, it took almost the entire summer training month before she’d even talk to me,” Mary noted, almost to herself.

Elle almost choked on the mouthful of beer. To her, she still felt sometimes that Katie was only friendly to her when she was well on her way to being blacked out. That either boded poorly for the amount of alcohol in her system or said something truly horrifying about Katie’s true feelings about her. She took another swig of beer, hoping to hide the blush that had quickly crossed her face. The girls either didn’t notice or pretended not to and Mary quickly launched into a story about how she had once tried to bring her boyfriend to one of these parties, only for him to get so weirded out by the team’s culture that it took him months before he would even show up to a stereotype. Something about seeing Kyle half-naked, she said. When Elle inquired, Mary pointed out the tequila-wielding man that had barged into the party fashionably late. He, apparently, was the captain of the Epee team. She made a mental note that she might be seeing a lot more of him if this internship kept working out the way it was.

Before long, Elle found herself lost in the cycling of the music. She hummed along to some songs, mostly listening to the chatter of the people around her. The hours seemed to slide past in a tipsy haze, until the jovial atmosphere was shattered by a sharp rap on the door. Quickly sobering eyes darted to each other, before another gargantuan woman who Elle remembered as Jenna, one of Katie’s squad mates, hushed everybody and stepped forward. She opened the door and slid through the crack outside, while the upperclassmen quickly found Katie and Nightingale and pushed them into the kitchen.

Katie noticed Elle’s quirked eyebrow and put a finger to her lips as Kyle pushed her out of direct sight of the door. He then went to stand with the juniors, smirking at the door.

“Figured it was about time for a visit from the fun police. How dare we enjoy ourselves.”

When he noticed Elle’s wild panic, he laughed openly.

“Don’t worry. Worst comes to worst they’ll just tell us all to leave. Not that I don’t trust Jenna or anything, but I don’t think she can sell the forty of us as being under fire code for this dump.”

Just as he spoke, Jenna came back in. She raised her voice to be heard over the panicked murmuring.

“Party’s over kids! Pick up your shit, clean up your act, and SCOOT!” She yelled into the living room, and immediately the assembled fencers devolved again into madness, piling trash into the overflowing trashcan and filling the sink and counters with abandoned cups and shot glasses.

Mary and Emily gave Elle a sympathetic smile as they started getting ready to leave.

“You might want to go take care of your charge,” Emily said, nodding towards the kitchen as she walked away.

Elle glanced quickly to see Katie leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. Well, that was new. Nightingale was next to her, patting her back and looking around. When she locked eyes with Elle, she frantically gestured until Elle put down her bag and came into the kitchen.

“She’s definitely too gone to walk back into Wilson Hall. I don’t want someone to spot her and blow her spot up, right?” Nightingale explains, still trying to get Katie to stand up. “Could you, maybe, take her instead? She can sleep it off till tomorrow and then she’ll go back. I’m sorry about this.”

Elle gently lifts Katie’s arm over her shoulder and wraps a steadying arm around her middle until she shifts her weight and is standing. How this had happened without her noticing was beyond her, they needed to have a chat about taking it a little easier.

With a cautious smile, she started walking towards the door.

“Sure thing, Nightingale. You go get some rest and I’ll make sure she’s all set.”

Getting Katie’s shoes and jacket was the easy part. Putting her in an Uber, still relatively fine. Once they were standing on the porch of Elle’s house, she started to realize that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. She didn’t want to leave Katie on the downstairs couch, but there was also no way she wanted Katie to wake up in her bed and not know what was going on.

As they carefully scaled the stairs, Elle made up her mind. She unlocked her bedroom door and shushed Katie as she helped her onto the bed.

“You sleep here tonight, I’ll go grab the spare bedroom. See you in the morning. And hey, text if you need anything, ok?”

Katie nods and smiles at Elle before turning over once and falling asleep, still fully clothed on top of the sheets. All of Elle is screaming to wake her up, make her more comfortable, stay there so she wouldn’t wake up with no memory of how she got into Elle’s bed. Instead, she indulges herself just enough to tuck a blanket over Katie’s fast-asleep form before retreating downstairs to the couch.

She just wouldn’t tell Katie that there was no guest room, if she remembered their conversation at all.

---

Elle barely slept. She woke every few hours on the couch, every truck and car passing by the house jolting her out of an uneasy sleep. All she could think about was the easy way that Katie had touched her when she was drunk, her weight on Elle’s shoulders as she sung along to the party soundtrack on their way out the door. Mary’s words kept cycling through her head.

“She’s not nearly that friendly.” Surely, she meant something else, because Katie was anything but friendly to her most of the time. Outside of this one interlude, most of their meetings were still focused solely on business, on Katie’s image and her classes and making sure Elle was doing enough that when she met with Coach he’d smile and praise her. Still, she couldn’t shake the fact that her brain, her stupid photography brain had catalogued every smile Katie had aimed at her and was now set on playing them one after the other, like a nightmare sequence haunting her with what could have been if things were different.

Eventually, as the dawn broke across the campus, Elle’s anxious thoughts were drowned out by sweet sleep and she manages a few more hours of rest.

Soon enough, she felt her phone buzz and realizes she has a text from Katie.

Keystone: hey just woke up.

Keystone: thanks for this

Elle jumped off the couch, then immediately chided herself for being overeager. Her body creaked angrily at the movement and she falls back against the couch before standing more slowly. She needed to get better sleep, because her bones didn’t like this one bit. Just as she stepped into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee, she heard the creaking of the stairs. Katie appeared in the door, still dressed in her going-out clothing and rubbing sleep from the corners of her eyes. When Elle smiled, she gratefully and gracelessly collapsed into one of the kitchen stools and rested her chin on one hand.

“So, I think I browned out a little last night. Woke up to quite a few texts from Night and the gang, wondering if I’d been spotted or something. So, thanks for taking me in yesterday, I guess.”

Elle stays with her back turned to Katie, focusing all her energy on filling the coffee maker with water and pouring in the grinds. She doesn’t want to think of the implications of taking Katie in, she’d much rather just think about this next step in her morning.

“It’s nothing. What do you take your coffee with?”

They both knew that’s a futile question – the two of them had enough business meetings that Katie had started ordering for the both of them. She took her coffee with cream and sugar, so light it was almost dessert. Elle drank her coffee with a splash of almond milk or completely black. Like my soul, she joked the first time to Katie’s blank stare.

Still Elle was soothed when Katie didn’t mention it and instead answered the same as she always had. She wrapped her hands gratefully around the proffered caffeine a few minutes later, as Elle poured her own brew into a chipped and well-stained novelty mug reading “I went to Vegas and all I got was this ceremony.” Ezi had thought it was hilarious when he and Joshua had gotten engaged and it now lived in their cabinet forever.

They were quietly talking at the kitchen island when Elle felt the rest of the house start to wake up. At this point it felt instinctual, the little beeping of alarms up the three stories and the creaking of floorboards as its residents got out of bed. Marie was the first down the stairs, still blinking as she stepped into the kitchen and immediately startled.

“Oh, hi?” she intoned, shooting a puzzled look at Elle.

Elle only shrugged and introduced Katie, who waved and then kept sipping her sugary concoction. Marie stared for several seconds longer, her gaze oscillating between Elle and Katie. Elle didn’t want to know what fantastical tale she was spinning in her head, so she spoke up before Marie could say anything else.

“Katie decided to stay here instead of going back to her dorm last night. It was easier for me to let her sober up here than to have her deal with the freshman dorm security.”

Marie nodded, still taking in Katie’s clothing and demeanor as she seems to fold under the scrutiny, focusing even more intently on stirring the cream into her coffee and turning the whole cup into a barely-tan affair.

With a shrug, Elle’s housemate pushed past her to the fridge and pulled out a yogurt. She gave Elle a small, soft smile and then fled the kitchen. Katie glanced at her form before raising one eyebrow at Elle.

“Now, I know I just met her. But is she always like that? Because that felt weird. That was a weird amount of silence.”

Elle just laughed a little as the silence and the tension broke and she relaxed against her kitchen counter. She would deal with whatever had happened between her and Marie later. First, caffeine. Then, bringing Katie back to Wilson. After that, she was going to go fall asleep in her bed for the rest of the day.

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